[POV: Evan]
I'd never been more nervous in my life. Not during my warrior trials. Not during my first mission beyond the Midnight Crest borders. Not even the day I was chosen to stand beside Dominic as his future mate, when my entire future was decided in a single conversation. No.
This—this moment, sitting beside Atlas beneath a crooked moonlit tree, his face shadowed and worried, vulnerable in a way he'd never been before—this was what made my heart quake, what made my hands tremble.
Because I was finally about to say everything I should've said years ago. Everything I'd been too much of a coward to admit when it mattered.
And I didn't know if it was too late. Didn't know if the damage I'd done could ever be repaired.
He hadn't pulled away when I took his hand. But he hadn't leaned in either. His fingers were cold against mine, trembling slightly, but his skin didn't flinch beneath my touch.
His gaze, when it met mine, held a thousand things—old pain that cut like knives, guarded affection he was trying to hide, and something that looked like hope… or maybe just habit. The muscle memory of what we used to be.
I took a breath. Held it until my lungs burned. Then finally, I spoke, my voice barely steady.
"I was a coward." His eyes flicked to me again, blue and luminous in the moonlight. Still silent. Waiting. "I chose Dominic because it was easier,"
I continued, the words tasting like ash. "Because I thought I had no choice. Because Rau—my wolf—kept telling me power was what only mattered. That I needed to be strong. Ruthless. That love was weakness. And Dominic... he was the right move on paper. The smart choice. The one everyone expected."
I exhaled shakily, voice low and rough. "But it was never about him. It never felt right, not from the beginning. Every moment with him felt wrong, like I was betraying something fundamental. And you—" I looked at him then. Really looked, letting myself see him without the walls I'd built.
He was still so achingly familiar. The same boy I'd fallen in love with when we were too young to know what love meant. But different now. Sharper, stronger, like he'd been tempered by everything he'd survived. Like the quiet boy I once knew had been reforged in fire and emerged as something more.
"You were always the one," I said, voice barely above a whisper, afraid speaking louder would shatter this fragile moment. "Even when I didn't know how to admit it. Even when I told myself I was doing the right thing—I knew. I've always known."
His lashes lowered slightly, casting shadows on his cheeks, and I noticed the subtle twitch in his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way he held himself like he was bracing for a blow.
He was listening. Really listening. I pushed forward, knowing I might not get another chance.
"I broke something when I left you behind," I said, my throat tight with emotion I'd suppressed for years. "When I stayed with him instead of fighting for you. When I chose power over love. I see that now. I see what I destroyed. And I know saying sorry isn't enough."
I swallowed hard, forcing the next words out. "But I need you to know—I loved you. I still love you. I think a part of me always has, even when I was trying to convince myself otherwise." His lips parted, just a little, breath catching. But he didn't speak. Didn't move.
I could feel the wall between us, built from years of hurt and betrayal. Not unbreakable, but worn thin in places. Fragile. And full of sharp edges that would cut us both if we weren't careful.
We sat in silence for a long moment, both of us surrounded by words we didn't say, by the weight of years of miscommunication and missed chances.
Then—slowly—I reached out. Not forcefully. Not desperately. Just… gently, giving him every opportunity to pull away, to tell me to stop.
My hand found his again, and this time I lifted it between us, cradling it like something precious. My fingers traced the back of his hand, memorizing the feel of his skin, then stilled. I looked at him, asking for permission without saying a word, letting my eyes convey everything I couldn't voice.
He didn't stop me. But he froze. Just for a heartbeat, his entire body going still. Like his body didn't know how to move. Like something inside him had slammed on the brakes, torn between wanting and fearing.
My heart sank. I almost pulled away, almost let him go. Almost. But then—he leaned forward. Barely. Just enough that I could feel his breath ghost across my lips. And it was all I needed, all the permission I was going to get.
I kissed him. Soft. Slow. Careful, like he was made of glass and might shatter. It wasn't the kiss of a warrior or a wolf claiming their mate.
It was the kiss of a boy who'd once watched him laugh beside a creek, who'd seen him dance with fireflies lighting his hair and mud on his boots, who'd fallen in love with kindness and gentleness in a world that valued neither.
It was a kiss years in the making. A kiss full of apologies I couldn't voice, and longing I'd buried deep, and the ache of everything we never got to be, all the futures we'd lost.
His lips were warm against mine, soft and yielding, his breath caught between us. And for a moment—just one perfect, crystalline moment—I let myself believe this could be the beginning of something new. That we could reclaim what we'd lost, that love could be enough.
But then he pulled away. Not abruptly. Not coldly. Just… withdrew, putting distance between us with something unreadable flickering in his eyes.
Like his soul was fighting itself. Like he wanted to stay but something was pulling him away.
He didn't speak or run. Just looked at me, his eyes flickering like candlelight in the wind, reflecting emotions I couldn't name.
"Atlas—" I began, reaching for him. CRACK. The sound shattered the moment like glass thrown against stone. We both jerked toward the trees, bodies tensing.
Another noise—closer this time. A footstep. A rustle. The snap of something heavier moving through the brush, deliberate and purposeful.
Someone was there. Watching. Had they seen us? Instinct took over, years of training overriding emotion.
He stood first, fluid and quick. I followed, already scanning the shadows, my senses stretching outward, searching for threats.
"I got to go," he said abruptly, voice tight with something I couldn't identify, before lowering his gaze and vanishing into the forest like smoke, like shadow, using those powers of his to disappear.
But the warmth of him still lingered on my lips. And the look in his eyes wouldn't leave me, burned into my memory like a brand.
It was the look of someone who wanted to choose me, who wanted to believe we could have another chance—
But couldn't. Because something held him back. Someone else. Or maybe just the weight of prophecy and fear. And I didn't know if I'd ever get another chance to change his mind.