162

The next day, he went to the Alpha’s house.

The sun was beginning to fall when a scout arrived at the Alpha’s house, breathless and wide-eyed.

“He’s back,” the scout said. “Loco’s back.”

Avynna froze mid-step. The cup in her hand dropped, shattering across the wooden floor. Baron looked up from his seat, disbelief etched across his face.

“Where?” Avynna asked, though her voice cracked around the word.

“He’s on his way here to see you.”

By the time she and Baron stepped onto the porch, the pack—those that hadn't already seen him—had already begun to gather—some curious, others tense.

He looked worn out, thinner, shadows beneath his eyes—but unmistakably him.

Avynna’s breath hitched. She hadn't realized how tightly she'd been holding her grief until that moment. She took a step forward, but Baron’s hand gently caught her wrist.

“Let me,” he murmured.

Baron descended the stairs slowly. His broad shoulders were stiff, his expression unreadable. When he stopped before Loco, they stood in silence for several moments.

“You left her,” Baron said, his voice low, raw.

“I know,” Loco replied. “I know I did.”

“Why come back now?”

Loco’s eyes lifted. They glistened with something deep, ancient. “Because I feel her… slipping away. And I think I’m already too late.”

Baron didn’t answer immediately. He stared into the boy’s face—into the man who once held his daughter’s heart—and searched for something.

Truth, maybe. Or guilt.

He found both.

Baron finally stepped aside. “Then you better be ready to fight for her.”

Only then did Avynna approach, her arms folded tightly against her chest, her expression unreadable.

“You hurt her,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare hurt her again.”

“I won’t,” Loco said. “Not this time.”

She studied him. Then, with a shuddering breath, she nodded.

“Then come in. We have much to talk about.”

Avynna and Baron sat across from him in their private study. The room was dim, the air thick with tension. Avynna looked exhausted, shadows haunting her once-bright eyes. Baron hadn’t spoken yet, but his fists were clenched tight on the desk.

“I need you to hear me,” Loco said slowly. “And not just as her mate. As someone who knows her. Intimately.”

Avynna gave a curt nod. “Go on.”

“She’s not Bavanda.”

The words shattered the silence like glass.

Baron finally looked up. “Explain.”

“She’s close, yes. The way she walks, how she smiles, even her memories. But it’s not her, not really. Her aura’s wrong. Her scars are gone. She forgets things she should remember, and she says things Bavanda would never say.”

Avynna’s voice was a whisper. “You’re sure?”

“I found one of my old letters,” Loco said, reaching into his coat. He placed the charred parchment on the desk. “It was half-burnt, tossed behind the barn. Bavanda kept every letter I ever gave her. Even the ones she hated.”

Baron stared at the paper, unmoving.

“I think she’s being mimicked. Replaced, or possessed, maybe.”

“She came back from death,” Baron said quietly. “Anything could’ve followed her back.”

Avynna stood suddenly and paced the room. “I knew something was wrong.”

Baron glanced up. “So what do we do?”

Loco exhaled, voice low and firm. “We don’t confront her—not yet. She’s watching. She’s playing a part. We let her think she has us fooled… and we watch her.”

Avynna and Baron exchanged glances before they nodded quietly. Loco rose to his feet, bowing slightly. “I will take my leave now."

However, as he made to leave, Avynna called him back. He turned to see her standing, and before he could blink, she covered the distance between them and threw her arms around him.

Loco stiffened for a minute, he turned to Baron, but the latter looked away.

Avynna sniffed lightly. “I'm sorry, Loco. For everything, none of it was your fault and we shouldn't have let you walk away like that. Can you forgive us?” She said.

Loco swallowed. He came here for Bavanda, there was no use holding unto the past..of he did that, he wouldn't be able to save her. And if he couldn't save her, then what was his use?

Loco nodded slightly against her embrace. "I hold no grudges, Luna.”

Avynna sniffed again. "Please… please, promise me you'll save Bavanda. Whatever it is this time, promise me you won't give up."

Loco's heart ached. “I didn't give up last time. I won't this time either.” He paused, gritting his teeth. "I promise.”

***

In the following days, Loco became a ghost in his own home.

He followed her, subtly. Noted her disappearances—always at dusk or shortly before dawn. Once, he tracked her to the old riverbed, where she stood for nearly an hour, staring at her reflection and whispering to it. Another night, she was gone completely until morning, returning with muddy boots and a fresh cut across her wrist—which she healed before anyone could ask.

