For a few seconds, all Lysandra could hear was her own heartbeat.
Loud.
Uneven.
Too human to belong to the creature inside her.
The Shadow Heir's presence still lingered in the air—like cold smoke that refused to fade—but the moment the stranger stepped into the clearing, everything shifted.
The darkness stopped pressing.
The trees stopped whispering.
Her wolf, who had been snarling restlessly moments ago, went strangely quiet.
Who is he…?
Lysandra swallowed, trying to steady her breathing.
"I—I'm fine," she lied automatically.
The boy in front of her didn't look convinced.
His brows drew together, lips parted slightly as he studied her face. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead, and his grey eyes—darker than storm clouds, lighter than ashes—held a softness she wasn't used to.
"Fine people don't sit on the forest floor shaking," he said quietly.
"No offense."
Her lips twitched despite herself.
The forest around them remained unnaturally still. No crickets. No owls. Just the echo of his heartbeat, close enough that her wolf stirred again—this time, not in warning.
In… curiosity.
He extended a hand toward her.
"Come on. Let's get you up."
Lysandra stared at his hand, at the warmth it promised, at the way the callused fingers held steady despite his slightly uneven breathing. He wasn't afraid. Not of the dark forest. Not of her wild, panicked gaze.
And worst of all—
he smelled like home.
Warm skin, faint smoke, and something else she couldn't name. Something human. Something simple.
Something safe.
She hesitated.
Then placed her hand in his.
The contact sent a strange jolt through her arm—nothing magical, nothing burning—just a sudden, sharp awareness of another heartbeat syncing briefly with hers.
He pulled her up gently.
"Thanks," she murmured, brushing dirt from her cloak.
He tilted his head, eyes flicking from her shaking fingers to her pale face.
"You're welcome."
They stood there for a moment, too close and too quiet. The moonlight spilled through the canopy and painted the side of his face in silver. He didn't belong here—Lysandra could tell. His boots were worn, but not from hunting. His clothes were travel-wrinkled, not forest-torn.
"You're not from Luneville," she said.
It wasn't a question.
He huffed a soft laugh.
"Wow. That obvious?"
"Yes."
He smiled, and something inside her chest loosened.
"I'm Evander," he said. "I came through town this morning, but it looked like the kind of place that gossips if you breathe wrong, so I didn't stay long."
Lysandra almost laughed.
"That's… accurate."
"What about you?" he asked. "What are you doing out here in the dark, terrifying murder-forest?"
Her throat tightened.
She couldn't say: Because I'm a Moon Wolf and the monster heir of darkness just tried to claim my soul.
So she shrugged instead.
"I like the quiet."
He glanced around at the trees.
"This is your idea of quiet? The whole place feels like it's watching us."
It was. Just not in the way you think.
Lysandra looked at him carefully.
"You shouldn't be here at night."
"You shouldn't either," he countered.
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
Fair.
Her wolf murmured somewhere deep inside her mind.
He's not afraid of you.
Yet, she thought bitterly.
Evander shoved his hands into his pockets, gaze softening.
"I heard something," he admitted after a moment.
"A scream. That's why I came."
Her chest tightened.
That scream had been hers—ripped from her when shadows wrapped around her ankle, when the Night Heir leaned in too close.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly.
His brows shot up.
"For screaming?"
"For… making you worry."
He shook his head.
"That's not how worrying works. You don't owe anyone an apology for it."
She studied his face again. He looked tired. Not physically—there were no dark circles or sagging shoulders—but in his eyes.
He'd seen things.
Not her kind of things.
Human things.
"Do you always rush toward danger?" she asked softly.
He smirked.
"Only when someone sounds like they need help."
"And what if you're the one who needs help?"
The question slipped out before she could stop it.
His smirk faltered.
For a second, she caught something raw in his gaze—loneliness, maybe, or a weight he hadn't put into words yet.
"Then I'll figure it out," he said lightly.
"I'm still here, aren't I?"
For now, her wolf muttered.
Lysandra cleared her throat.
"You should go back," she said. "The forest isn't safe at night."
"Because of wolves?" he teased.
She tensed.
"Something like that," she managed.
He studied her reaction closely, but didn't push.
