CHAPTER 58: THE EXILE.

The clearing had barely stilled from the ritual when the sound came—

crack.

A branch broke just beyond the tree line.

The boys reacted instantly. Killian’s dagger gleamed, Cassian’s body shifted to a half-stance for a fight, Luca’s arm was already across Bella, pushing her back, shielding her with his body before she’d even reacted to the sound.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. The glow of the ritual was still in her veins, burning like wildfire, and now something new was happening, she could feel the heavy pressure of danger.

From the shadows, a figure stepped out. His presence seemed to bend the air around him, his steps were deliberate, like he had all the time in the world.

Bella’s throat tightened. Her instincts screamed, run. But her legs refused.

The man’s voice was a low rasp, "Moonblood..."

The word slithered across her skin.

Killian snarled. "Who the hell are you?" His grip tightened on the dagger.

The stranger didn’t answer. He tilted his head, and Bella could feel his eyes lock onto hers beneath his hood. Heat bloomed across her chest.

Luca growled low, his wolf bleeding through, his arm braced like steel against Bella’s waist. She could feel the vibration of it in her spine.

The man’s hand lifted slowly. Before anyone could move, he spread his arms and a powerful breeze brushed the clearing. Bella gasped as her knees buckled.

The stranger’s voice threaded through the vision.

"The Moonblood will awaken not by choice, but by fire.

Bound to four, yet hunted by all.

One shall guard her.

One shall betray her.

And one shall bleed for her rise.

The world will break on her howl."

The words seared into her skull. Bella cried out, clutching her head.

"Bella!" Luca caught her as she dropped, pulling her tight against him. His hands cupped her face, forcing her gaze to his. His forehead pressed hard against hers, his breath ragged. "Breathe with me. Stay with me. Stay right here. With me."

Her pulse stuttered, but his voice cut through the chaos, anchoring her. She tried to match her breath to his, shaky and shallow.

The stranger moved closer. Closer still. And though the other boys tried to stop him, none reached him in time. His forefinger rested on her forehead and Bella froze.

Her skin burned where he touched her. A brand. A claim. Her wolf within her lunged upward, snarling, tearing at her chest as though trying to claw free.

Luca’s snarl ripped the night apart. "Don’t touch her!"

He tore her from the man’s hand, cradling her head against his chest in an attempt to shield her from him. His own hand covered the spot on her forehead, as if to erase the touch, his body shaking with fury.

The man only chuckled, and spoke two words, "It begins."

And then, like smoke, he was gone.

The forest went silent again.

Bella’s breaths came shallow, ragged. She clung to Luca’s shirt, trembling. "What... what was that?"

"Prophecy," Rafe said flatly, his voice colder than she’d ever heard it. "And a warning."

Killian cursed, raking a bloody hand through his hair. "Damn it. He shouldn’t even be here. This place is supposed to be sealed."

Luca didn’t let her go. He still had one hand on her cheek, his thumb brushing her softly. His eyes locked on hers, fierce and unyielding. "It doesn’t matter where he came from. He only touched you to pass his message. But he’s gone now."

Bella swallowed hard. Then she realized, the heat in her chest wasn’t just from the ritual. It pulsed in sync with Luca’s touch, stronger whenever his hand came in contact with her skin. Like the ritual had carved something into her very soul, an anchor that tied her to him.

She should’ve been terrified.

And she was.

But not of him.

Her voice was a whisper. "Luca... what if what he said is true?"

His forehead pressed against hers again, grounding her. "Then we’ll tear the prophecy apart before it touches you. Four of us together will always, always be by your side."

Her trembling eased, just a little. The fear didn’t vanish, but with his words, with his presence, it steadied her.

And that was the strange thing about Luca. It wasn’t just tonight. It always was.

She thought back, how every time her world tilted off its axis, Luca had been there, and somehow she’d managed to breathe again. How the strangeness of Whitethorn academy didn’t have much effect when Luca was nearby.

Even his voice always seemed to cut through the panic when nothing else could. He didn’t just protect her. He steadied her. Anchored her.

