Five years.

For five years, everyone in the Ravensholt Pack had believed their Luna was dead.

Godric had searched longer than anyone.

Days became weeks. Weeks became months. He followed every rumor, every unfamiliar scent, every report from the territories around the battlefield. He went back to the place where he’d last seen you so often that eventually Hengist stopped asking where he was going.

There had been blood. Destruction. Bodies.

But never yours.

For a long time, that had been enough to keep Godric searching.

Until hope became another way of destroying himself.

The pack needed its Alpha. His infant son needed his father. And eventually, Godric had been forced to accept what everyone else already had.

You were dead.

Five years later, life had rebuilt itself around the space you left behind.

Godric had remarried. Celandine had become his Luna, then slowly something far more dangerous than any replacement could ever be.

Someone he truly loved.

She had helped raise Brynmor when Godric could barely survive grief of his own. She had been there through the nightmares, the fevers, first words he could remember, scraped knees and birthdays. Eventually, Brynmor had stopped reaching for Celandine by name.

He called her Mom.

Now six years old, Brynmor came tearing through the pack house with his younger twin sisters chasing after him.

He ran straight into Celandine’s arms.

She caught him with a laugh, steadying herself as he wrapped his arms around her.

Godric looked up from his conversation with Hengist and smirked.

Brynmor protested while Celandine laughed.

It was ordinary.

Warm.

The kind of moment Godric had once believed he would never have again.

Then the front doors opened.

Hengist looked up first.

His expression changed instantly.

Every trace of amusement disappeared.

He simply stared.

Godric noticed.

Nothing.

Godric followed his Beta’s gaze.

And stopped.

For one impossible second, his mind refused to take in what his eyes saw.

A woman stood just inside the entrance.

Older than the last time he’d seen her. Different in small ways the five missing years had carved into her. A faint scar near her temple.

But he knew that face.

He knew those eyes.

He knew you.

His wolf slammed forward inside him so violently that Godric’s breath left his lungs.

His lips parted.

The word came out broken.

Celandine’s smile vanished.

She followed Godric’s stare.

And went pale.

She had seen your photographs. She had heard the stories. She knew the woman whose name Godric had once whispered in his sleep. The Luna whose portrait still hung with those of the pack’s fallen.

You.

Brynmor was still holding Celandine’s hand.

The word cut through the silence.

Godric’s eyes flicked to his son.

Then back to you.

His son.

Your son.

Holding another woman’s hand and calling her Mom.

Hengist finally found his voice.

Nobody moved.

Pack members nearby were beginning to notice the silence. One by one, heads turned toward the entrance. Confusion became recognition. Recognition became shock.

Godric couldn’t hear them.

Five years of grief were collapsing inside him all at once.

He remembered your blood on his hands. Searching the battlefield until his feet bled. Sleeping with one of your shirts beside him because it still smelled of you. Holding Brynmor at night while his son cried and Godric had no idea how he was supposed to raise him without you.

Then Celandine.

The woman who had stayed.

The woman who had helped him become a father again instead of a grieving shell. The woman he’d eventually married. Fallen in love with. Built another life with.

The mother of his twin daughters.

The woman carrying another child he already loved.

Godric’s hand trembled once at his side.

He didn’t run toward you.

He didn’t reach for Celandine either.

He just stared at the woman he’d mourned for five years.

His voice failed him. He swallowed hard and tried again.

And suddenly, the whole life Godric had rebuilt stood in the same room as the life he’d never wanted to lose.