He returned to places they’d once visited—old hiding spots, the training cliffs, the carved oak they’d once engraved their initials into.

Everything was cold. Even the forest seemed to hold its breath.

The final straw came days later.

Loco entered her room looking for a scarf he’d gifted her years ago. He found the drawer locked—strange, for Bavanda. He picked it carefully.

Inside were items he didn’t recognize. Small bone talismans. A vial of pitch-black liquid. A page from a journal—his journal—that he never gave her.

And at the very bottom, a map marked with an unfamiliar symbol, drawn in ash.

His breath caught. He knew then.

This wasn’t a case of memory loss, neither was this a trauma response.

Something else had taken her place.

He returned to Avynna and Baron that night. Showed them the items.

Avynna wept silently.

Baron simply nodded.

“We need Atena,” he said darkly. “Now.”

“And we need to find out,” Loco added, “where the real Bavanda is… before it’s too late.”

Avynna swallowed, she hesitated but went ahead to say. “Let me talk to her."

Baron and Loco turned to her, but said nothing.

The evening light spilled like honey across the training field, golden and warm. It should have brought peace. But Avynna’s heart felt like stone.

She stood at the edge of the courtyard, half-hidden behind a column of ivy-streaked stone, arms folded, her eyes fixed on her daughter.

No—the girl who wore her daughter’s face.

Bavanda knelt among the children, smiling as they offered her dandelions and small, muddy rocks like treasures. Her laughter rang through the air—light, melodic. It sounded right.

Avynna’s wolf stirred beneath her skin, restless, because the smile didn’t reach her eyes. Not the way it used to.

There was no crinkle at the corners, no sparkle of mischief. Just… precision. It felt like a performance. Every gesture was too perfect, too calculated. Like someone remembering how to be loved.

And then she saw it.

One of the little pups—Jaya, barely six—tugged at Bavanda’s braid, giggling. “Your hair is so long! You’re like a princess!”

The clone’s hand shot out, fast as a whip. She gripped Jaya’s arm—tight. Her nails dug into the child’s soft skin.

Avynna stiffened.

The girl’s eyes widened with sudden fear, but before she could cry out, the clone leaned in, whispered something Avynna couldn’t hear, and released her.

The smile returned instantly. Bavanda kissed the top of Jaya’s head. The other pups clapped, laughing, unaware.

Jaya did not laugh again.

Avynna stepped back into shadow, hand trembling over her heart.

That’s not her. That was not her daughter. But even thinking it felt like betrayal.

What if she was wrong? What if she was just… scarred? Hurt? Trying to heal?

She tried to believe it, clung to it like a mother drowning in her own hope.

But that night, she couldn’t stay silent any longer.

The moon cast a pale silver glow over the great hall, quiet and still. Bavanda sat before the fire, brushing her hair in long, deliberate strokes.

Avynna entered quietly. Her hands were clenched into fists to stop the shaking.

“Bavanda,” she said softly.

The clone looked up. “Mama.”

That word. It should’ve wrapped around Avynna like warmth, but tonight, it cut.

“I need to ask you something,” Avynna said, moving closer. “Do you remember the song I used to sing… the one that always calmed your wolf when you couldn’t sleep?” She tried to fake a smile. “I can't seem to remember it, no matter how I try”

The clone blinked. “You sang a lot of songs.”

“Yes, but there was one. One you used to hum back to me. Even when you were little.”

Silence stretched. It did, for too long.

Then the clone stood. She turned toward Avynna, eyes glassy, voice trembling. “You don’t believe in me either, do you?”

Avynna’s breath hitched. “That’s not…”

“I came back from hell, and all you see are shadows!” The clone's voice cracked, full of pain, too perfect in its grief. “You think I want to feel different? To be different?”

“Bavanda…”

“I died for this pack! For you. And now you look at me like I’m some stranger? Do you know how much that hurts?”

Tears spilled freely down Avynna’s cheeks now, her lips trembling.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just… I need to know you’re still her. My baby girl.”

The clone didn’t answer. She walked past her—slow, quiet.

The door closed behind her like a tomb. Avynna stood in the silence, trembling.

She wiped her face, turned toward the bedroom she once shared with her daughter, and walked to the balcony where Baron stood watching the night.

“She didn’t remember the song,” Avynna whispered.

Baron didn’t move.

Avynna touched his arm, voice so low it barely left her throat.

“Baron… something is wrong. Loco was right. She’s not our Bavanda.”