[POV: Dominic]
He was late again. I stood by the window of Evan's quarters, arms crossed, jaw tight, watching the last rays of moonlight flicker through the canopy outside. The shadows grew longer, darker, as night settled over the territory.
Every second of silence that ticked by made my jaw clench tighter, the muscle jumping beneath my skin with barely controlled tension. My fingers dug into my arms where they crossed over my chest, nails biting into flesh hard enough to leave marks.
He always had an excuse. A patrol ran long. A shift needed covering. A rogue spotted near the northern ridge.
Lies. All of them lies. Because I knew where he was going. To him. To Atlas. My pathetic, weeping, self-pitying excuse of a brother.
I breathed in through my nose, slow and practiced, the way I'd trained myself over years of maintaining perfect control. Then I pushed the air out between my teeth, feeling the rage simmer just beneath the surface.
Rage wouldn't work this time. I'd learned that lesson already. The jealousy—the bitter, white-hot envy—would burn through me if I let it, and would consume everything I'd worked so carefully to build. So I didn't. Not yet.
Instead, I turned from the window, letting my expression crumple into something soft, broken and vulnerable. The mask I'd perfected over the years, the one that never failed to work on Evan. I sat on the edge of the bed and waited, arranging myself with deliberate care.
Evan entered minutes later, as expected—slipping through the door like he hadn't been somewhere he shouldn't. Like he could just walk in and everything would be fine. He paused when he saw me, his expression flickering with surprise and something that might have been guilt.
"Dominic?" he asked, his tone cautious, wary. I didn't answer. Not immediately. I let the silence stretch between us, heavy and weighted with unspoken pain. I dropped my gaze to the floor, let my shoulders curl inward, as if I were barely holding myself together. As if his absence had shattered me into a thousand fragile pieces.
I'd perfected this performance over years—knew exactly how much vulnerability to show, how to make my breathing hitch just slightly, how to make my hands tremble in just the right way.
He moved closer, concern etched into his features, a crease forming between his brows. "What's wrong?"
"You've barely looked at me in days," I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, pitching my voice to sound wounded, fragile. "I thought maybe I wasn't enough anymore."
His wolf stirred first. I felt it in the air—his aura faltering, guilt creeping in like a shadow spreading across water. And that's when he slipped.
He lowered the wall. Just for a heartbeat. Just enough. And Gale, my wolf, lunged through the opening before he even realized what had happened.
He found what he needed in a flash—a flicker of his last memory with Atlas. His voice, his scent, the way Evan's wolf stirred protectively when Atlas was near. Still seeing him. Still thinking about him. Still protecting him.
I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat, fought down the surge of fury that threatened to break through my carefully constructed facade. Instead, I let my lip tremble, channeling all that rage into something softer, more manipulative.
Evan stepped forward quickly, dropping to his knees beside me, cupping my face in his large, warm palms.
"Hey, no—don't say that. You're more than enough."
"You don't act like it," I said, dragging my voice through cracked glass, making every word sound like it hurt to say. "I know something's wrong. I feel it every time you look away. Every time you leave without telling me where you're going."
He reached for me, trying to cradle my face and kiss me, to soothe away the accusation with tender affection. That's when I snapped. The mask fell away completely. I shoved his hand away hard and stood, fury burning through every bone, every muscle in my body.
"You think I don't know?" I spat, the words sharp as broken glass. "You think I haven't seen it?"
Evan blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift, confusion and alarm warring in his expression. "Seen what?"
"You've been sneaking off to see him," I snarled, taking a threatening step toward him, closing the distance between us. "My pathetic brother. You keep going to him like he's worth your time, like he deserves anything from you. Like he deserves to even breathe the same air. Every late night, every weak excuse—it's all been for him, hasn't it?"
His face paled, color draining from his cheeks. "Dominic—"
"He doesn't deserve your sympathy," I hissed, my hands shaking with barely restrained rage. "He doesn't deserve anything but pity. You think he's changed? That he's suddenly something better? He's not.”
With each word, Evan’s expression slowly changes. But I don’t stop. “He's still the same weak little nobody he's always been. Crying his way through life and hiding behind anyone who gives him the slightest kindness."
Evan rose slowly, his expression hardening, jaw setting in a way I recognized. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, I do," I said, voice rising, the words echoing off the stone walls, bouncing back at us with sharp intensity. "He's probably spreading his legs for the first wolf who looked at him sideways. Earning his scraps like the desperate little rejected whore he is. Is that what draws you to him? His desperation? His weakness?"
Evan's face went cold, his entire body going rigid. "Enough," he said, voice sharp as a blade cutting through air. But I didn't stop. I couldn't stop now. The floodgates had opened.
"You think he's special? That he's worth throwing me away for?" I laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and ugly even to my own ears. "You're such a fool. He ran away, Evan. He ran like he always does, like the coward he's always been. And now you're just another body he's clinging to—"
"Stop it, right now!" His voice cracked like a whip, silencing me in a single, breathless moment.
Evan's fists were clenched at his sides, his whole body trembling with barely controlled rage. His eyes burned with something I had never seen in his gaze toward me—disgust. Pure, undiluted disgust.
"You know nothing about him," he said, voice shaking with the force of his anger. "You want the truth? Fine. Atlas is doing better without you. Without any of us. He didn't cling to anyone—he fought. He shifted. He won the tournament. He earned his rank as a warrior of the pack. He has friends. A pack that respects him. A happy life."
My heart stumbled, missing a beat.
"He's more than what you've always said he was," he continued, breathing hard now, chest heaving with emotion. "And I don't understand why you can't let him go. Why does it kill you that he's finally okay? You have everything, Dominic. Power. Rank. Me. And still—it's not enough. You want to destroy him."
I stared at him, stunned. Not because of what he said—but because he'd said so much. Too much.