Chapter 23: The Future Luna Question

Cole’s departure changed the rhythm of Ironwood.

Not the pack.

Not the academy.

Mine.

For the first week, I kept noticing his absence in ridiculous places.

No pine scent in the elevator.

No familiar footsteps across the hall before school.

No Cole leaning against a locker while Noah complained about homework.

Then the empty spaces stopped feeling empty.

They simply became spaces.

My fellowship intensified as spring term approached its end.

Commander Sloane began allowing me into real planning meetings, though classified Silvercrest material remained restricted.

One afternoon, she placed three university brochures on my desk.

“What are these?”

“Schools.”

“I can see that.”

“Apply.”

I stared.

The first was North Coast University’s tactical systems program.

The second was Ironwood Defense Institute.

The third was Silvercrest University.

I looked at her.

She looked bored.

“You included Silvercrest.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not worried about conflict of interest?”

“I’m worried about wasting talent because a teenager is afraid people will think she followed a boy.”

That landed.

I picked up the Silvercrest brochure.

It had one of the strongest strategic analytics programs in the northern territories.

I had avoided even researching it.

Because Rowan was there.

Because I didn’t want anyone saying I had shaped my future around him.

Sloane seemed to read my face.

“Choosing a place because your mate lives there is foolish if it’s wrong for your goals.”

She tapped the brochure.

“Refusing the best option because your mate lives there is equally foolish.”

I sighed.

“I hate when you make sense.”

“Most people do.”

I took all three brochures home.

That weekend, Rowan visited Ironwood.

We sat on the rooftop where he had told me he loved me.

I handed him the brochures.

His eyes immediately found Silvercrest.

Then he carefully placed all three side by side.

“What do you think?”

I smiled.

“Good answer.”

“What?”

“You didn’t immediately campaign.”

“I have survival instincts.”

I laughed.

Then I pointed to North Coast.

“Best research labs.”

Ironwood.

“Best direct route into pack command.”

Silvercrest.

“Best strategic analytics faculty.”

Rowan nodded.

“And?”

“And I don’t know.”

“Then apply to all three.”

I stared.

“That simple?”

“Yes.”

“What if I get into all three?”

“Then future Aurora suffers.”

I shoved him.

He laughed.

A week later, another future question arrived.

Luna Celeste called me.

Not Rowan.

Me.

“Do you have time?”

“Yes.”

“I need your permission before I put your name on something.”

That immediately got my attention.

“What?”

“Silvercrest’s heir profile.”

Every future Alpha had a public pack record.

Training.

Lineage.

Responsibilities.

Mate status.

“Oh.”

“After the recognition ceremony, the elders want Rowan listed as having an acknowledged fated mate.”

“That’s true.”

“Yes.”

She paused.

“The traditional profile would identify you as ‘future Luna candidate.’”

My stomach tightened.

“Candidate?”

“I hate the wording too.”

“Does recognizing Rowan make me a Luna candidate automatically?”

“No.”

“Then don’t list it.”

Celeste laughed.

“I knew I liked you.”

“What can it say?”

“Recognized mate: Aurora Vale of Ironwood.”

“That’s accurate.”

“Done.”

I thought the issue was finished.

It wasn’t.

The updated profile went public on Monday.

By Tuesday, an entertainment account had posted:

SILVERCREST HEIR’S IRONWOOD MATE REFUSES FUTURE LUNA TITLE.

By Wednesday:

TROUBLE BETWEEN RESONANT MATES?

By Thursday:

AURORA VALE PRIORITIZES CAREER OVER PACK DUTY.

I stared at the headlines.

Maya looked over my shoulder.

“You’re famous.”

“I’m going to live in a cave.”

“Caves have terrible Wi-Fi.”

Amber sat across from us.

“For what it’s worth, the comments are mostly defending you.”

I looked at her.

“You read them?”

“Obviously.”

“Why?”

“I enjoy chaos.”

At least she was honest.

Then she added, “One woman said any Luna who doesn’t want the job shouldn’t have it.”

“That woman is my hero.”

The real pressure came from Silvercrest elders.

Not Darius.

Not Celeste.

A formal letter arrived requesting clarification of my “intentions toward pack leadership.”

I showed Rowan.

He read it twice.

Then tore it in half.

I stared.

