From Rejected Luna to Princess

The three-hour drive from the Northern Alliance meeting should have felt like coming home. Instead, as I pulled through the gates of Silverstone Pack territory, an unsettling quiet pressed against my chest like a physical weight. The familiar sight of our pack house—its stone facade and wraparound porch that had always welcomed me—now felt cold, almost hostile.

I parked near the front steps, expecting to see pack members going about their evening routines. Children should have been playing in the yard, adults chatting on porches, the usual warm buzz of pack life that made this place feel alive. Instead, the grounds were eerily empty.

The few wolves I did encounter on my way to the house avoided my gaze entirely. Mrs. Henderson, who usually stopped to ask about Sophie's schoolwork, practically fled when she saw me approaching. Young Marcus, one of our patrol guards, actually crossed to the other side of the path rather than offer his customary respectful nod.

My wolf stirred uneasily within me. *Something's wrong,* she whispered, her anxiety bleeding into my consciousness. *Where is our pup?*

That thought sent ice through my veins. Sophie should have been the first to greet me, her bright smile and eager chatter about everything that had happened while I was away. She always waited by the window when she knew I was coming home.

"Sophie?" I called as I pushed through the front door. My voice echoed in the unusually silent foyer. "Stephen? I'm back!"

No answer. The house felt hollow, as if it were holding its breath.

I climbed the stairs two at a time, my heart beginning to race. Sophie's room was empty, her bed neatly made—too neatly, as if it hadn't been slept in. Her favorite stuffed wolf, the one she never went anywhere without, sat abandoned on her pillow.

Panic clawed at my throat. I searched every room on the second floor, then the first, calling their names. Nothing. The kitchen showed no signs of recent meals. The living room felt staged, like a showroom rather than a home where a family lived.

Then I heard it—a sound so faint I almost missed it. A whimper, coming from somewhere below.

The basement.

My legs moved before my mind could fully process what I was hearing. I yanked open the basement door and flew down the wooden steps, my Luna pendant bouncing against my chest with each hurried step. The basement had always been Stephen's domain—his office, some storage, and...

The holding cells.

We'd used them maybe twice in my five years as Luna, both times for rogues who'd trespassed on our territory. They were meant for enemies of the pack, not—

"Mama?"

The small, broken voice stopped me cold. There, behind the silver bars of the farthest cell, sat my daughter. My beautiful, bright Sophie, huddled in the corner like a frightened animal. Her clothes were dirty, her hair matted, and dark bruises bloomed along her thin arms.

"Sophie!" I rushed to the cell, my hands