Page 125 of The Moonborn's Curse

And even now that the lies had been peeled back, that damage was done.

His parents were heartbroken. His tribe was whispering.

Hagan had been coming to the Oracle's cottage every day.

Sometimes, he came with food. Other times, with a carefully rehearsed apology. But the moment he stood in the doorway and looked at her—the girl curled into herself like a closed bud—everything he'd planned to say vanished. Words melted into gibberish. Nonsense. Apologies that came out all wrong.

And Seren just lay there, silent.

She didn't even look at him.

He left every time feeling like his chest was full of broken glass.

The cottage they shared felt like a tomb. But he could still smell her in the bedclothes, so that was where he had to be. At night, when he couldn't sleep, he remembered all the things she had done for the tribe. Quiet, unnoticed things. The way she passed along small, important information she'd picked up. The food she made for him—always hot, always waiting, even when he came home late. How she never once asked for thanks.

Even when the border threats had died down months ago, Hagan had kept tightening security, drilling the patrols, pushing the wolves harder.

The tribe came first.

But somewhere along the way, he'd forgotten what the bond taught—what the Oracle herself once told him: between bonded mates, you are each other's tribe before all else.

He hadn't lived by that.

And now... now she was paying the price.

And then things got worse.

Seren disappeared.

It happened in the dead of night. He'd only left the Oracle's doorstep to bathe and grab food. Veyr, who'd been silently guarding her, had to do a border patrol shift.

She slipped through both their fingers.

She was gone.

They found bear tracks. Her scent disappeared into the river.

No trail. No clue. No idea if she was alive or dead.

The noose that had been tightening around his neck now felt like a constant. There was this constant feeling like he wasn't getting enough air. Hagan hadn't slept in days.

Then—twilight.

A buzz over the tribelink.

Someone had seen Seren walking alone toward the sacred pool.

He ran in wolf form, his heart pounding like a war drum. He arrived just in time to see the shimmering ward flare up around her.

He knew.

Knew something was terribly wrong.

They rose around Seren in a perfect circle from the circle of white—gleaming , pulsing with power, and humming with static. The air smelt of blood and desperation.

She was already in the centre, lips moving in a steady chant. Her voice, carried by the wind, was both beautiful and terrible.

And then—

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