“That was official.”

“I’ll tell them the dog ate it.”

“You don’t have a dog.”

“My father is Alpha. We can acquire one.”

I laughed.

Then became serious.

“What if I never want to be Luna?”

Rowan stopped smiling.

“Then you won’t.”

“What if you become Alpha?”

“I probably will.”

“And your mate refuses the Luna role?”

“Then Silvercrest has an Alpha whose mate has another job.”

“You say that like it’s easy.”

“It won’t be.”

At least he didn’t lie.

“Some people will hate it.”

“Yes.”

“Some elders will pressure you.”

“Yes.”

“Could it affect your position?”

He hesitated.

“Possibly.”

There it was.

The cost.

I looked away.

Rowan moved closer but didn’t touch me.

“Aurora.”

“I don’t want to become the reason you lose what you’ve trained for.”

“And I don’t want to become the reason you abandon what you’re good at.”

“What if we can’t have both?”

“Then we make decisions when the decisions are real.”

I looked at him.

“Not now?”

“Not at seventeen.”

I laughed softly.

“Your mother trained you well.”

“She threatened me extensively.”

That night, Alpha Darius called a Silvercrest council session.

To my surprise, he invited me remotely.

The elder who had suggested relocation after the avalanche spoke first.

“Tradition exists for stability.”

I sat at my desk in Ironwood, staring at his face on the screen.

“Tradition also assumed every Alpha was male.”

He frowned.

“That is irrelevant.”

Luna Celeste smiled dangerously.

“It is extremely relevant.”

I continued.

“I have not rejected Silvercrest.”

“Then why reject the Luna path?”

“I haven’t rejected it either.”

The elder blinked.

“I’m seventeen.”

Silence.

“I haven’t chosen a university. I haven’t completed strategy certification. Rowan hasn’t completed heir training.”

I leaned closer.

“Why does everyone need me to decide my entire adult life because my wolf recognized someone?”

Another council member spoke.

“Because an Alpha’s mate affects pack stability.”

“Then perhaps Silvercrest should build systems that don’t collapse because one teenager hasn’t selected a career.”

Alpha Darius coughed.

It suspiciously sounded like a laugh.

The elder looked offended.

Rowan, seated beside his father, was openly smiling.

The council eventually agreed to remove “future Luna candidate” from all records.

It was a small administrative decision.

It felt enormous.

Afterward, Rowan called me privately.

“You terrified Elder Marlow.”

“Good.”

“He’s been on the council since before my father was born.”

“Then he’s had plenty of time to develop better arguments.”

Rowan laughed.

Then his expression softened.

“I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

The bond warmed.

A few days later, I received an email.

North Coast University had accepted me into its summer pre-college strategy program.

Six weeks.

Residential.

Far from both Ironwood and Silvercrest.

I stared at the screen.

Excitement hit first.

Then fear.

Six weeks away.

The resonance.

Rowan.

My fellowship.

I called Commander Sloane.

“Go.”

“But—”

“Go.”

“I haven’t even explained.”

“You got North Coast.”

“How do you know?”

“I wrote your recommendation.”

I stared at the phone.

“You could have told me.”

“That would reduce suspense.”

“Do you enjoy being difficult?”

“Yes.”

My parents were thrilled.

Then I called Rowan.

He answered from training.

“What happened?”

“I got into North Coast’s summer program.”

His face lit up.

“Aurora, that’s incredible.”

“Six weeks.”

His smile faltered for half a second.

Then returned.

“When?”

“June.”

“That’s soon.”

“Yeah.”

We sat with it.

Then Rowan said, “You’re going.”

It wasn’t a command.

It was certainty that I shouldn’t shrink.

“I’m going.”

Echo whined at the idea of distance.

His wolf probably did too.

But Rowan smiled.

“We’ll figure out resonance.”

“You sure?”

“No.”

I laughed.

“Good.”

He leaned closer to the camera.

“But I’m sure I don’t want you staying because you think loving me requires it.”

My throat tightened.

There it was.

The future Luna question had seemed like a debate about titles.

It wasn’t.

It was the same question I had been answering since the day I closed my apartment door on Cole.

Would loving someone require me to abandon myself?

With Cole, I had once been willing to.

With Rowan, I was learning not to.

And because he loved me, he was learning not to ask.