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Bavanda’s feet barely touched the ground as she hurried down the hallway, heart pounding in her chest. The moment she and Avynna stepped foot inside the pack’s boundary, she’d broken into a run, her only goal: find him.

Her palm trembled as she pushed open the door.

“Loco?”

Silence. She blinked.

The room was colder than usual. The curtains were drawn open, letting light flood into the space they used to share—but it felt hollow, unfamiliar.

The bed was neatly made. Too neatly. The kind of neatness that came from someone walking away.

She stepped in slowly, her breath catching in her throat.vHis jacket—the one he always left draped over the chair—was gone. His boots, missing.

“No...” she whispered, shaking her head.

She turned in a slow circle, as if he might appear from a corner she missed. As if this was some cruel trick and he’d come out with that stupid, crooked grin and say he was just cooling off.

But the room remained still.

She reached for the bedpost, gripping it tightly as her knees threatened to give. The silence screamed at her louder than any voice could.

“He’s gone…”

The words escaped her lips in a soft, broken exhale—like a secret she hadn’t meant to say aloud.

Tears blurred her vision, hot and instant. Her throat closed. She sank to the floor beside the bed, curling into herself like a child.

And then, she broke.

The sobs tore out of her chest—no longer quiet or restrained. No longer the strong warrior, the future Luna, the girl who saved her people. This was just Bavanda—a girl who pushed away the boy who loved her... and came back too late.

“I didn’t mean to push you away...” she whispered, voice raw. “I thought I was protecting you. But all I did was destroy us.”

She buried her face in the blanket that still faintly smelled like him—pine, ash, and something safe. It hit her like a punch to the ribs.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, voice cracking on each syllable.
“Moon Goddess, I’m so sorry...”

The room gave no answer. Only emptiness and the ache of regret. And Bavanda, shattered in the middle of the life she almost had.

Meanwhile, Loco ran until his legs couldn’t carry him anymore. His lungs burned, his chest ached, and his heart—shattered beyond recognition—felt like it had been torn out and buried beneath the earth.

He collapsed beside a crooked tree, knees drawn to his chest. The moon filtered through the canopy above, casting pale light across his tear-streaked face. He didn’t even bother to wipe the tears away.

“Why wasn’t I enough…?” he whispered into the cold.

For a moment, there was only the wind, brushing against leaves like soft murmurs. Then, 

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” a voice said gently.

Loco’s head snapped up. He wasn’t alone.

A girl stood a few feet away, wearing a soft, cloak-like shawl. Her hair caught the moonlight like spun silver, and her eyes—wise, knowing—watched him not with pity, but understanding.

He blinked. “Who—who are you?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she knelt near him, leaving a respectful distance.

“I don’t need to be someone for you to talk to me.” Her voice was harmonious. “You look like you really need someone to talk to." 

He hesitated. But the weight was too much, the ache too sharp. Maybe it was the way she said it—or how she didn’t ask anything else—but something inside him cracked open.

His lips trembled as he spoke. “I gave up everything. I loved her with every bit of me. Yet… it wasn't enough.”

He told her. Everything.

The love he had poured into Bavanda. The way he thought they were finally healing. The ring. The silence. The look in her eyes when she ran. The way he hated himself for hoping.

He didn’t know how long he spoke. But the stranger just listened. No interruptions. No judgments.

And when he could no longer hold his head up, she reached out and held his hand.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said softly. “And even if it had been… loving someone too much is never a crime.”

They sat like that for a while—two shadows beneath the moon.

When he finally rose, he felt hollowed out—but lighter. Loco dusted himself off, glanced at her.

She didn't look at him. “It's getting really late," she said. “You should really head back.”

Loco nodded, his eyes fixed intently on her. "Am I dreaming? Are you even real, or this is what happens when one gets their heart broken?”

She laughed softly, the sound a sweet melody. “Only time will tell." 

“Will I… see you again?” Loco dared to ask.

She gave a small smile, stepping away into the trees. “Maybe.”

And just like that, she was gone.

Loco returned to the pack in silence, something strange and warm flickering inside his chest. He didn’t even know her name—but as he lay in bed that night, eyes on the ceiling, he couldn’t stop thinking about the girl in the woods.

The morning after, he felt lighter. He had slept in one of the guest rooms far away from everyone else, hoping to avoid all the attention. And her too!

However, that morning, he found himself caring less as he stepped out.

Pack members gathered in front of the meeting hall as an elder, Thalos, stepped forward, placing a hand on a young woman’s shoulder.

“My daughter has returned to us after many seasons of study and service in the western highlands. She will be joining our healers for a while.”

Loco’s eyes widened as the girl stepped forward. She met his gaze with a soft smile.

“This is Selene.”

He wasn't dreaming afterall.

The gathering slowly dispersed as Thalos wrapped up his announcement, and wolves trickled back into their daily routines. Loco remained by the steps, unsure if he should approach her. Selene stood quietly, speaking to a few of the healers. She wore her long hair loosely today, golden strands catching in the breeze.

He almost turned away—until she glanced over her shoulder and caught his gaze.

Selene smiled softly, then tilted her head. An invitation.

Loco walked over slowly. His steps weren’t confident. He still felt hollow from the night before—but something about her presence soothed the sting, even if only slightly.

“So… Selene,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess I wasn’t hallucinating last night.”

She gave a small laugh, warm and quiet. “You were very real. And very dramatic.”

He chuckled despite himself. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.” She looked up at him. “You needed someone. I just happened to be there.”

He nodded, the silence between them comfortable rather than awkward.

“You’re not a healer though,” he observed. “You move like a fighter.”

Selene arched her brow, teasing. “Maybe I’m both.”

“That’s unfair,” Loco said, smirking. “Beautiful and deadly?”

She gave a low, amused hum, then turned toward the gardens. “Walk with me?”

He followed without hesitation. They strolled between blooming herbs and small trees, the morning sun spilling gold across the soil. Their conversation stayed light—favorite seasons, odd pack traditions, how Loco once nearly burned down the mess hall trying to cook.

Selene laughed so hard she had to hold her stomach, and Loco grinned for the first time in what felt like ages.

Eventually, they paused at the edge of the garden, and she faced him again.

“Thank you for trusting me last night,” she said gently.

He looked at her for a long moment. “No, I should be the one thanking you. Thanks for showing up.”

She reached out and gently touched his wrist—a fleeting gesture.

“I'll see you around, Loco.”

He watched her walk away, the morning sun lighting her like a promise. And something in his chest skipped.