It’s been three months. Three months since Devon died by my hands. Three months since I got arrested for the murder of the Alpha I had obsessed over, hated, and loved in equal asures. Three months since I’d been locked in Silvercrest Prison, and yet, it feels like yesterday.
The walls of this cell don’t just close in, they also swallow whole. At night, he visits. Always. I see him in the dark, his grey eyes boring into mine, unblinking, silent. I speak to him sotis, the imaginary figure he has beco my only companion.
"Do you miss , Alpha?" I whisper to the shadows.
No answer, but I imagine his smirk anyway, the slow curl of those lips that could ruin a person with one look.
The other won in the block have started giving strange looks. So mutter about madness behind their hands. I smile at them, bare teeth, and tell them, "Only he and I understand each other. He made a promise to haunt when I finally kill him, and he is keeping his promise."
They blink. They retreat. They don’t understand. I don’t care.
Only Gideon and Brielle co to see now. Gideon is now Alpha of Ironfang Pack, the only one still tethered to the wreckage of my life, he reports everything from the outside.
"Silvercrest backed out." He tells one night. Following the murder of their Alpha, Silvercrest threatened war against Ironfang but they suddenly retreated, choosing to mourn their Alpha in peace. A month later, they rged with the North, now becoming part of them, disappearing quickly like they never existed.
"Your father’s been released," he tells on another visit, his voice clipped but warm. "He’s whole, healthy, enjoying his retirent. You have nothing to worry about there."
I nod, but the sting remains. He hasn’t even sent a ssage. He hasn’t co himself. Part of understands. I saw him that night, the scene with Devon, and... well. There’s no coming back from that. Still, I had hoped—
I had hoped he would co tonight.
Tomorrow, they say, my head will fall. The executioners have schedules, and Silvercrest follows them religiously. My last night is supposed to be tonight, and yet, he isn’t here. Only Gideon is.
He enters the visiting room, expression twisted, eyes rimd red. I don’t need to speak; the apology is already there. He collapses into the chair across from .
"I’m sorry," he whispers. "I can’t... I can’t get you out. Not now. Not before..." His voice cracks, and he shakes. "I’m sorry, Irene."
I reach across the table, grasp his hands, feel the roughness of his skin, the tension in his fingers. I squeeze. "Don’t. Don’t waste your tears. It’s fine. I’m not afraid."
"You’re... you’re going to die tomorrow." His words tremble. "And I can’t do anything to stop it."
I shrug. "I know. But you don’t have to worry. I’ve no regrets. At least I’ll die knowing I avenged Baron. That’s all that matters."
He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His chest heaves with the effort of holding back more tears. "I just..."
"Don’t. Just don’t," I say, voice steady. "You’ve done enough already."
When the prison guard finally appears to collect , the tal cuffs biting into my wrists, Gideon leans forward, voice low but steady.
"I’m proud of you," he says.
I nod, expression blank. The guard’s hand grips mine, and I rise. Step after step, I follow them back to my cell, heart pounding, throat thick. Tomorrow, the execution.
Back in the cell, I sit against the wall, throat aching with the weight of my thoughts. I close my eyes. I rember.
I rember the last night with Devon. The way he had made lose myself, how he had taken apart piece by piece before I struck. His blood on my hands. The way he filled whole with his length. His smirk when I finally dragged the blade of my claws across his throat. The warmth of him even in death.
A laugh escapes , high, unhinged.
"Crazy," I whisper to the shadows, letting it roll through my chest.
My cellmates murmur, complain. I ignore them. I wrap my arms around myself, rocking slightly.
"When we et in hell, Devon," I murmur into the dark, "we continue our crazy ga."
I pace once, then collapse back against the wall. The lump in my throat burns. I taste the tal in my mouth, rember the warmth of his skin, the weight of his obsession pressed against mine. And I smile. Because I won.
Morning arrives, pale and indifferent. Sunlight presses against my skin through the narrow window slit, reminding that today is the day. The day they will cut my head from my body. The day I will die as the murderer of Devon Warner.
Brielle sends a letter, pressed under the door with ticulous care, her script trembling. I don’t read it. Can’t. If I break now, if I allow myself a mont to feel anything more than the dark thrill of my own survival and revenge, I might collapse.
The prison guard enters, uniform stiff, badge gleaming.
"You have a visitor," he says, tone neutral, professional.
I glance up, instinctively thinking Gideon. "I’m not interested in—"
"Not Gideon," the guard interrupts, eyebrow raised. "Gamma of the North."
I pause. My interest piqued despite myself. Curiosity wins over fatigue and fear. I follow him, the chain between my wrists clinking with each step.
The visitor’s room is small, sterile, but I halt at the threshold when I see him. My steps resu, cautious, precise, as I close the distance.
"What do you want?" I ask, sharp.
Simon smiles faintly. "Hey. There’s no ti left, so I’ll be brief."
I roll my eyes. "You’re definitely not the last person I want to speak to before my execution. So, really... I’m not interested."
"Except," he says with a small, confident smile, "your death wouldn’t be happening if you listen to ."
I blink. My brow furrows. He has my attention now, unwilling as I am.
"I don’t—"
"I was offered the role of Gamma of the North three weeks ago," he continues. "I didn’t plan to accept it, but then I thought of you, of how it could help you. I accepted imdiately. Yesterday was the coronation."
I snap at him. "Get to the point. I have ten hours left before the execution, and I don’t have patience for riddles."
He leans forward slightly, voice calm but intense. "You will be pardoned if you beco the Gamma-Luna of the North. Right now."
I frown, disbelief lining every feature. "You’re spilling crap. You’re wasting my ti."
"Legally," he says, eyes locking on mine, "any high-ranked wolf in the North can be bailed, regardless of the cri. Your sentence can be nullified."
I tilt my head, trying to catch any hidden aning. "So... you an... you can bail out?"
He nods. Calm, sure, unwavering.
"Only," he adds, voice low, deliberate, "if you accept to marry and beco my Gamma-Luna... right now."
I freeze. Thoughts collide in my mind like colliding waves.
The room is silent. My wrists ache from the chains. My heart thrums, wild and untad. My life is about to change in a way I never imagined—and Simon is smiling like he already owns it.
I take a deep, shuddering breath. The execution looming in the evening, the mory of Devon’s blood on my hands, the ghost of my obsession, and now... this.
The choice hangs in the atmosphere between us.
And I realize, as I stare at him, that the next words I speak may very well save —or seal my fate.
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