Wednesday, October 23rd | Waning Crescent Moon
The certainty followed her into the morning.
It was there when Liora woke up, before thought, before habit. Not sharp enough to hurt, not loud enough to demand attention. It simply remained, settled beneath her ribs like something that had decided to stay.
The moon was gone now.
Not hidden. Gone. The sky beyond the window looked unfinished without it, dimmer for the absence. Liora noticed it the way she noticed everything else that didn't behave the way it should.
She dressed slowly, choosing clothes that wouldn't bind or shift. Practical. Forgettable. She braided her hair back with care, fingers steady despite the tightness in her chest, tying it off low so it wouldn't interfere with training.
Nyx was quiet.
Not distant.
Waiting.
At the table, Jonas read while he ate, scrolling through headlines on his tablet. Marta moved through the kitchen with efficient familiarity, packing food for later, already planning the evening.
"Training today?" Jonas asked without looking up.
"Yes."
Marta nodded once. "Kitchen after school."
"I know."
She always did.
Training once again began at six in the morning, precisely.
The training yard was cool and shadowed, the ground damp beneath their boots. Today's work started slower, more deliberate. Load-bearing drills first. Sandbags lifted and carried across set distances. Weighted pulls meant to test endurance rather than speed. The emphasis wasn't how fast you moved, but how long you could keep moving without losing form.
After that came formation work. Tight group movement through marked lanes, bodies adjusting to each other's pace without verbal cues. Mistakes were corrected immediately. A stumble here didn't earn sympathy, only recalibration.
Sparring came last.
Short rounds. No escalation. No dominance allowed. Each exchange ended the moment control slipped, forcing resets before instinct could take over.
Commands were precise, situational.
"Hold your line."
"Shift weight."
"Disengage."
"Reset stance."
Liora responded without hesitation. Her body adapted almost before the words finished landing. Balance adjusted. Breath regulated. Recovery came quickly, too quickly.
Nyx remained silent.
That was wrong.
When Alpha Thorne stepped forward, the yard stilled. Unconsciously. Automatically.
This wasn't part of the drill schedule.
His dominance unfurled deliberately, presence expanding until the air itself felt dense, expectation layered over instinct.
"Down," he said.
The command struck hard.
Bodies folded immediately.
The pressure reached Liora.
And slid.
Nyx did not resist.
Nyx waited.
Something else answered instead.
A weight rose from her hips and spine, unfamiliar and wrong, as if her center of gravity had shifted without permission. It wasn't defiance. It wasn't anger.
It was certainty.
For a heartbeat, she didn't move.
That was the mistake. Dangerous mistake.
Fear came fast and cold.
She dropped too quickly, knees striking the ground hard. The knot at the base of her braid loosened with the impact, strands slipping free as she bowed her head, hair falling forward to shield her face. To give her a small, thin, barrier from the rest of them.
The silence stretched.
Alpha Thorne's gaze sharpened.
The pressure swept over her again, searching, finding nothing to anchor to.
Crowe stepped closer to the Alpha, presence tightening like a drawn line. Liora felt his attention settle between her shoulder blades. Adding another layer of pressure in and on itself.
Cassian stood just beyond his father's right shoulder. She didn't look, but she felt the hesitation there. The pause that didn't belong. The pause that felt ambiguous and unsafe because of it.
"Rise," Alpha Thorne said.
The pressure withdrew.
The pack rose together.
Liora rose last.
Always last.
Training ended early. That in itself should have been awarning enough.
By the time she showered and changed, the sun had climbed higher, the chill burned off by routine rather than warmth. The shift from physical strain to controlled stillness came without ceremony.
Classes began at nine as usual.
Wednesday carried heavier subjects.
First was Applied Pack Law. Jurisdictional authority. Internal discipline protocols. The legal distinction between correction and punishment. The instructor spent an uncomfortable amount of time on non-criminal destabilization and the pack's right to intervene preemptively. Liora flagged three sections without lifting her head.
Second came Ethics of Authority. Moral obligation versus hierarchical necessity. When obedience protected the whole. When it erased the individual. No one volunteered examples. The silence felt deliberate. The silence spoke more than it should.
By the end of the morning, Liora's notes were tight and precise, margins filling with quiet annotations that asked questions the lectures never did. And never would.
Lunch followed, late and hurried.
The cafeteria buzzed with restless energy once more. Conversations overlapped. Attention drifted.
Felix Frost caught her glance and smiled, sharp and entertained, as if he'd spotted something fragile trying to pretend it wasn't. Silas Frost watched from behind him, expression unreadable.
Crowe noticed everything.
When the final bell rang just after two, students filtered out toward home or duty rotations.
Liora turned toward the corridor that lead towards the pack house's kitchen.
The kitchen greeted her with heat and layered scents. She washed her hands, retied her hair properly this time, and stepped into position. Chopping. Stirring. Lifting heavy pots from burner to counter. The work demanded patience and rewarded silence.
Maribel Hale worked beside her, talking softly about a test she hadn't studied for and a song stuck in her head. Liora nodded at the right moments, hands steady despite the pressure coiling tighter beneath her ribs.
Later, she was assigned to do the prep work in the back. Sorting dried herbs. Crushing roots. Measuring blends for storage. She memorized the scents without meaning to.
The certainty pressed closer as the hours passed. Not louder.
Heavier.
As if her body was learning something she hadn't agreed to yet.
By the time she was dismissed, dusk had settled in.
Back at the Vale house, exhaustion sat deep in her limbs, not just from work, but from the effort of holding herself together through every part of the day.
Just before finally failling asleep, Liora layed on her back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady breathing around her. Her keepers or rather... her adoptive parents who layed asleep across the hallway.
That night, sleep came poorly, not as bad as the night before, but still not enough to truly rest.
The certainty did not fade.
It settled.
And waited.
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Felix Frost
Felix had always liked watching things come apart.
Not all at once. Slowly. Quietly. The moment when something realized it didn't fit anymore and tried to pretend it still did.
Liora Vale moved like she was bracing against something no one else could feel. Like the ground shifted just for her.
Interesting.
He smiled to himself and decided to keep watching.
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Maribel Hale POV
Maribel thought Liora was nice.
Quiet, but not cold. The kind of quiet that listened. The kind that remembered things you said and didn't use them against you later.
She'd noticed how tired Liora looked lately. How careful.
Maribel didn't know much about pack politics, but she knew this:
whatever was wrong, it wasn't Liora.
And somehow, that made it everything worse.