5 - The Space Between Us

Aria POV

Their room was quiet, except for the soft brush gliding through auburn blonde hair.

Aria sat cross-legged on her bed, watching her sister at the vanity across the room. Lyra’s delicate features were drawn in a soft frown, her brush catching slightly on a tangle before gliding down. The lamplight was low, casting shadows on the pale lavender walls they’d painted together one summer—now chipped in places, faded by time and sun. Their shared space felt smaller lately, tighter, like the walls were creeping closer with every passing day, echoing with memories too heavy to hold.

“Let me?” Aria offered.

Lyra smiled faintly and handed the brush over. She moved to sit at the edge of Aria’s bed, her long white nightgown catching the moonlight that streamed through the window. It shimmered over the fabric like water, illuminating her like something otherworldly. Aria slid behind her, fingers gentle as they began working through the waves of coppery red hair they both shared.

“It’s so quiet tonight,” Lyra murmured, barely louder than the rustle of leaves outside.

Aria hummed. “Everyone’s probably tired from the patrol shifts. Tensions are still high with Nightclaw’s presence along the northern ridge.”

Lyra flinched slightly. “I wish this would all end. The fighting, the fear. I’m so tired of pretending we’re not living in the middle of a powder keg.”

Aria didn’t respond right away. She focused on the brushstrokes, letting the familiar rhythm anchor her. They’d shared this room their whole lives—two beds tucked on opposite walls, a window between them, the scent of lavender still lingering from the dried bundles their mother used to hang. Even when they were children, this had been their sanctuary, their escape from duty and expectation. A place where the world didn’t reach them. A place where they still believed the future would be kind.

Lyra exhaled shakily. “He took me to the lake again tonight.”

Aria paused. “Thorne?”

Lyra nodded, voice fragile. “It was… nice. He let me bring a blanket this time. We watched the stars.”

That aching note again. The one Aria had grown to hate.

“Did he talk to you?”

Lyra hesitated. “About the patrol schedule. Supplies. Strategy. Pack alliances.”

“Romantic.”

“I know,” Lyra whispered, burying her face in her hands. “I keep thinking maybe tonight will be the night. That he’ll finally give in. Touch me. Claim me. Say something that makes this feel real. But he just… watches me, like I’m something he doesn’t know how to hold.”

Aria set the brush aside and placed her hand on her sister’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Ly.”

“He’s my mate,” Lyra said brokenly. “He should want me.”

“He does. I think he’s just… afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of what it means,” Aria said softly. “Of how it might change him. Or make him vulnerable. He wasn’t raised to want love, Lyra. He was raised to lead.”

Lyra laughed bitterly. “So was I. Raised to serve. To heal. To be gentle. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he wants someone like you—strong, sharp, unafraid.”

Aria squeezed her hand on her shoulder. “Don’t. You’re perfect exactly as you are.”

There was silence between them, filled only by the crickets outside and the creak of the trees in the wind. The night pressed in like a held breath, thick with things unsaid.

“Do you remember when we were little,” Lyra said quietly, “and we used to dream about what our mates would be like?”

Aria smiled sadly. “You made me draw yours. Dozens of times.”

“He had flowers for hands and sang like a siren.”

“You were five,” Aria teased.

“And you said you didn’t want a mate. That it sounded like too much pressure.”

“I was six and very practical.”

They laughed, but it faded quickly. Lyra turned slightly to look at her, searching her face.

“You’ve felt it too, haven’t you?”

Aria stiffened. “What?”

“The bond. I see it in your eyes, Aria. You look like I do when I think no one’s watching. Like something is clawing at your ribs.”

Aria looked away, but her throat burned.

“I haven’t said anything,” she said, voice low. “Because it’s impossible.”

Lyra waited, patient and open, the way only a sister could be.

“He’s Nightclaw,” Aria said finally.

Lyra’s breath caught, hand to chest— “No. Aria...”

“I know,” she whispered, “I know. It can’t happen. It won’t. I haven’t even seen him. But it’s there, Lyra. It’s there every time I close my eyes. I feel him. Like the bond is alive.”

Lyra reached for her hand, squeezed it tightly. “We’re cursed, you and I.”

Aria smiled weakly. “Or chosen.”

Lyra didn’t answer. She just leaned into her, resting her head on Aria’s shoulder.

They sat like that for a long time, two girls caught in something ancient and ruthless. Fated to love those who wouldn’t—or couldn’t—love them back the way they deserved.

“I was going to be a healer,” Lyra said after a while, voice soft. “I had plans. I wanted to be Mom’s legacy. Learn the earth’s magic, mix herbs, tend the wounded.”

“You still could.”

She shook her head. “Not when I spend every day wondering what he’s thinking. Whether he’ll call for me. Whether tonight will be the night I lose what little part of him I have.”

Aria felt something in her heart twist. “Then maybe it’s time you choose, Lyra. Claim him. Force the bond. Make him feel what you feel every day.”

Lyra went silent.

“I couldn’t, not to Alpha Thorne” she said finally. “Not unless he wanted it. The bond is supposed to be about love.”

Aria understood. That’s what made it hurt more. Bonds weren’t chains. They were mirrors. And hers was starting to show her things she didn’t want to see.

She brushed the last strand of Lyra’s hair from her face and kissed the top of her head.

“We’ll figure it out,” she whispered. “Together.”

And deep in her chest, where her own bond coiled like a silent storm, she prayed it was true.