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It still amazes me how little she’s changed in the years I was gone. Still tall and striking, with the same dark hair and aristocratic features as her brother, though her eyes lack his depth. When those eyes land on me, they narrow immediately.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," she says loudly enough for the kitchen to momentarily pause. "Or should I say, what the wolf couldn't be bothered to chase out?"

A few sNicers ripple through the room, and I feel heat rising to my cheeks. I force myself to approach her steadily.

"I'm here to help with lunch prep."

She looks me up and down. "We don't need your help.”

"Please, Melissa. The Trial—"

"Trust me, we know about the Trial." Her smile is all teeth and no eyes. "Tell me, did you use some special magic trick to make the lottery choose you? Or did you just seduce my brother again?"

The words hit like a physical blow. Around us, the kitchen has gone silent, everyone watching the drama unfold. I feel something dark and powerful surge within me—anger mingled with magic—and the lights above us flicker ominously.

Control it. Think of the baby.

The thought centers me instantly. This isn't just about me anymore.

"I understand you're upset," I say carefully, aware of how the pots on the nearby stove have begun to vibrate slightly. "But I'm just trying to complete the Trial. Tell me what needs doing, and I'll do it."

Her eyes widen slightly at my restraint, clearly having expected—perhaps hoped for—an explosive reaction. After a tense moment, she points to a mountain of potatoes.

"Those need peeling. Try not to hex them."

I nod and move to the workstation, picking up a peeler and setting it to work. The familiar, repetitive task helps calm my frayed nerves and restless magic. I focus on each potato, creating a rhythm—peel, turn, peel, drop in water, repeat.

The kitchen gradually returns to its normal buzz, though I notice people giving me a wide berth. I don't blame them. They all saw the lights flicker, saw the subtle signs of my magic responding to my emotions.

After about twenty minutes, Tania and Diane—Melissa's constant shadows since high school—saunter over to my station.

"So," Tania begins, voice syrupy sweet, "how does it feel knowing you're only here because of some ancient tradition no one cares about?"

I keep peeling. "Wonderful. How does it feel knowing you haven't developed a new insult since tenth grade?"

Diane laughs, though quickly disguises it as a cough when Tania glares at her.

"You don't belong here," Tania continues. "Everyone knows the lottery was a mistake. Nic certainly thinks so."

I falter momentarily but recover quickly. "If you'll excuse me, I have work to finish."

"He was just starting to get over you, you know," she presses. "Then you had to come back and ruin everything. Again."

Something in her tone makes me look up. There's genuine anger there, not just the petty cruelty I remember.

"What are you talking about?"

Tania opens her mouth to respond, but Melissa appears suddenly, cutting her off. "Don't waste your breath on her, T. She's not worth it."

But I've seen enough to understand. The pointed looks between them, the genuine bitterness in Tania's voice. Something happened while I was gone—something involving Nic.

I return to my potatoes, mind racing, but I'm distracted enough that the peeler slips, slicing into my finger.

"Shit," I mutter, watching blood well up from the cut.

"Language," Melissa snaps automatically, then frowns when she sees the blood. "Great, now you're contaminating the food."

"It's fine, I'll—" I begin, but give up. There’s no talking to them. I press a tissue to the wound and close my eyes, breathing, steeling myself.

"I'll get the first aid kit," one of the younger kitchen helpers offers.

"No need," I say quickly. "It's just a scratch."

I finish the potatoes without further incident, then move on to chopping carrots, then stirring the massive pots of stew. The work is demanding enough to keep me focused, and by the time lunch service begins, I've almost forgotten why I came here.

Almost.

As I help serve the hungry line of pack members, Melissa approaches with a large tureen of stew.

"Not bad work for a half-breed," she says, and it takes me a moment to realize it's probably the closest thing to a compliment I'll get from her. "But no token from me."

I hadn't expected one. "That's fine."

"I want to see you fail this trial," she continues, voice low enough that only I can hear. "Maybe then you'll finally leave for good, and things can go back to normal."

"Normal for whom, Melissa? You? Nic?" I keep my voice equally quiet.

Her eyes flash dangerously. "You don't know anything."

"I know enough." I meet her gaze steadily. "I didn't come back by choice, remember? I was perfectly happy never seeing any of you again."

