Chapter 8: Fractures

RONAN

I heard everything.

Standing in the hallway, just out of sight, I listened to their argument, my jaw tightening as Liam's voice rose in anger. I knew this moment would come, sooner rather than later, knowing Liam. Their relationship was doomed the second she stepped into Isabelle's place. And yet, hearing it unravel like this, so raw, so final, still cut deep. It shouldn't have, but it did.

When Liam stormed out of Maeve's room, he stopped short, his eyes locking with mine. Dangerous tension filled the air between us. His fists were clenched, his whole body coiled with barely restrained anger. I stood there, stoic as ever, but I knew my presence only fed the fire burning inside him. That had always been the way with Liam—he could never stand me being the Alpha. His older brother, sure, but mostly, the man who had everything he thought he deserved.

"You heard everything, didn't you?" he spat, his fists flexing open and closed at his sides.

I nodded, not bothering to lie. There was no point in pretending.

Liam let out a bitter laugh, full of resentment, his eyes burning with frustration. "Of course you did. You always have to be there, don't you? The perfect Alpha. The one who gets everything."

I could see where this was headed. Liam was never one to keep things bottled up, and today felt like the day it would all come pouring out. His anger had been simmering too long, the tension between us growing heavier with each passing moment. Every look, every unsaid word—everything had been building to this, and it was only a matter of time before it finally erupted.

"Let's spar," I said calmly, knowing it was the only way to channel his aggression somewhere that wouldn't lead to more destruction. If he wanted to hit me, I'd let him.

"Is that what you want, brother?" he growled, stepping closer, his blue eyes alight with barely contained rage. "You think beating the shit out of me will fix this?"

"No," I replied, my voice level. "But you need to get it out. So come on, let's go."

We walked side by side down the long corridor, the tension between us thick and silent. The sparring ring was just down the hall, nestled deep within the heart of the pack house, away from prying eyes. When we entered the ring, I gave a sharp nod to the others gathered there, signaling them to leave. The pack members, who had been lingering, ready for their morning workouts, hesitated for a moment, sensing the undercurrent of what was about to unfold. But they didn't argue. They never did. One by one, they filed out, the sound of their retreating footsteps echoing in the silence.

As the last of them left, the door closed behind them with a final, resonating thud. The room fell into an almost eerie quiet, though I knew that quiet was relative in a house full of werewolves. No doubt they'd be listening. They always were. Even when they pretended not to.

The sparring ring itself was a simple setup—a wide, open space encircled by thick ropes, the floor covered in padded mats worn from years of use. The walls surrounding the ring were lined with weapons—knives, swords, staffs—all untouched today. This wasn't about a weapon fight. No, this was something far more primal.

The moment we stepped into the ring, I knew this would not be a normal sparring session. Liam came at me hard, his fists flying with anger, his movements wild and unchecked. I didn't fight back—not really. I let him land his punches, taking hit after hit, knowing this wasn't about winning. It wasn't even about the fight. This was about him releasing everything he'd been holding onto for so long. I could feel his fury with every strike, each blow landing heavier than the last.

"You don't care about Isabelle!" Liam hissed between swings, his voice a ragged snarl. "You don't care about anyone but yourself. You took everything from me—everything!"

I blocked one of his punches, my breathing controlled, trying to keep my own emotions in check. "I care about her. "I care about you," I said in an even tone. "I care about keeping us all alive."

"That's bullshit!" He swung again, this time grazing my jaw, the impact sharp but not unbearable. I could see the rage flickering behind his eyes, but it was more than that. It was hurt, betrayal. "You don't care! If you did, you'd be out there looking for her instead of playing house with Maeve!"

I took a step back, wiping the blood from my lip with the back of my hand. The sting from his punch faded quickly, but his words lingered, slicing deeper than I cared to admit. "You think I don't care about Isabelle?" My voice was quieter now, but the anger underneath was unmistakable. "I do. But my place is here. I can't leave right now, not when everything is on the line."

