Seven years as the Alpha's mate. Seven Blood Moons spent locked outside the Moon Hall. "Wolfless females don't survive the Rite," he always told me. Tonight, I found the photographs. Another she-wolf. My husband's hand on her waist. And around her throat, the Luna's moonstone he swore had been lost for a hundred years. I found them by accident. Kane had asked me to grab the registration from his truck before the pack patrol checked plates at the border. I opened the glovebox, and three photos slid out from behind the owner's manual like they'd been waiting for me. All three were taken inside the Moon Hall. I'd never set foot in it, but I knew it from the stories. Silver-veined stone. An obsidian table long enough for forty wolves. The Silverfang crest, a howling wolf, carved above the hearth. In every photo, the same woman stood beside my husband. Selene Vance. Her arm through his. Her hip against his side. His palm resting on the small of her back with the kind of ease that doesn't come from politeness. It comes from habit. I sat in the cold truck until my fingers went numb. There was no rule. No tradition. No danger to a wolfless wife. The place beside Kane had simply been taken. For seven years. By someone who wasn't me. My phone buzzed. His name. Find it? Come inside. Dinner's getting cold. I typed On my way, slid the photos into my coat, and walked back into the house. The kitchen smelled like rosemary and the venison I'd spent all afternoon roasting. Kane leaned against the counter, sleeves shoved to his elbows, scrolling his phone. He looked up and gave me that half-smile. The one I used to believe was mine alone. "Got it?" "Got it." My voice came out flat. Calm. I surprised myself. I set the table the way I always did. His plate on the left. Water on the right. We sat. I chewed. I swallowed. Then I put my fork down. "Tomorrow's the Blood Moon Rite." I kept my eyes on my plate. "Still no room for me?" His jaw shifted. Barely. The kind of thing you only catch after seven years of reading a man's face like scripture. "Nora." Patient. Practiced. "We've been through this. When forty wolves shift under a Blood Moon, instinct takes over. A female with no wolf smells like prey to them. My father won't risk it. Neither will I." He reached across and laid his hand over mine. His thumb traced a slow circle on the inside of my wrist. That thing he always did when he wanted me to stop asking. It used to make my pulse jump. Tonight it made my stomach turn. "It's one night," he murmured. "I'll be home by sunrise." Seven years of the same words. The same gentle voice. The same circle, pinning the lie in place. I used to feel guilty sitting here. Guilty for being born without a wolf. Guilty for wanting a seat at a table I thought would get me killed. Now I knew there was nothing sacred about that door. He just never meant to open it for me. "Fine." I pulled my hand away. "Let's eat." He watched me a second too long. His eyes flickered gold, just for a moment. His wolf checking whether a lock still held. Then his phone buzzed, and the moment passed. After dinner, he stood and gathered the plates. That never happened. "Leave it. I've got it." "Since when do you do dishes?" He kissed the top of my head on his way past. "Since my mate made the best venison in the territory." The kiss landed on my hair like a coin tossed to a stranger. I listened to the water run. Then I stood and picked up his phone from the arm of the couch. Seven years, and I had never once touched it. Locked. I walked to the kitchen doorway. He stood with his back to me, scrubbing a roasting pan, water loud against steel. I pressed the screen gently against the hand hanging at his side. Unlocked. In the living room, I scrolled fast. Pack business. Patrol schedules. Clean. Too clean. Then I found it, under a contact labeled Border Patrol, S. Same as always tomorrow? Always. Wear the stone this time. For you? Always. I kept scrolling. Winter Moon. Harvest Moon. Blood Moon. Every year. A few words. A photo. Nothing crude. Nothing desperate. Just the easy intimacy of two people who never had to try. Seven years of it's tradition and it's for your safety. And the whole time, she'd been standing exactly where I should have been. Not as a guest. As his Luna. "What are you looking at?" Kane's voice. Right behind me.