Chapter 2 Echoes of humiliation ( Raina's POV)

I wake to a tremor in the air, a ripple of tension that travels faster than any gale. My eyelids flutter open to the muted gray of my dorm room window. Outside, Silverpine University's campus hums with whispered rumors. Even through concrete walls, I feel the pack's collective shudder.

I push myself upright and sit on the edge of my bed, boots brushing the plush rug. My wrist presses against the silver sigil tucked inside my jacket pocket. It's heavier than I remember-an anchor of raw ambition and stinging betrayal. I flex my fingers around it. He cast it aside like I was nothing.

Boot steps echo down the corridor. Helena's knock is quick and urgent. "Raina?" Her voice tumbles undercut with alarm. "Everyone's talking about it. They're-" She inhales sharply. "They're calling you a traitor."

I close my eyes and draw in a deliberate breath. Her panic doesn't reach me; it fuels me. "Let them talk," I murmur, voice calm. "I have work to do."

She perches on the edge of the mattress, gaze flicking to my closed fist. "You rejected him. He rejected you. It's... unprecedented. Pack politics are in chaos."

Chaos. That's precisely the leverage I need. I stand, smoothing the folds of my fitted blazer. "I don't deny it. I reject tradition, not my power."

Helena's eyes widen. "You trained too long for this to be a stunt."

I square my shoulders. "This is my strategic pivot. The pack's framework collapses without a Luna-and a powerless Alpha." I pause, then add: "Let them scramble for answers. I'll build a new paradigm."

She exhales, concern etched on her face. I offer a small, wry smile. "Trust me. I've got this."

---

The campus walkway is awash in early-morning light, but shadows lurk in every corner. Students cluster in knots, heads bent together as they pore over screens and campfire whispers. Pack members in dark hoodies exchange furtive glances. Even the faculty-moon-blessed scholars-step lightly, as if afraid of disturbing the aftershock.

I cross the quad toward the administrative building, each footfall punctuated by a subtle shift in the collective conversation. "There she is," I hear. "The witch." "She's plotting something." "Did you see the way she walked off?" My pulse jolts-just the reaction I want.

I tap my pass at the main doors and stride into the grand foyer. Flanked by mahogany paneling and silver crescent motifs, it feels like the nerve center of the institution. At the reception desk, a young werewolf named Mia-the most junior administrative aide-blanches.

"L-Luna Adler?" Mia stammers, eyes flickering between me and the security camera feed showing the amphitheater. "They-Um, your office is on the third floor, as usual."

"Thank you," I say, voice polite but authoritative. My blazer brushes the desk as I pass. "Please lock this door after me."

Her nod is frantic. I turn on heel and head for the elevator, each floor chime amplifying the weight of what I've done. When the doors open on Level 3, the hallway is deserted-professors have retreated, pack members have retreated. Lawns of uncertainty sprawl where certainty once stood.

My office door bears my name and the official title: RAiNA ADLER, Luna-in-Exile. Below it, someone has scrawled in red marker: "TRAITOR." They've crossed out every letter and rewritten "WITCH" underneath. I trace my fingertip over the smear. A half-smile tugs at my lips.

I turn the knob and step inside. My desk-immaculate as always-holds files for Y-Week seminars and leadership workshops. On the far wall, an organizational chart shows the pack's hierarchy: Lucian's name still at the top, but blank spaces sprout under him like withered branches.

I tap the chart. "Empty seats," I murmur. "Opportunities."

I slide into my ergonomic chair and power on the holographic display. A flood of alerts pops up: emergency Council meeting invites, security camera requests, internal memos demanding explanations. I lean back, steepling my fingers.

Phase One: Disruption. I deploy a subtle patch to the University network-Council minutes leaked, strategic decisions exposed, alliances laid bare. Each document dissolves the illusion of Lucian's unassailable authority. Within minutes, I watch the read counts climb: sixty-five percent of pack members have opened the files.

Mia's timid voice chimes through the comm panel. "Luna...advice from Elder Mortaine. He requests-"

I cut her off. "Tell him I'm handling it. No meetings. No interference."

Her hesitation is audible. "Y-yes, Luna."

I mute the comms. Pack unity is a liability now. Information asymmetry is my competitive advantage.

I pull up the lecture schedule. My first class of the day: "Alpha & Luna Dynamics in Modern Pack Governance." A reasonable camouflage. But I have no intention of lecturing on harmony-I intend to sow discord. I program a surprise case study: "When Destiny Fails: Lessons from Luna Adler's Rejection." The title will get every Beta's attention.

---

Two hours later, I stride into the auditorium. Betas file in, seating themselves at the curved desks. Silverpine's eldest faculty-my usual co-instructors-hover at the back, glances sharp. I tap the lectern, and the holo-screen behind me flares to life.

"Good morning," I say, voice measured. "Today's session examines a critical failure in pack doctrine." The screen displays a live newsfeed of the amphitheater rejection-grainy footage but unmistakable: Lucian's hesitation, my rejection, the audible gasp. No introduction, no apology; I let the moment speak.

Murmurs ripple through the room-shock, disbelief, curiosity. Exactly as planned.

I glide through the analysis: power dynamics, the risk of unilateral decision-making, the impact of emotional intelligence on leadership outcomes. Each point fractures confidence in Lucian's rule a little more. I cite Council bylaws, historical precedents, and case studies-executive-level security breaches in inter-pack politics. Corporate jargon slides from my lips: "agile governance," "stakeholder alignment," "risk mitigation." The Betas lean in, pens scratching.

When I conclude, I let silence linger. Then I ask, "Questions?"

Hands shoot up. A dozen voices press for clarity, for reassurances, for strategy. I direct the conversation, offering insights laced with strategic ambiguity. I promise workshops on "Empowered Leadership" and "Adaptive Pack Structures." I position myself as the visionary Luna they never had.

By the end of the hour, the auditorium buzzes with a different energy-one of empowered inquiry rather than blind loyalty. As students file out, several linger to thank me. One Beta mutters, "Your clarity is refreshing." A non-pack human student nods, "I never thought I'd understand werewolf governance until now."

I tuck those compliments away. Each one is a building block in my reputation architecture.

---

Back in my office, dusk filters through the blinds. My power consumption readout shows a spike-my network exploits worked. Council chambers are in emergency session; Lucian's team is scrambling to contain the leaks. A red alert flashes: "Council embargo in effect." I smirk.

Helena slips in, closing the door behind her. "How's phase one?" she whispers.

I swivel my chair to face her, eyes bright with purpose. "On schedule. Lucian's credibility is collateral damage-and it's working."

She exhales, relief and pride mingling in her expression. "Just...be careful. Emotions are volatile assets."

I stand and cross the distance to her. "That's why I engineered the narrative. Emotion drives engagement, Helena. Whether it's love or hate, we control the sentiment." I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Now, let's plan Phase Two."

She smiles, the tension easing. "I'll convene our human–wolf coalition tonight."

"Perfect," I say, turning back to the holo-chart. Blank spaces fill with potential strategies: strategic partnerships, public appeals, a counter-campaign to unearth Lucian's vulnerabilities. Every element is a data point in the new governance model I'm architecting.

As darkness falls outside, the sigil in my pocket feels less like a reminder of betrayal and more like a seed of transformation. In the quiet hum of my office, I plot the next move in a game where power is the ultimate prize-and emotion the ultimate leverage.

Pack politics will never be the same. Neither will Lucian Cross.

And neither will I.