Page 111 of The Moonborn's Curse

No one answered.

Not yet.

Moments later, Vir returned, the air around him taut with tension.

"She's gone," he said flatly. "Gaia. Packed up and disappeared. It hasn't been long. No trail. No scent."

Draken's mouth tightened. "Send enforcers. South and East. If she has help, we'll find them."

Then, turning to Garrik with sharp command: "Restrain Lia. She's not to be left unguarded. Lock her down in the prison quarters. She speaks to no one unless I say so."

Garrik nodded grimly.

Two enforcers stepped forward, flanking Lia without a word.

But her voice cut through the stillness, small and brittle. "Hagan... please."

He didn't move as they dragged her resisting form away.

" I didn't want to hurt anyone. I didn't mean for this to happen. But I love you, Hail. I do."

He flinched.

Behind her, Dain stepped forward, his voice low and sick with guilt.

"I helped her," he said. "Not because I hated Seren—but because I believed Lia belonged at your side. I was wrong. I undermined Seren. I lied. I thought I was protecting the tribe... but I was protecting my own idea of it. I was supposed to lead Seren to you if she didn't find you together."

It was a setup.

Hagan hunched over, tears slipping through the cracks between his fingers, his jaw clenched tight.

"She trusted us."

"The little Lunara..."

"He touched another."

"How could they let this happen?"

The sacredness of the bond had been shattered in full view of the tribe, and now its pieces cut everyone. Shame clung to the walls. Anger simmered just beneath it.

Some were furious—with Hagan, with Lia, with the leaders who stood silent too long.

Others were gutted, heavy with guilt.

And then there was the bond itself.

The sacred ink that had sealed them—the ritual drawn with the knot of the ancestors—could not be undone. Not truly. Once marked, once linked, only death could sever what had been bound by fate.

And for those who were fated... it was worse.

Fated mates couldn't stay away from each other, not for long. Even in pain. Even in hatred. The bond would pull, would ache, would draw them like gravity.

And Hagan—bleeding, broken, kneeling in the wreckage—held onto that like a lifeline.

Maybe... maybe that would give them time.

Time to speak.

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