Something flickers across her face—hurt, maybe, though that seems impossible.

"Just stay away from my brother," she says finally. "You've done enough damage."

Before I can respond, she walks away, leaving me with questions I'm not sure I want answered.

***

The afternoon brings both progress and setbacks. I earn tokens from the school teacher for organizing art supplies, from the elderly pack healer for updating her reference materials with new herbal remedies, and from the gruff blacksmith for helping design a more efficient tool rack.

But I'm turned away from the pack nursery (too dangerous to have a witch around children, apparently) and the textile workshop (where the owner still blames me for a fire that happened when I was twelve and not even present).

By late afternoon, I have nine tokens and a growing sense of exhaustion.

My magic feels strangely twitchy, responding to my fatigue with unpredictable surges that I'm finding harder to control.

After helping repair a fence at the community garden—and earning my tenth token—I decide to take a break, retreating to a quiet spot behind the old storage sheds.

The solitude is blissful. I lean against the rough wooden wall, allowing myself a moment of vulnerability. My hand drifts to my still-flat stomach.

"Hanging in there, little one?" I whisper. "Just a few more hours, then we can rest."

A strange sensation ripples through me in response—not quite movement, it's far too early for that, but something like greeting. Magic pulsing toward magic. My magic thrums in response, warm and bright.

Too bright. The sensation intensifies unexpectedly, rushing through me like a flash flood. I gasp, pressing both hands against the shed wall for support, as magic surges down my arms and into the wood.

There's a sickening crack as the wooden beam beside me splinters from top to bottom.

"Luna?"

I whirl around to find James watching me, his expression shifting from concern to alarm.

"What was that?" he asks, approaching cautiously.

"Nothing," I say too quickly. "Just—just lost my balance for a second."

He looks pointedly at the splintered beam. "That's not nothing, Luna. What's going on with you?"

"I'm fine. Just tired." I push away from the wall, determined to end this conversation before he can ask more questions. "I still need two more tokens before sunset."

"Luna—"

"I have to go." I brush past him, heart hammering. That was too close.

As I hurry away, I feel a strange prickling at the back of my neck, an awareness that has nothing to do with my brother's concerned gaze.

Something feels off about the forest edge visible beyond the packhouse—a wrongness I can't quite name but can definitely sense.

My magic responds to it with wary alertness, like a guard dog catching an unfamiliar scent.

Focus, Luna. The trial. Two more tokens.

I push the strange sensation aside and continue toward the infirmary. The pack medic, Dr. Reynolds, has always been neutral toward me, never cruel but never particularly warm either. She might be willing to trade a token for some help organizing her medicinal herbs.

But as I round the corner of the community center, I collide with someone coming the opposite way.

"Watch where you're—" The voice cuts off abruptly. "Oh. It's you."

Melissa Blackwood sits on the ground where our collision knocked her, holding her ankle with a grimace of pain. Blood seeps through her fingers from a gash just above her boot.

"You're hurt," I observe unnecessarily.

"Brilliant deduction," she snaps, trying to stand and wincing when she puts weight on the injured leg.

I hesitate only briefly before kneeling beside her. "Let me see."

"Get away from me!" She tries to scoot backward, but stops with a hiss of pain.

"Don't be stupid, Melissa. You're bleeding, and I can help."

Our eyes lock in a silent battle of wills. Finally, she removes her hand from the wound, revealing a nasty gash about three inches long.

"What happened?" I ask, examining it carefully. This wound didn’t come from her fall just now. It’s been bleeding for a while.

"Accident in the kitchens. I didn’t want to make a scene." Her voice is clipped. "It's nothing."

But it's not nothing. The cut is deep, and while a shifter's healing would eventually take care of it, it's the kind of wound that could leave a nasty scar if not treated properly.

"I have something that will help," I say, reaching for my herb pouch. "No magic, just medicine."

She watches suspiciously as I pull out a small container of healing salve—the one I always carry with me, made from yarrow, comfrey, and plantain.

"This might sting," I warn, before gently applying the salve to the wound.

She hisses but doesn't pull away. "Why are you helping me? I already told you I wouldn't give you a token."

I continue working, cleaning the wound thoroughly before applying more salve. "Maybe I'm just tired of fighting. Or maybe I remember what it's like to be hurt and have no one willing to help."

