FIA

The pounding on my door dragged me from sleep.

My eyes cracked open to darkness. The room felt wrong. Too quiet. The kind of silence that preceded violence.

"Luna Fia! Luna Fia!"

I threw off the covers and stumbled toward the door. My hand found the knob before my brain fully caught up to my body. The hinges gave way, revealing an Omega I vaguely recognized from the kitchens. Her chest heaved like she’d sprinted the entire length of the keep.

"What’s happening?"

"Rogues." The word came out breathless. "They’re attacking. We have to run."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

Her hand shot out and grabbed mine. The grip bordered on painful. "We have to go now."

"What about Cian?" I tried to pull back, but she held firm. "The Grand Luna—"

A loud pop echoed through the hallway.

Every light blazed to life at once at that same moment, too.

"Surprise!"

I blinked against the sudden brightness. My vision adjusted slowly, too slowly, and the scene that materialized made my thoughts grind to a halt.

Sentinels lined the walls. Omegas clustered near doorways wearing expressions that didn’t match an emergency. Grand Luna Morrigan stood near the staircase in a gown far too elegant for a crisis. Elder Thorne leaned against the banister. Doctor Maren held what looked like a champagne flute.

"What the hell is going on?" My voice cracked. The Omega who’d dragged me from bed released my hand and stepped back with a grin I couldn’t quite process. "I thought—"

Footsteps sounded behind me.

I turned.

Cian emerged from the other side carrying a cake. Candles flickered across the frosting, casting warm light across his face. The smile he wore was sultry and knowing and impossibly smug.

"Happy birthday, Fi."

The words hit me like a physical blow.

Tears formed without permission. They burned behind my eyes and blurred my vision until Cian became a watercolor version of himself.

"Oh." The sound barely qualified as speech. "You remembered."

"Of course." He walked closer. Each step was measured and careful, like he thought I might bolt. "It’s your birthday."

The tears spilled over. They tracked hot paths down my cheeks while the assembled pack broke into song. The melody wrapped around me, familiar and foreign at the same time. I’d heard this tune before, years ago, when Mother had still been alive and birthdays meant something other than another day to survive.

Because the moment that she died... Silvercreek had cleared this day out of their mind, and I allowed it because it had hurt less than holding a grudge.

Cian reached me. The cake sat between us, candles still burning, wax beginning to drip onto the frosting.

"I hope those are happy tears."

I nodded. More tears followed the first. They came faster now, harder, until I could barely see the flames dancing in front of me.

The song ended. Silence settled over the hallway, broken only by the occasional sniffle I couldn’t quite suppress.

Cian raised the cake higher. "Happy birthday. Make a wish."

"I don’t think I have anything to wish for right now."

His smile widened. Something soft moved behind his eyes, tender in a way that made my chest ache. "It’s tradition."

I closed my eyes.

The wish formed without conscious thought. I wanted the peace we’d found to last. This fragile thing we’d built deserved permanence. It deserved to survive whatever came next.

I blew.

The candles extinguished in a rush of smoke and vanilla-scented wax. But underneath that wish sat another. Smaller, far more desperate , and a truly impossible thing to have.

I wished Mother could see this.

My eyes opened. The candles sat dark and cooling. Every single flame had died.

"You have to come to the ballroom." Grand Luna Morrigan’s voice cut through the moment. "We prepared refreshments."

"And presents." Doctor Maren lifted her glass in a mock toast. "Quite a few presents."

The crowd began moving. Bodies shifted toward the stairs. Conversations sparked to life, no longer constrained by the need for silence. Someone laughed. Someone else called out congratulations. The hallway became a river of people flowing toward celebration.

I looked down at my nightdress. The fabric hung loose and wrinkled, hardly appropriate for any kind of gathering. "I can’t party right now when I’m in my nightdress."

"You can freshen up." Cian handed the cake to a passing Omega. His attention never left my face. "We’ll wait."

I nodded and turned back toward my room. The door stood open exactly as I’d left it. The bed remained unmade. Everything looked normal except for the way my hands shook and the tears that still leaked from my eyes despite my best efforts to stop them.

The door closed behind me.

The silence crashed down like a physical weight.

My legs gave out. I sank to the floor with my back against the door and let the sobs come. They tore through my chest with violence that left me gasping. After Mother died, birthdays had stopped existing. Father had forgotten. Isobel had made a point of ignoring them. Hazel had used the dates as opportunities for fresh mental cruelty.

I’d stopped expecting anything. I had stopped marking the passage of years. This had been just another day at the back of my mind. One more rotation around the sun that didn’t deserve acknowledgment.

But Cian had remembered.

The crying intensified. I pressed my hands against my face and tried to muffle the sounds. The pack was celebrating downstairs. They didn’t need to hear me falling apart up here.

My phone rang.

The sound cut through the sobbing. I dragged myself upright and crossed to the nightstand where the device vibrated against the wood. The screen lit up with a name that made my stomach twist.

Father.

My finger hovered over the accept button. The ring continued. Once. Twice. Three times.

I pulled my hand back.

The ringing stopped. A moment later, the voicemail notification appeared. I stared at it for a long moment before giving in and pressing play.

"Happy birthday, Fia." Father’s voice filled the room. It sounded rougher than I remembered. Tired in a way that spoke of sleepless nights and regret. "I hope you have everything you want. I... I love you."

The message ended.

I set the phone down and wrapped my arms around myself. Was I being cruel? He’d tried. Not enough. Not nearly enough. But he was trying.

"You don’t have to be sorry."

I spun around.

Mother stood near the window. Light passed through her form, rendering her translucent. An apparition of sorts. A memory given temporary shape if you dared call it that.