And she’d noticed it before, in quiet, fleeting ways she never dared name. The way her heartbeat fastened when his hand brushed hers by accident. She had always chalked it up to coincidence, or maybe her own desperation to cling to someone, anyone, in a world that was totally strange to her.

But now, pressed against him, with his forehead leaning into hers like he could shoulder all her fear if she let him, Bella understood.

Luca wasn’t just her ally.

He wasn’t just the strongest of the four.

Her spirit was drawn to his. He was her anchor. The one constant that kept her from drifting completely into the dark.

—

The first rays of dawn hadn’t even burned the mist off Whitethorn’s yard when the knock came.

It wasn’t even polite. It was a loud, punishing pounding on the door.

Bella rolled on her bed as she struggled to drag her eyes open.

For a moment she wasn’t sure if she was awake or still caught in the haze of last night. The candle smoke. The chant. The sting of the dagger across her palm. The prophecy rasped by an unfamiliar voice.

She remembered Luca’s hand pressed against hers, the weight of his words anchoring her in the storm. We’ll always be by your side.

And then, darkness. Or maybe she had simply been too tired, too hollowed out by the ritual to notice when they left.

The next thing she knew, she was back in her bed. How? She couldn’t say. Her palm still ached faintly, the cut had also sealed magically.

It hadn’t even felt like ten minutes of sleep had passed before the pounding began.

Her body was heavy, but her mind—her mind was sharpened to a terrifying clarity. Every creak of the dorm, every muffled whisper beyond the door, she heard it. She felt it.

And beneath all of it, one truth kept circling like a hawk:

Today was exile.

The disciplinary committee didn’t wait for her to answer. Prefects chosen by the disciplinary committee flanked by Maren and together, they filed into the room. Behind them, other students craned their necks, whispering and pushing for a better look.

"The exile begins at first light," the head prefect announced. "Bella Rivers, you will walk."

Gasps and cruel laughter rippled through the crowd of gathered students. Someone muttered, "About time." Another snickered, "She won’t last an hour in there."

Bella sat on the edge of her bed, hands folded neatly in her lap. There were no tears nor pleading.

A strange calm had settled over her, Her chest was steady. She should have been shaking apart, her lungs tight with panic. But she wasn’t. She would never give them that satisfaction anymore.

She rose slowly. Eyes followed her as she slipped her cloak around her shoulders. She could feel their expectation pressing down on her: break, cry, beg. Be the fragile Bella they had always bullied, who had stumbled through every cruel shove they had thrown her way.

But when she looked up, her gaze didn’t flinch.

Her chin was high. The usual slouch of her shoulders was gone, replaced by a quiet, unshakable poise that didn’t belong to the girl they thought they knew.

Maren stepped forward from the crowd, a slow smile curving her lips, venom sweet on her tongue. "Try not to scream too loudly, Bella. The forest echoes, and we would all hear."

Once, that would have gutted her. Once, she would have flushed, stammered, maybe even begged.

Now? Bella only tilted her head slightly, studying Maren with fascination. Her lips curved in the faintest smile.

"I won’t, Principal Maren," she said softly.

Maren’s smirk faltered.

Whispers erupted immediately. "What’s gotten into her?" "She doesn’t sound scared."

The prefect at her side frowned. "Move," she barked.

Bella stepped past her, and walked out of the dormitory into the courtyard.

The crowd was waiting there too. Rows of students stood like spectators at an execution. Their faces blurred together. Bella’s senses, however, felt sharper. Their whispers carried to her. The wind in the trees at the edge of the courtyard was louder. Even the heartbeat of the prefect beside her thudded in her ears.

The effect of the ritual. It was moving inside her like a secret tide, lifting her, centering her.

But no one else knew that. To them, she was just the exile. The outcast.

She didn’t rush. Her steps were unhurried, her spine straight. Every motion felt like defiance. The crowd had come to see her humiliated, yet the longer she walked, the more unsettled they looked.

By the time she reached the edge of the forest, everyone had a confused expression on their face. "Who walks into a dreadful forest with such calmness?’

And when she paused just briefly to glance back over her shoulder, the expression on her face was no longer helpless.

It was a promise.

"I’ll be back."