Instead, he lifted his chin toward the path behind her.
"I'll walk you home."
Panic flared in her chest.
"No!"
He blinked.
She swallowed, forcing her voice to soften.
"I mean… you don't have to. My house is close. I'll be fine."
He raised a brow.
"You don't look fine."
She hated that he was right.
Everything still ached. Her ankle throbbed where the shadow had grabbed her. Her magic felt like shattered glass slowly gluing itself back together.
But she couldn't bring a stranger near her cottage. Not when every full moon made the walls tremble with suppressed howls.
"I'm used to this forest," she insisted.
"You'd just get scratched up on the way."
He gave her a look that clearly said you're a terrible liar.
"Look," he said, voice dropping to a gentler tone.
"You can either let me walk you closer to town… or stand here arguing with me until something actually dangerous shows up."
Too late for that, she thought.
The dangerous thing had already come and gone.
And he was worse than any Nightborne creature could be.
But Evander—
Evander was different.
Human. Warm. Foolish.
And she wanted…
she wanted to know what it felt like to not be alone for once.
Even if just for a walk.
"Fine," she muttered.
"Just a little way."
He smiled in victory.
"Deal."
They fell into step together, heading down the faint path through the trees. The moon followed them, slipping through branches and painting their shadows long and thin across the forest floor.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Lysandra listened to the quiet crunch of his boots on leaves, the steady rhythm of his breathing. Her wolf paced softly, sniffing at his scent.
He is human.
Her wolf sounded almost… intrigued.
I noticed.
He is not like the others.
That's what scares me.
"Lysandra," Evander said suddenly.
Her heart skipped.
"You remembered my name."
He glanced at her, amused.
"You said it when you first saw me."
Heat crept up her neck.
Had she? She hadn't realized. The name had just… slipped out, as if it had always belonged to him.
She looked away.
"It fits you," she mumbled.
"Oh?" His voice warmed. "And what does it mean?"
She chewed on the inside of her cheek.
"Storm. Or warrior. Depends on which old story you ask."
He huffed a soft laugh.
"Storm, huh? That's dramatic."
"You ran into a cursed forest because someone screamed," she muttered.
"You're not exactly subtle either."
He laughed properly then.
"I like you."
The words were so casually said that they nearly shattered her balance.
Lysandra's heart fluttered painfully.
"You… don't even know me," she whispered.
He shrugged.
"I know you were alone in the woods at night, scared but still standing. That's enough to like you a little."
Her wolf's ears perked up.
This one is dangerous.
He's human. He can't be dangerous to us.
Not to us. To your heart.
Lysandra swallowed.
They walked until the trees thinned and faint town lights blinked between trunks in the distance. Her cottage lay in the other direction, hidden deeper where humans never went.
"This is far enough," she said.
He stopped, turning to face her.
"You sure?"
"Yes."
He searched her face one more time, like he wanted to memorize it.
"The next time you scream," he said quietly,
"I'm still coming."
Her chest tightened.
"The next time I scream," she replied,
"you should run the other way."
He smiled faintly.
"Not happening."
He took a step back, hands in his pockets.
"Goodnight, Lysandra."
She forced herself to smile.
"Goodnight, Evander."
He turned and walked toward the town lights.
She watched him go until the forest swallowed him from view.
Only then did she let the smile drop.
The wind shifted.
The shadows that had retreated started creeping in again.
And somewhere deep inside, the voice she hoped never to hear again slid against her thoughts.
So… you've chosen a storm over shadows.
The Shadow Heir.
Her wolf growled.
Lysandra closed her eyes, hand pressing over her racing heart.
"Stay away from him," she breathed.
"He has nothing to do with this."
A dark chuckle curled through her mind.
Oh, little moon…
You made him part of this the moment you let him touch you.
She opened her eyes.
The path back to her cottage felt longer tonight.
Colder.
But as she walked, one truth kept echoing in her chest:
She wasn't just protecting her secret anymore.
She was protecting Evander.
From her power.
From her destiny.
From the boy in the shadows who already knew her name.
And the moon, hanging heavy over Luneville,
watched in silence—
as the first thread of a three-way fate
tightened around her heart.