Liam stopped mid-swing, his chest heaving as he glared at me. "What the hell are you talking about?"

I straightened up, my breath steady despite the surge of frustration threatening to crack my composure. "I've already sent Cillian and the others to look for her," I said, keeping my tone measured. "They're the best we have, and I trust them. But I can't make the pack spread too thin. Not with everything going on at the borders. You know as well as I do there are rogues circling us, testing us. I can't abandon the pack to chase after her, not when everything's this fragile. I need to be here."

"Rogues," Liam muttered bitterly, shaking his head. "Of course, you'd have an excuse. There's always something more important than Isabelle, isn't there?"

I ignored the barb, though it hit closer to home than I'd like to admit. The truth was, I was scared. Not of the rogues. Not of the political mess that was brewing around us. No, it was Isabelle. What happened to her? Was she taken? Hurt, like in Maeve's vision? Alive? Did the Coven have something to do with it, as everyone seemed to believe? Or was there something worse, something deeper gnawing at the back of my mind—something I couldn't shake, no matter how hard I tried.

But what if Isabelle left on her own?

What if she didn't want this life anymore? What if she didn't want me? The doubt had been eating away at me since the moment she disappeared. I kept telling myself it didn't make sense. Isabelle wouldn't do that, not after all these years. But then again, how well did I even know her anymore? We'd been together since we were kids, bound by a future I thought we both wanted. But maybe, just maybe, I'd been wrong.

Maybe this whole time, Isabelle had been planning her escape.

It's possible that nobody forced her to leave. Maybe she'd just... left. Left me. Left the pack and the Coven.

I couldn't decide what terrified me more—the thought that she had been taken, lying somewhere bleeding and helpless, or the possibility that she had chosen to leave on her own. No warning, no explanation, not even a note. Just gone.

Liam's next punch missed, his anger momentarily giving way to confusion. "What the hell are you talking about, Ronan? What are you saying?"

I froze. The question hit me like a punch of its own. Had I said that out loud? I hadn't meant to. The thought had slipped out, raw and unfiltered, and now it hung in the air between us. I hadn't wanted to admit my fear, not to him, not to anyone.

I squared my shoulders, trying to push the doubt down. I had to regain control of the situation—of myself. "I can't go after Isabelle," I said, my voice firmer now, cutting through the moment of vulnerability. "But you can. You're the best tracker we have, Liam. You can find her."

His eyes flashed with doubt, uncertainty creeping in where his anger had been moments before. "You really think I'm the one who can do it?"

I nodded, stepping closer, letting my words sink in. "Yes. If anyone can bring her back, it's you."

It wasn't just an empty sentiment. I meant it. Liam had always been a better tracker than me, better at reading the land, following trails others couldn't. If anyone could find Isabelle, it was him. And maybe, just maybe, giving him this task would also give him the focus he so desperately needed. If I let him stew in his resentment, it would destroy him—and probably everything else around us.

It was a calculated move, sure. Liam needed purpose, something to channel all this anger and frustration into. And deep down, I knew his need to reclaim Maeve would drive him just as much as his desire to find Isabelle. He would search for her, not just because he cared about the pack or because he wanted to help me, but because, in his mind, finding Isabelle meant he could end this sham of a marriage between Maeve and me. It meant he could get her back.

"I'll find her," he finally said, his voice hard with determination. "And when I do, this—" he gestured between us, his hand shaking with barely restrained fury—"will be over."

I didn't respond. There was nothing left to say. I watched as he turned and stormed out of the ring, his anger still palpable, but now burning with a new focus. He had a mission now, something to distract him from his rage, from his jealousy. And I had given him something to fight for.

As the door slammed behind him, the sound echoing through the empty training room; I stood there for a long moment, the silence pressing in on me. I had given Liam something to focus on, something that might save us all. But even as he left, a new mission blazing in his eyes, I couldn't shake the feeling that things were far from settled.

Because no matter what he found—whether Isabelle had been taken or had chosen to leave—it wouldn't change the fact that our world had already shifted. And there was no going back. Not for any of us.