Too Late to Say Forgive Me

– Shadows at Supper

“Alpha Dylan of Silverclaw welcomes you,” the herald announced as guests from three allied packs entered the great hall.

Sophie followed two steps behind Dylan, draped in ceremonial silver and white. Her hands were steady, but her heart thudded like a war drum.

At the head table, she paused—only to find Fiona already seated at Dylan’s right.

The Luna’s seat.

Sophie hesitated.

Dylan waved without looking at her. “Sit there.” He gestured two chairs down.

She obeyed, stiffly lowering herself beside an aging Gamma who coughed awkwardly.

“Unusual arrangement,” the visiting Alpha from Greystone murmured.

“Fiona is the honored savior of our Alpha,” Dylan said clearly, pouring wine into Fiona’s glass. “She deserves the place of honor tonight.”

Fiona lowered her gaze with a demure smile. “It’s too much, truly.”

“Nonsense.” Dylan turned to the guests. “If not for her, I would’ve died on that cliff.”

Sophie gripped her goblet tighter. The words stung like acid.

“That night,” he continued, voice soft, “I remember the rain, the pain… and a voice singing. She kept me alive.”

Fiona blinked, lips parting delicately. “I only did what anyone would’ve—”

“Don’t be modest,” he interrupted. “You saved me.”

The elder from Dawnveil raised a glass. “Then let us toast the strength of Silverclaw’s new Luna.”

At last, Sophie thought. A toast to her.

But Dylan barely lifted his cup. “To Fiona,” he said instead. “My savior.”

Sophie lowered her gaze, wine untouched.

Later, long after the feast ended, Sophie stood in the archives. Dust motes drifted in the torchlight.

She pulled the battle reports from three years ago—Silverclaw vs. Stormfang Ridge. Her fingers trembled as she flipped through yellowed pages.

Then she found it.

Patient: Female. Age unknown. Multiple lacerations. Deep abdominal wound. Status: Admitted as “Unknown Omega.”

Treatment performed same day as Dylan’s fall.

She stared at the entry, breath caught in her throat.

No name. No credit.

And Fiona’s record?

Clean. Unscarred.

She sank to the floor, clutching the parchment.

“She wasn’t even there,” Sophie whispered.

The truth had been buried.

Just like her place in this marriage.