After My Alpha Chose My Best Friend Over Me

The metal door of The Void clanged shut behind me for the last time, and I stood there, blinking against daylight that felt like knives.

Three years. One thousand and ninety-five days since I'd seen the sun without silver bars cutting it into pieces.

Warden Cass shoved a plastic bag into my hands—everything I owned in the world now reduced to a wrinkled dress, worn sneakers, and thirty-seven dollars in crumpled bills. "Bus ticket's inside," she said, her voice flat. "Don't come back, Stone."

I nodded, my throat too dry for words. My wolf—Ember, she used to be called—stirred weakly somewhere deep inside me, a flicker of consciousness so faint I wondered if I'd imagined it. The wolfsbane injections had done their job well. Too well.

I walked through the gates, each step feeling like I was dragging chains that weren't there anymore. The parking lot stretched before me, cracked asphalt puddled with yesterday's rain. I scanned the rows of cars, looking for Reed's black Escalade.

It wasn't there.

Of course it wasn't.

I stood there anyway, plastic bag clutched to my chest, waiting like an idiot. The sky darkened overhead, clouds rolling in thick and gray. The first drops of rain hit my face, cold and accusatory.

He'd promised. Three years ago, when they'd led me away in silver cuffs, he'd gripped my hand through the bars and sworn he'd be waiting when I got out. That we'd start over. That my sacrifice wouldn't be for nothing.

The rain came harder.

I pulled out the bus ticket with shaking fingers. Greyhound. Departing in forty minutes. I started walking toward the station two miles down the road, my sneakers squelching in puddles, my hair plastering to my skull.

By the time I climbed onto the bus, I was soaked through. The driver gave me a pitying look. The other passengers—all human, thank the Moon Goddess—shifted away from me, noses wrinkling at whatever scent of prison and desperation clung to my skin.

I took a seat in the back and pressed my forehead against the cold window.

The bus rumbled to life, and I watched The Void disappear behind us. Good riddance. But the freedom I'd dreamed about for three years felt hollow, like biting into fruit only to find it rotten at the core.

Six hours later, the bus crossed into Silver Lake Pack territory.

I felt it immediately—that subtle shift in the air, the way my dormant wolf stirred with recognition. Home. Or what used to be home.

The Pack House loomed ahead, and my breath caught. They'd renovated. The east wing had been expanded, all glass and chrome that clashed with the original stone architecture. My architect's eye caught the problem immediately—the support columns were too thin for the added weight. Whoever designed this had prioritized flash over function. In five years, maybe less, those walls would start cracking.

The bus stopped at the main gates.

I stepped off, legs unsteady, and approached the guard station. Two warriors