"Sometimes, the mirror cracks long before you see it."

~

Elara couldn't breathe.

The world around her spun — the sharp, dusky-sweet air of the woods, the distant crackle of the bonfire, the sound of her packmates laughing and shouting as if nothing had happened.

As if Lucian hadn't just died.

As if she hadn’t felt his last breath against her skin.

Sylara, her wolf, snarled in the back of her mind, pacing, furious and panicked.

He's alive. Find him. Protect him. Claim him.

Her instincts roared louder than what she could bear, flooding her veins with wild urgency.

But she clamped down hard on the bond. She couldn't afford to lose control — not yet.

Not when she didn’t even understand what was happening.

She forced herself forward, her legs stiff, her breath shallow. The clearing stretched before her — the same sights, the same smells. Every sound, every movement — identical to the memory burned into her mind.

And there he was.

Lucian. Alive.

Standing near the bonfire, speaking with Dante, His close subordinate. His laugh rumbled low in his chest, and his posture — relaxed, easy — was a knife to Elara’s heart.

Sylara whimpered inside her.

Ours. Safe. For now.

Elara’s throat tightened. She wanted to run to him, wanted to shove him into the trees, away from the horrors that were coming. But she forced herself to stay calm. She had to be smart.

And still, her wolf strained at her control, desperate to reach him.

As she approached, Lucian's head lifted.

For a brief second, his silver gaze locked onto her — sharp, alert — as if Fenris, his wolf, stirred beneath his skin, sensing her fear.

A frown flickered across his face. He tilted his head, a silent question in his eyes.

Elara’s steps faltered — but then her father’s voice snapped her back.

“Elara!”

She turned to see Beta Draven waving her over, his silver pin gleaming at his shoulder.

Same words.

Same place.

Same time.

"You’re late," he said, just as before.

Deja vu made her stomach twist. She knew what came next:

The screams.

The blood.

Lucian's end.

Unless you stop it.

Elara’s heart throbbed.

Sylara, sensing her decision, stilled — waiting, ready.

All night, Elara kept herself close to Lucian, using every excuse to stay near. The bond between them — thin and delicate — hummed just at the edge of her senses.

Neither of them was fully Awakened yet.

But the wolves knew.

When she caught the first unnatural shadow at the treeline, her body moved before her mind caught up.

She crossed the clearing in a heartbeat, grabbed Lucian's arm. His muscles tensed under her grip.

"Elara?" he asked, low and surprised. Fenris stirred again — a low, suspicious growl flickered through their half-formed bond.

"Something's wrong." she hissed urgently. "We have to move. Now."

Lucian stiffened — then nodded sharply. He signaled Dante with a flick of his hand.

The warriors braced themselves.

The first scream echoed from the trees — but this time, the pack was ready.

Hope flared in Elara’s chest.

It’s working.

And then —

A flash of silver.

A scream.

Blood.

But not Lucian's.

Dante’s.

He fell, a blade deep in his gut, and Lucian cried out — grief and rage exploding through the clearing.

Fenris howled, the sound breaking from Lucian’s throat in a furious roar.

He fought harder now, his wolf surging forward, stronger, more savage.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not yet.

The world shattered into blood and screams again.

Elara fought, teeth bared, Sylara surging into her limbs — but when Lucian fell once more, she knew.

The ending hadn't changed.

The light swallowed her whole, ripping her backward through time again. Sylara howled in rage inside her mind.

And as Elara collapsed back into the start of the night, trembling and broken, only one thought followed her:

I changed the story... but not the ending.