Ezra's POV
The whispers start before Mira even reaches her new room.
Ezra hears them in the common hall as he's reviewing patrol schedules with Tobias. Two female warriors huddled in the corner, their voices low but not low enough.
"Did you see her? That broken thing the Alpha brought back?"
"Pathetic. She can barely walk without shaking."
"Why would he claim someone like that when we're all here? Strong. Capable. Actually worthy of being Luna."
Ezra's jaw clenches so hard his teeth might crack.
"Don't," Tobias says quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Don't do anything you'll regret."
But Ezra's already standing. His eyes are flashing silver. The two warriors notice him and go pale, immediately bowing in submission. They scramble out of the hall like their lives depend on it.
Which, in this moment, they might.
"This is going to get worse," Tobias says once they're gone. "Pack politics. Some of the females had expectations about who'd be your mate."
"I don't care about their expectations," Ezra says coldly. "Mira is my fated mate. That's not negotiable."
"I know. But they don't understand fated bonds the way we do. To them, she looks like a broken stray who seduced you somehow."
Ezra wants to punch something. Wants to gather his entire pack and force them to understand that Mira is worth more than all of them combined.
Instead, he finds Elara.
"I need a private room for Mira," he says. "Somewhere away from the common areas. Somewhere she can recover without having to face anyone."
Elara nods like she's been expecting this request. "I have the perfect place. The east wing. Quiet. Private. I'll prepare it."
By evening, Mira is settled in her new room. It's larger than the previous one, with a view of the mountains. There's a comfortable bed, a wardrobe full of clothes, a small sitting area with books and a writing desk.
Ezra brings her dinner himself.
He knocks gently. "It's Ezra. I brought food."
No response.
He opens the door slowly. She's standing by the window, her back to him, her small frame silhouetted against the fading sunlight. She doesn't turn around when he enters.
"I thought you might be hungry," Ezra says, setting the tray on the table. "Elara made your favorite. Chicken soup with fresh bread."
Still nothing.
"There's also fresh water and fruit if you want something lighter," he continues, keeping his voice gentle. "Let me know if you need anything else."
He waits for a response. Hopes for one.
But Mira just stands there, staring out at the mountains like he doesn't exist.
Ezra leaves the room quietly and closes the door behind him.
This becomes the pattern.
Each day, Ezra brings her meals. Each day, she ignores him. Some meals get eaten. Others sit untouched. He never pushes. Never demands. Just leaves the food and retreats.
Lyanna becomes his only ally in this. The younger Omega visits Mira daily, bringing her water when she's thirsty, brushing her hair when it gets tangled, sitting with her in silence when words aren't enough.
"She's scared," Lyanna tells Ezra one afternoon. "Not of you specifically. Just scared. The pack house is too loud. Too many people. Too much like Silverpine."
"What can I do?" Ezra asks. He hates the helplessness in his own voice.
"Give her time," Lyanna says. "She agreed to stay for three months. But she needs to believe it's real first. Needs to know she can trust that you won't turn into Ronan."
Night falls.
Ezra sits in the hallway outside Mira's room, his back against the wall, listening to the pack house settle into sleep. Most nights are quiet. Tonight is different.
Around midnight, the sounds start.
Crying. Soft at first, then building. Mira's voice breaking as she sobs in her sleep.
Nightmares.
Ezra's hands clench into fists. He wants to go in. Wants to hold her. Wants to tell her she's safe. But he promised her choice. Promised he wouldn't force anything on her.
So he stays in the hallway and listens to his mate suffer and does nothing.
It's the hardest thing he's ever done.
By 2 AM, Ezra's sitting with his head in his hands, his control hanging by a thread. Mira's cries have finally subsided into whimpers. Every sound she makes feels like it's tearing pieces out of his chest.
"You look like hell," Tobias says, appearing with two cups of tea.
Ezra doesn't look up. "Go away."
"Not happening." Tobias sits down beside him and hands him a cup. "Talk to me."
"There's nothing to say," Ezra says. His voice is hollow. "She won't let me help her. She won't even look at me. And every night she's in there having nightmares and I'm out here doing absolutely nothing."
Tobias sips his tea slowly. "What do you want to do?"
"I want to go in there and hold her until the nightmares stop. I want to kill everyone who ever hurt her. I want to make her understand that she's safe now." Ezra's voice cracks. "But I can't do any of that. She doesn't want me near her."
"Did she say that?"
"She doesn't have to say it. Her silence says plenty."
Tobias leans his head back against the wall. "You know what I think? I think she's terrified that if she lets you help, if she starts to trust you, you'll become Ronan. That you'll use her reliance against her."
"I would never—"
"I know," Tobias interrupts. "But she doesn't know that yet. Trust isn't built in days, Ezra. It takes time. It takes consistency. It takes proving yourself over and over again."
"What if I can't reach her?" Ezra asks quietly. "What if the damage is too deep and she never trusts me?"
"Then you keep trying anyway," Tobias says simply. "That's what love is. It's not about getting something back. It's about showing up even when you're terrified you're failing."
Ezra looks at his Beta. At the man who's been his friend since childhood. At the only person who dares to tell him hard truths.
"I don't know how to help her," Ezra admits. His voice breaks on the words. "For the first time in my life, I don't know what to do. I've conquered packs. I've defeated enemies. I've led my warriors through impossible battles. But I can't fix this. I can't fix her."
The admission feels like bleeding.
"She doesn't need to be fixed," Tobias says. "She needs to heal. And you can't do that for her. Only she can."
"Then what am I supposed to do? Sit out here and listen to her suffer?"
"You sit out here and listen," Tobias says. "You show up. You bring her food even though she doesn't eat it. You give her space even though your animal is screaming at you to claim her. You prove that you're different."
Another cry comes from behind the door. Mira, caught in whatever nightmare is plaguing her sleep.
Ezra closes his eyes.
"I feel useless," he says. The words come out raw and broken. "Like I'm failing the one person who matters most in the world."
"You're not failing her," Tobias says. "You're loving her. That's the opposite of failure."
But as Mira's cries continue through the night and Ezra sits helpless in the hallway, it doesn't feel like love.
It feels like the most terrifying kind of powerlessness he's ever experienced.
For the first time in his life, strength doesn't matter.
For the first time, being Alpha doesn't matter.
For the first time, Ezra realizes that the only power that matters is the one he doesn't have.
The power to undo her pain.
And that realization, more than anything else, breaks him.