RAVEN

Mrs. Garret corners me after breakfast duty.

“Third floor needs cleaning,” she says. Handing me a bucket and some rags. The old Luna’s chambers.

My heart stops.

“The Luna’s chambers?”

“The would-be Luna.” Mrs. Garret’s face softens slightly. Rate for her. “Poor girl. Alpha hasn’t let anyone touch the rooms since she passed. But the dusts don’t care about grief. It needs doing.”

She walks before I can argue.

I stand there. Bucket in hand. Staring at the stair that leads up.

The life I used to have.

My wolf whines softly. Uneasy.

“We don’t have to do this,” she says.

Unfortunately, we do.

If I refuse, it’ll raise questions. Servants don’t argue. Or refuse assignments.

And maybe…just maybe, there’s something up there that can help me prove what I think Amara did.

I climb the stairs slowly,the steps getting heavier as I advance.

The third floor is quiet. Unused. The pack clearly avoids this floor now. Too many memories of their lost Luna.

I reach the door to my old chambers.

My hands shake as I turn the handle.

The door opens.

And I’m home.

Everything is exactly as I left it. The bed still made with the blue sheets Maya gave me. My books on the shelf. Hairbrush on the vanity with some strands of my honey-blonde hair still in the bristles.

A shrine.

Damien preserved it. Managed to keep everything exactly the same.

As though I might walk back in one day.

The scent hits me first. My scent. Mia’s scent. Fading now but it’s still there. Lavender and honey.

My wolf howls inside me. Grief and rage with loss all coming together.

I close the door behind me and lean against it.

This was supposed to be easier than this. I thought I could handle this.

But being here, seeing my life laid out like a museum exhibit.

It’s just too much.

I force myself to move. To start cleaning. That’s why I’m here.

I dust the shelves, the vanity, and the windowsill where I used to sit and enjoy the view of the gardens.

Everything feels sacred. Like it’s untouchable.

The closet door is slightly open. I can see my dresses hanging inside. The ceremonial dress Maya spent months hand-embroidering for me.

I move to it. My bad reaches for the silk.

Then I see it.

A box. Wooden. Tucked in the back corner behind the hanging dresses.

I don’t remember that box.

I pull it out. But it’s locked. A small brass lock that looks old.

My wolf stirs. Alert now.

“Open it.”

I don’t have a key. But the lock is old and weak.

I grab a hairpin from the vanity. Work it into the lock. Something similar to what my dad taught me when I was twelve and kept loosing my diary key.

The lock suddenly clicks open.

Inside the box is a journal.

My journal.

No. Wait.

I pick it up. The handwriting on the cover isn’t mine.

It’s Mia’s. But the entries…

I flip it open. Start reading.

March 15th - Damien seems distracted lately. He says it’s pack business but I smell her on him sometimes. Amara’s scent. Faintly. Probably from council meetings. They work closely. It’s fine.

March 22nd - Found Amara in our quarters today. She said she was looking for Damien. But he wasn’t here. She knew he wasn’t here. Then why did she come?

April 3rd - The way Amara looks at Damien makes my wolf uneasy. I’m being paranoid. She’s my friend. Has been since childhood.

April 10th - Caught Amara touching my Luna dress. She said she was admiring the embroidery. But her scent was wrong. Bitter. Jealous?

April 18th - Maya noticed it too. Said Amara’s been acting strange. Asking questions about the ceremony and the timing.

I flip faster. The entries get darker. Worrying.

April 25th - Damien came home smelling like her again. I asked him about it. He got defensive. Said I was being possessive. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m seeing things that aren’t there.

May 1st - I don’t think I’m imagining it anymore.

The entries stop.

May 2nd was my mating ceremony.

My hands are shaking. The journal is trembling between my fingers.

Mia knew.

Some part of her knew Amara was dangerous.

But she doubted herself and pushed it down. Told herself she was being paranoid.

And it got her killed.

“Raven?”

I spin around.

Amara stands in the doorway.

She’s staring at the journal in my hands. At the open box.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice is soft and dangerous.

“Cleaning.” I hold up the journal. Trying to look innocent. “I found this. I was just -“

“Just reading a dead girl’s private thoughts?” Amara steps into the room fully and closes the door behind her.

The click of the latch sounds like a death sentence.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have -“

“No. You shouldn’t have.” She crosses to me slowly. Her scent filling the room. Sweet. Cloying. And wrong. “Those chambers are off-limits to servants. Didn’t Mrs. Garret tell you?”

“She told me to clean.”

“She made a mistake.” Amara takes the journal from my hands. Gently, like she’s taking something precious. “These are Mia’s private things. Very private.”

She glances down at the open pages. Her eyes scanning.

I can see the moment she realized what I’ve read.

Her scent sharpens. Spikes with something like fear.

But her face stays calm.

“Poor Mia,” Amara says softly. “She was so paranoid near the end. Seeing threats everywhere. Even in her own friends.”

She closes the journal. Tucks it under her arm.

“Grief does strange things to people.” Her eyes meet mine. Cold, despite the gently smile. “It makes them imagine things. See patterns that aren’t there.”

“Of course, Luna.”

“You know what else is strange?” Amara steps closer. Too close. “How clumsy servants can be. Especially the new ones who don’t know their place yet.”

My wolf growls. Low and warning.

“Accidents happen all the time in old houses like this.” Amara gestures around the room. “Loose floorboards. Steep stairs. Heavy objects falling from high shelves.”

The threat is clear.

“We wouldn’t want you to have an accident, would we Raven?”

“No, Luna.”

“Good.” She heads toward the door. Pauses. “Stay out of these rooms. They’re not for you.”

Then she leaves.

Taking the journal with her.

I stand there shaking. Furios.

She knows I found evidence. And she’s going to destroy it.

All of Mia’s suspicions. All of her observations. Gone.

My only proof. The only evidence that can destroy her.

I want to scream. Shift. Chase her down and rip that journal from her hand.

But I can’t.

Not yet.

I force myself to finish cleaning. Like nothing happened.

By the time I’m done, the sun is already setting.

The room glows orange and gold.

Beautiful. Empty. And haunted.

I close the door behind me.

Lock it.

And carry my bucket downstairs.

Back to the servant quarters.

Amara knows that I know something now.

This just became more dangerous.

She leaves.

Then I’m alone.

The pack remembers my birthday even though I’m gone.

They actually remember.