The hallway felt longer than usual.

Lily followed the maid in silence, her steps slow, her fingers brushing the smooth walls as though the touch could steady her heartbeat. The faint smell of burning wood drifted from the torches lining the passage, their glow breathing warmth into the cold stone air. Every few steps, her hands would clench and unclench at her sides, betraying the storm within her.

When they reached the grand hall, she saw him.

Alistair stood at the center like a monument — tall, broad, and commanding. His coat was still dusted from travel, and the faint tiredness in his eyes did nothing to soften the dominance in his stance. His gaze caught her instantly.

“Lily,” he said, the edge of a smile appearing on his lips. “You look… surprised.”

She tried to respond but only managed a small, hesitant nod. Her throat felt dry.

“You weren’t expected till tomorrow,” she murmured.

“I missed my own home,” he replied, his tone low, measured. “And I thought I’d return with company.”

That was when she noticed the man beside him thin, formal, and clearly trying to appear invisible. His scent carried the woods of a neighboring pack. An advisor, perhaps, someone meant to listen more than speak.

“From the North Ridge,”

Alistair said, gesturing lazily toward the man. “He’s here to discuss a border arrangement. Minor matter.”

Lily gave a polite nod, trying to ignore the way Alistair’s eyes trailed her movements too closely, too long. She folded her hands together to stop them from fidgeting.

Moments later, the door opened again.

Callum walked in.

The room shifted with his presence quieter, heavier. His steps were firm but slow, each one deliberate. The faint scent of pine and steel followed him. His eyes met Lily’s for the briefest second, and the air between them turned sharp. Then both looked away just as quickly.

Alistair’s smile deepened.

“You’re just in time, son.”

Callum inclined his head, offering a curt, respectful bow to both his father and Lily. “You sent for me.”

“Yes,” Alistair said, voice smooth. “I wanted you to meet our guest and hear what he has to say.”

What followed was polite conversation meaningless talk about trade, boundaries, and treaties. Yet Lily barely heard a word. Every time Callum spoke, she caught herself studying his face the calm surface of it, the careful restraint. And every time she felt his gaze brush over her, she forced her attention back to Alistair, her smile too practiced, too steady.

When the discussion finally ended, Alistair dismissed everyone with a wave of his hand.

“Callum, stay a moment,” he said.

Lily froze for half a second before forcing her steps toward the door. As she passed Callum, her eyes flicked up for only an instant. It was enough. The faint tension in his jaw, the almost imperceptible twitch in his fingers she saw it all before she stepped out.

The study was lit dimly, the smell of old leather and smoke thick in the air. Alistair stood behind his desk, the firelight cutting across his sharp features. He poured himself a drink, then turned toward his son.

“You’ve done well while I was gone,” he said, his voice carrying a weight that made even praise sound like command.

“The guards reported order. The borders are quiet.”

“Thank you,” Callum said. His tone was even, his posture rigid.

Alistair took a sip from his glass, then set it down slowly. “And my Luna,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly, “you’ve been keeping her company, haven’t you?”

The pause stretched thin.

“I ensured she was safe,” Callum replied after a moment. His voice didn’t waver, but his hands tightened behind his back.

“Safe,” Alistair repeated, tasting the word. “Good.”

He walked closer, the click of his boots echoing in the silence. “She’ll need protection. She’s still adjusting. But remember, Callum—” he stopped only a few steps away, his gaze fixed sharply on his son’s face, “—she’s your mother now.”

The words struck harder than they should have. Callum’s throat moved once, a muscle twitching at his jaw.

“Yes, Father,”

he said quietly.

For a long moment, Alistair studied him eyes cold, searching for something he couldn’t quite name. Then he turned away, lifting his glass again.

“You may go.”

Callum inclined his head, though his chest felt tight. As he turned toward the door, his reflection caught faintly in the glass cabinet — rigid shoulders, unreadable eyes. The very image of control.

But deep inside, beneath all that restraint, something pulsed — heavy, unwanted, alive.

He walked out before it could show.

The night was too still to bring rest.

Lily lay on her side, her eyes open in the dim glow of the bedside lantern. The curtains breathed softly with the wind, rising and falling like the rhythm of her unsettled thoughts. Sleep refused to come; every time she closed her eyes, she saw Alistair’s face that sharp, assessing gaze and beside it, Callum’s quiet, distant silence.

Her fingers brushed over the sheets absently, tracing invisible patterns. It wasn’t fear that kept her awake not entirely but something else, something she couldn’t name without trembling.

Outside her window, the moon hung pale and full, pouring silver light across the stone balcony. Somewhere in the corridor, faint footsteps echoed slow, steady, familiar.

Her heart stirred.

She pushed herself up, the silk of her nightdress whispering as she moved. Barefoot, she crossed the cold floor to the door, her hand hovering over the brass handle. The sound came again a soft shift of boots on the marble, pacing, pausing, pacing.

Callum.

She knew it was him. The rhythm was the same one she’d heard that night in the forest heavy but measured, like a heartbeat wrapped in armor.

Her hand pressed lightly against the door, but she didn’t open it. She stood there for a long breath, her forehead leaning against the wood. The air between them felt impossibly thin only a few inches, only a door, only a world they couldn’t cross.

“Goodnight,” she whispered, her voice barely a thread.

There was silence first. Then the footsteps stopped.

A soft exhale followed, rough and low, close enough that she could almost feel it.

“Goodnight, Luna,” came his reply hoarse, restrained, like every word cost him something.

Lily’s eyes fluttered shut. The sound lingered, settling deep in her chest. She stepped back slowly, her palm still pressed to the wood, as if she could hold onto the moment a little longer.

Then she turned away, letting the moonlight follow her back to bed.

Outside, the footsteps resumed a slow, restless echo down the corridor.

Two rooms.

Two restless hearts.

And between them, only a wall thin enough to hear each other breathe.