The Banished Shy Luna Chapter 47

“You don’t get to call me your sister,” I spat, my voice trembling—not with fear, but with rage. “Not after the years you stood by and let them starve me. Not after you laughed while they beat me. Family? Don’t you dare use that word like it means anything coming from you. You’ve never been my family—you’ve been my jailer, my shadow, my executioner in pretty dresses.”

Lyra recoiled like I’d slapped her. “It wasn’t me,” she blurted, already scrambling, words tumbling over each other. “It was Mother’s idea from the start. She chose me, not you. She dressed me up and told me what to say. She made me wear the makeup, the gowns—paraded me like a doll while you… while you—” She swallowed, watching my face for pity. “Do you think I wanted it?”

I stepped closer, robe tied tight at my waist, damp curls dripping down my neck. “Yes,” I said, calm as a blade. “I think you liked the attention.”

“I didn’t!” she snapped, too quick, too loud. “I—Kira, you don’t understand. She told me I had to be perfect. If I didn’t, she said you’d ruin everything; that you’d embarrass Father, make the pack look weak. She said I had to be the pretty one, the good one, the quiet one—or we’d both pay for it. I—” Her voice cracked, softer, almost pleading. “I wished it was you. I wished you were the one they chose. I wished I could just keep my head down and do whatever. I’m tired. I’m lonely. The faking—it’s tearing me apart.”

A murmur drifted from the hall. I glanced past her shoulder. A half-dozen pack members had gathered—warriors still in travel gear, two females from the kitchen staff, a young Omega with wide eyes. I saw the recognition on their faces: the private cruelty of our den dragged into hotel light.

Lyra hadn’t noticed. Her performance was for me alone.

“Enough,” I said, and the word carved the air between us clean. She froze.

“You want sympathy now?” I tilted my head, watching her flinch. “After years of watching me go hungry while you sneaked extra sweets? After sleeping in silk while I slept outside? After standing by while Father called me useless and Mother smiled and let him? And when the girls dragged me by the hair and kicked me until I couldn’t breathe—you laughed.”

“That was Callie and Rina!” she burst out, desperate. “They were jealous—everyone is always jealous. They hate me because Mother favors me; they hate me because I’m pretty—”

“They hate you,” I cut in, “because you’re cruel.”

Her mouth snapped shut.

“You always had a choice,” I said. “You could have spoken up. You could have told the truth. You could have said, ‘Lyra has a wolf.’ You could have told them to stop. But you didn’t. You liked the crowns they built out of my bones.”

Lyra’s chin lifted, stubbornness flaring. “I didn’t tell them because Mother said we had to keep it quiet. She said my wolf would come out wrong if I shifted too soon, that it would be safer to wait, that the Elders might separate us—”

“The elders separated us because you lied,” I said. “And my wolf came late because I was kept small.”

“I never kept you small!”

“You *starved* me.”

Her composure slipped. “That was Father—”

“You let him,” I said. “You watched.”

The Omega in the hall made a small sound. Lyra heard it this time—finally noticing our audience. Her eyes darted past me, then back, calculation creeping in. “You don’t know what it was like,” she said, pitching her voice to carry. “Every day, Mother whispering how I had to be more, perfect, polished. I had to flirt with the warriors, had to smile at Lucas even when I didn’t want to. I had to pretend I didn’t have a wolf because she said the pack wasn’t ready. That if they saw me shift they’d turn on us, or on you—”

“Don’t you dare pretend this was to protect me,” I said, quiet and cold. “It was to protect your place. Your attention. Your meals. Your gifts.”

Lyra’s lip curled. “And what about *you*? You think you’re so much better? You’ve been with the Elder two days and now you stand there in a robe like a princess, looking down on everyone. You think Toren makes you untouchable? He doesn’t want you, Kira. He wants what you represent. He wants to humiliate Lucas.”

“If he wanted to humiliate Lucas,” I said, “he already did.”

Color flooded her cheeks. “You think you’re special because he looked at you? Because he fed you cake?” She laughed, ugly and mean. “He’ll get tired of you. They always do. And when he does, who will you be without all this? Without Thora, without the fancy bath, without his eyes on you?”

“Me,” I said simply.

Her expression wavered. “You think that word means something,” she said softly. “But you don’t even know who you are.”

“I do now.”

Silence stretched, taut as wire.

She tried a different tactic, voice lowering, lashes fluttering. “Kira… just tell me where he is. Please. I need to talk to him. I need him to see me, really see me. I can be Luna. I can be everything he needs. I can—”

“You can’t even be a sister.”

A few of the warriors shifted, uncomfortable. One cleared his throat. Lyra whipped around. “What are you all staring at?” she snapped. “Don’t you have jobs? Don’t you have lives? This is a family matter.”

“Is it?” the Omega asked softly.

Lyra’s head snapped back to me, desperation sliding toward rage. “You *always* do this,” she hissed. “You make me the villain. You make me the liar. What about the pack? They turned a blind eye to Father. They whispered behind your back. They delivered your chores to your door like offerings. Why am I the only monster?”

“You’re not,” I said. “But you’re the one standing in front of me asking to be forgiven without telling the truth.”

“The truth is complicated.”

“The truth is simple,” I said. “You hid your wolf because it got you praise. You kept me small because it kept you fed. You let them hurt me because it made you shine.” I leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper made of ice. “And part of you loved it.”

She flinched like I’d stabbed her.

“I…” Her eyes glistened, then hardened. “Fine. Yes. I loved the attention. I loved being chosen. I loved not being you. Happy?”

“No,” I said. “But at least that’s honest.”

The hall murmured again. Lyra balled her fists. “You think you’re better than me because you finally shifted? Because an Elder washed the dirt off you? You’re still the same little mouse who hid in the pantry and cried.”

My smile was small and meant nothing kind. “I stopped crying.”

“That won’t save you.”

“It already did.”