The barb lands; I see it in the way she flinches slightly.

"We weren't that bad," she mutters.

I look up at her in disbelief. "You poisoned my food with wolfsbane. I was sick for three days."

She has the grace to look uncomfortable. "We were kids. We wanted to see if you really had shifter blood.”

"You were eighteen, Melissa. Old enough to know better."

I finish bandaging her ankle with a strip of clean cloth from my pouch, working in silence for several minutes. When I'm done, I sit back on my heels.

"Try it now."

She stands cautiously, testing her weight on the injured leg. Surprise flickers across her face when it supports her with only minimal pain. "That's... actually better."

"The swelling should be gone by morning. Keep it clean and dry." I stand, brushing dirt from my knees. "Goodbye, Melissa."

I turn to leave, not expecting anything in return. I've made my peace with the fact that some people will never change, never see past what they've decided I am.

"Wait."

I pause, glancing back over my shoulder.

Melissa seems to be wrestling with herself, pride warring with some other emotion I can't quite identify. Finally, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a wooden token.

"Why?" I ask, genuinely confused. "You said—"

"I know what I said." She thrusts the token toward me. "Take it before I change my mind."

I accept it cautiously, half expecting some kind of trick. "Thank you."

She nods stiffly, then adds, "This doesn't make us friends."

"I know.”

A hint of a smile touches her lips, so brief I might have imagined it. "He was different after you left, you know."

The sudden shift in conversation catches me off guard. "What?"

"Nic. He was... darker. Angrier." She looks away, uncomfortable with the admission. "None of us understood why he cared so much about you leaving. You were just the witch-girl, the misfit." Her eyes find mine again. "But he did care. More than made sense to any of us."

The words settle like stones in my stomach. "It doesn't matter now."

"Doesn't it?" She studies me with surprising intensity. "The lottery chose you, out of everyone. That has to mean something."

"It means I have bad luck," I reply lightly, though my heart is racing.

She doesn't smile. "Maybe.”

With that single word, she limps away, leaving me standing in the fading afternoon light with her token clutched in my hand. My eleventh.

***

The sun hangs low in the sky as I make my way to Ruby's bookshop for what I hope will be my final token. The day has left me exhausted, my magic buzzing uncomfortably beneath my skin, and all I want is to curl up somewhere quiet and sleep for a week.

Ruby greets me with a sympathetic smile when I enter. "How's it going?"

I place eleven wooden disks on the counter. "One short."

"Well, you're in luck." She produces the twelfth token from her pocket. "Consider this payment for helping me reorganize the mythology section last week."

Relief washes over me. "Ruby, you're a lifesaver."

"I know." She grins. "Now go show those stuck-up wolves what you're made of."

The town square is crowded when I return, the pack gathering to witness the conclusion of my trial. Victoria stands on the small stone platform where she began the day, her face impassive as I approach.

"Luna Morgan," she intones formally. "Have you completed the Trial of Unity?"

In answer, I place all twelve tokens in the ceremonial bowl she holds out. A murmur runs through the crowd—surprise, disappointment, grudging respect all mingled together.

Victoria examines each token, then nods. "The Trial of Unity is complete. Luna Morgan has earned the trust of the community."

The declaration hangs in the air for a moment before scattered applause breaks out. Not enthusiastic by any means, but more than I expected. I allow myself a small smile of triumph.

As the crowd begins to disperse, I catch sight of Nic watching me from the edge of the square. Our eyes meet, and something electric passes between us—pride in his gaze, perhaps, or something deeper I dare not name.

I look away first, unwilling to deal with the complicated emotions he stirs in me. Not now, when I'm so tired, and my control is so fragile. I don’t have it in me to lie to him right now, and the last thing I can do is tell him the truth.

Instead, I slip away quietly, making my way back to my temporary quarters in the guest wing of the pack house. Only when the door is safely closed behind me do I allow myself to truly relax, sinking onto the bed with a deep sigh.

My hand finds its way to my stomach, resting there as I close my eyes.

"We did it," I whisper. "One trial down, one to go."

Whatever happens next—with the final trial, with Nic, with the strange tension I can feel building in Silvercreek—I'll face it. Not just for myself anymore, but for the child who deserves a better welcome to this world than I ever received.