Chapter 5

It was still dark when Cain burst out of Serena's apartment.

He started the car and tore toward Moonfall Lake, one hand on the wheel, the other dialing my number over and over. Every time, the same automated message—powered off.

His Beta called in, voice tight: "Alpha, the patrol team is at the lake. All they found was Luna's jacket and her phone. The water's too deep—they can't see anything."

"Did she contact anyone in the Pack before this?"

"She tried calling you multiple times last night. None of them went through. The patrol tried to reach you too—no answer on your end either."

Cain glanced at his phone. The screen was lined with over twenty missed calls—mine, his Beta's, the patrol team's. All from after he'd fallen asleep at Serena's place.

The phone hadn't been turned off. It had been switched to silent, and it wasn't on him—it was on the coffee table in the living room.

He was certain he hadn't put it on silent.

He dialed Serena's number.

Her voice came through, tinged with hurt: "I didn't touch your phone. Maybe you bumped it when you set it down. How could you accuse me over something like this?"

Cain didn't respond. He hung up and floored the gas.

By the time he reached Moonfall Lake, the sun was up.

A perimeter of caution tape surrounded the shore. The patrol team and several Elders were standing by the water.

The Gamma came over and reported in a low voice: my jacket had been folded neatly, placed on a rock at the water's edge, my phone tucked beneath it, screen unlocked. The patrol had swept the entire perimeter of the lake. At the edge of the cliff, they'd found footprints—facing the water. An underground river ran beneath the lake. The current was deep and fast. Anyone who fell in wouldn't come back up.

An Elder walked over and asked Cain: "Has your Luna been acting unusual lately?"

Cain shook his head. "She was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary."

The Gamma looked at him but said nothing.

Cain was still standing by the lake when his phone buzzed.

His Beta again. Something off in his tone: "Alpha, you need to check the Pack communication channel."

Cain opened the channel. My timed message had gone out.

The first post was my notes. Dozens of pages of handwritten herbal research, every page in my handwriting, dates marked in the bottom right corner—the earliest entries going back three years. The complete derivation of the silver poisoning antidote filled an entire chapter—from initial hypothesis, through rounds of revision, to the final version. "Moonflower must be harvested on the night of the new moon"—that line was written in the margin of page three, with an arrow drawn beside it.

The second post was a comparison. My original notes on the left. Screenshots from the slides Serena had used at the healer symposium on the right. Not similar in direction—identical, down to the punctuation.

The third post was the safe. The input log on the combination lock screen, showing the last successful code was Serena's birthday. Photos taken after the door was opened—piled with pictures of Serena, along with video screenshots.

The last post was a message.

"I was Cain's fated mate for three years. In those three years, he handed my research to another woman, erased my name from my own work, and told me to stay home and rest. Today is our mating anniversary. He promised to be here. He didn't come. This is the last time."

Cain's hand was shaking as he held his phone.

He scrolled back through the photos of my notes, page by page. He'd seen those notebooks before. They'd always been on the shelf in my study. He'd catch a glimpse of them when he walked past.

But he'd never once opened a single page.

The Pack communication channel had erupted. Everyone was sharing, everyone was talking. The news spread from Blackthorn Pack to the neighboring Packs, then to the Alliance.

In under three hours, the entire community knew—the Alpha of Blackthorn Pack's Luna was the true creator of that formula, and the woman who'd been awarded the title of Alliance Chief Healer Consultant had built her reputation on stolen work.