Mortimer’s POV

The Swedish aurora writhed across the sky like a fever dream. Those eerie green lights felt like cold snakes, strangling the breath right out of me. I stood on the balcony, my thumb mindlessly rubbing the edge of my phone.

“You’re on edge, Mortimer.” Deep in my head, my wolf—Barton—let out a jagged growl. The vibration made my skull ache.

“I’m just thinking about the pack,” I shot back.

A moment later, I reached back into the mind-link. “But… fine. Tell me how our mate is doing.”

Barton paced restlessly in my mind, claws digging into the void. “I’ve got nothing. That temporary mark you gave her a year ago? It’s gone. Faded to nothing.”

His words hit me like a physical blow. It was true. Ever since Alaska, the bond between Seraphina and me had gone stone cold.

She used to be a chronic over-sharer. She’d send me photos of anything—even a weirdly shaped leaf she found on the sidewalk. I usually blew her off. In our world, catching feelings is a death sentence. But now, her chat window was a ghost town.

Was she playing games? Some pathetic attempt at a protest? All because I’d ditched her to save Vivian?

The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth.

“Morty? You there? Come take a picture of me!” Vivian ran over, camera in hand, wearing that innocent little pout. Her eyes flicked toward my phone, and for a split second, I saw a flash of ice in her gaze. It was gone before I could blink. When I looked again, there was nothing but concern.

Maybe I was just seeing things.

“Morty, are you worried about Seraphina?” Vivian tilted her head. “It’s all my fault… If I hadn’t made you come back that day, she wouldn’t be this mad. Maybe you should just… I don’t know, apologize?”

Apologize?

I let out a dry, sharp laugh. I was the Alpha of the strongest pack in North America. “Apology” wasn’t in my vocabulary. I hated being guilt-tripped, and I hated showing weakness—especially to my mate.

“If she’s going to act like a brat over a life-or-death situation, then she’s clearly not ready to be a Luna,” I said, shoving my phone into my pocket. “Go stand over there. I’ll take the shot.”

Vivian gave the lens a dazzling smile, but I wasn’t even looking at the frame. I told myself she’d only lied about the kidnapping because her wolf was weak and she was spiraling.

She didn’t mean any harm. I was just here to keep her calm. My conscience was clear.

The ding of the sent message felt like a gunshot in the quiet room.

One minute. Five. Ten. The screen stayed black.

Hours crawled by. My phone was basically an expensive paperweight. The rejection turned into a slow-boil rage in my blood. I slammed the phone onto the nightstand and headed for the shower. I let the ice-cold water hit me, trying to drown out the panic clawing at my chest.

Ten minutes later, I stepped out with a towel around my waist. The screen flickered.

My heart stopped. I didn’t even bother grabbing a towel for my hair; I just lunged for the bed. I could feel the corner of my mouth twitching into a smile.

Then I saw the screen, and the smile died.

The chat was still empty. Seraphina hadn’t said a word. The notification was just Vivian tagging me in some I*******m post.

I tossed the phone aside, feeling like I’d swallowed a handful of barbed wire.

“Seraphina,” I muttered to the empty room. “You’ve really got some nerve.”