The bells faded, but their echo did not.
Aria felt it long after the holy convocation dispersed—the way belief clung to the air, heavy and unresolved. The Lunarch Order had not condemned her, but neither had they released her. Suspension was its own kind of sentence.
"Deferred judgment," Eamon muttered as they walked back toward Frostfall's temporary camp. "A clever limbo."
Ronan's jaw was set tight. "It keeps her visible and vulnerable."
Aria nodded. "That's the point."
They reached the edge of the camp just as night settled in fully. Fires burned low. Wolves spoke in hushed voices. Too hushed.
Ronan noticed immediately.
"Something's wrong," he said.
Eryndor met them near the perimeter, expression strained. "We've had… discussions."
Ronan's eyes flashed. "About what?"
"About her," Eryndor said quietly, glancing at Aria. "Some believe Frostfall is becoming a target because of the Moonbreaker."
Aria felt the familiar sting—but she kept her voice calm. "They're not wrong."
Eryndor swallowed. "Some are asking whether loyalty to the Alpha should outweigh survival of the pack."
Ronan stopped walking.
The camp seemed to shrink around them.
"Who," he said carefully, "is asking that?"
Eryndor hesitated. "The eastern sentries. And… two elders."
Aria felt Ronan's fury surge through the bond—hot, violent, protective.
She stepped closer to him. "Don't."
He turned sharply. "They're questioning me."
"They're afraid," Aria said softly. "Fear looks for exits."
Ronan exhaled hard. "I won't let them turn you into one."
⸻
The Crack in Frostfall
The council chamber was colder than usual.
Torches burned, but no warmth reached the stone walls. Elders sat in a loose half-circle, expressions guarded. Wolves who had once followed Ronan without hesitation now avoided his eyes.
The eldest among them—Harrow—cleared his throat.
"We need to discuss Frostfall's future," he began.
Ronan folded his arms. "Then speak plainly."
Harrow nodded. "The Moonbreaker draws attention. Enemies. Faith-based movements. Political coalitions."
Aria stood still beside Ronan, spine straight.
"Some believe," Harrow continued carefully, "that Frostfall should distance itself from her… temporarily."
The words landed like ice.
Ronan's claws slid free with a soft scrape. "You're asking me to abandon my mate."
"No," Harrow said quickly. "We're asking you to protect the pack."
Aria closed her eyes briefly.
"This was inevitable," she said quietly.
Ronan turned to her. "No. It isn't."
She met his gaze. "They're choosing between fear and trust."
Harrow spoke again. "If Frostfall publicly withdraws support, the Order will hesitate. The Concord will pause. The pressure eases."
"And Aria?" Ronan demanded.
Harrow's silence was answer enough.
Ronan's voice dropped to a growl. "You'd offer her to the wolves."
Aria stepped forward then.
"I will not let Frostfall fracture because of me," she said clearly. "If my presence endangers you—"
Ronan spun on her. "Stop."
She touched his hand gently. "Listen."
She turned back to the elders. "I won't hide. But I won't force Frostfall to stand in my shadow."
Harrow looked relieved. "Then you'll leave?"
Before Aria could answer—
The Devourer whispered.
Not to her.
To Ronan.
⸻
The Offer
The world narrowed.
Ronan felt it like a sudden silence inside his skull, like snow muffling sound.
They will tear themselves apart, the Devourer murmured calmly.
You can stop this.
Ronan stiffened—but did not answer.
You don't need to bind me, it continued. You only need to guide them.
Images flooded him.
Frostfall whole again.
Elders united.
Aria safe—far away, untouched by politics.
Let me take the weight, the Devourer offered.
I will give you certainty.
Ronan's breath hitched.
"You're lying," he growled internally.
I am honest, the Devourer replied smoothly.
I don't need her power. I need your authority.
Ronan felt the temptation—not dominance, not cruelty.
Relief.
The chance to stop the bleeding.
One decision, the Devourer whispered.
And no one else suffers.
The bond flared violently.
Aria gasped, clutching her chest.
Ronan snapped back to the chamber.
Aria stared at him, eyes wide. "Ronan?"
He was shaking.
"Get out," he snarled suddenly—at the elders.
Silence slammed down.
"Now."
No one argued.
When the chamber emptied, Ronan turned to Aria, breath ragged.
"It spoke to me," he said hoarsely.
Her face went pale. "What did it offer?"
He hesitated.
Then told her everything.
⸻
The Hardest Truth
Aria listened without interruption.
When he finished, she closed her eyes—not in fear.
In understanding.
"It's trying to separate us," she said softly. "Not physically. Philosophically."
Ronan ran a hand through his hair, furious with himself. "For a moment, it made sense."
She stepped closer. "That doesn't make you weak."
"It makes me dangerous," he snapped. "If I'd said yes—"
"But you didn't," she interrupted.
He met her gaze. "I didn't answer."
She took his hands, grounding him.
"That's enough."
Eamon entered quietly, having sensed the disturbance. "It offered him certainty," he said grimly. "That was inevitable."
Ronan glared. "You knew this could happen."
"Yes," Eamon admitted. "But I also knew he'd refuse."
Ronan laughed bitterly. "You're giving me too much credit."
Eamon shook his head. "No. I'm acknowledging the bond."
Aria nodded slowly. "It can't break us from the outside. So it's testing our reasons."
⸻
A Decision Made Together
Ronan straightened, resolve hardening.
"They won't exile you," he said firmly. "If Frostfall fractures, it fractures with us."
Aria's throat tightened. "That will cost them."
"It already is," he replied.
She searched his face. "And if it comes again?"
Ronan didn't hesitate. "Then I tell you. Every time."
The bond pulsed—stronger.
Eamon exhaled quietly. "Then we prepare for escalation."
Aria nodded. "The Devourer won't tempt me next."
Ronan's eyes darkened. "No. It will try to make me choose against you."
She smiled faintly. "Good luck with that."
⸻
The Order Moves
As dawn approached, a sealed message arrived.
The Lunarch Order requested Aria's presence—alone—for private deliberation.
Ronan crumpled the parchment in his fist. "Absolutely not."
Aria read the seal carefully.
"They think separating us weakens the bond," she said.
"It does," Eamon warned.
She looked at Ronan, steady and calm. "Or it proves it."
Ronan stared at her. "You're not going alone."
"No," she agreed. "I'm going visible."
She turned to Eamon. "Summon witnesses. Elders. Packs."
Eamon's brows rose. "You want to force transparency."
"Yes," Aria said quietly. "Fear hates daylight."
Far beneath stone and seal, the Devourer recoiled—not angry—
Concerned.
Because for the first time, its most effective weapon—division—had failed to take hold.
And the bond remained unbroken.