They Only Felt the Bond After I Died

I watched my sister float across the room like a ghost herself, her silver gown catching the chandelier light as she moved toward Father. The crowd was still buzzing from his toast, champagne glasses clinking in celebration of Ivy's perfect future. But something in her expression made my spectral form drift closer.

"Dad," Ivy's voice was soft, barely audible above the party chatter. She placed a delicate hand on Father's arm, her eyes wide with what looked like genuine concern. "Don't say those things about Harper. What if something really happened to her?"

Father's expression softened immediately. He'd always been putty in Ivy's hands—we all had been. "Sweetheart, you know how your sister is. She's probably holed up somewhere feeling sorry for herself."

"But what if she's not?" Ivy's voice trembled with the perfect amount of worry. She pulled out her phone, her fingers hovering over the screen. "Maybe I should text her? You know Harper and I have always been close. She might answer me even if she won't answer Conner."

I felt a chill that had nothing to do with being dead. Close? When had we ever been close? But the guests around them were nodding approvingly, murmuring about what a sweet sister Ivy was.

Father squeezed her shoulder. "If it makes you feel better, princess. But don't let her drama ruin your special night."

Ivy's thumbs moved across her phone screen with practiced ease. I drifted closer, peering over her shoulder at the message she was typing. The words made my spirit recoil in horror:

*Those rogues fuck you good? Party's amazing, thanks for not showing. Wish you'd just die already.*

My sister—my baby sister who I'd protected from bullies, who I'd helped with homework, who I'd covered for when she snuck out—had just typed those words. But before I could process the full impact, she deleted the message with quick, efficient swipes.

Then her fingers began typing again, this time crafting something entirely different:

*Harper, are you okay? We're all so worried about you. If you're mad at Dad or Conner, take it out on me instead. Please just come home. I love you.*

She turned the phone toward Father, letting him read the message before she sent it. "See? I'm trying to reach out."

"That's my girl," Father said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Always thinking of others."

Ivy hit send, and somewhere in the wine cellar, my phone buzzed against the cold stone floor next to my lifeless fingers. The sound was swallowed by the thick walls and the noise of the party above.

Mother appeared at Ivy's other side, her Luna presence commanding even in the crowded room. Diana Mills was everything a pack leader's wife should be—elegant, composed, fiercely protective of her family. Her dark hair was streaked with premature silver from years of pack politics, but it only made her look more distinguished.

"What's wrong, darling?" Mother asked, immediately sensing Ivy's distress.

"I texted Harper, but she's not responding," Ivy said, holding up her phone to show the delivered but unread message. "I'm just worried something might have happened to her."

Mother's arms wrapped around Ivy instantly, pulling her close in a protective embrace that I'd rarely received in life. "Oh, sweetheart. You're always so good to her, even when she doesn't deserve it."

"But what if—"

"No." Mother's voice was firm. "This is exactly what Harper wants. She wants us all worried, wants to steal attention from your big night. Well, I won't let her manipulate us anymore."

I watched my family comfort each other over my supposed selfishness while my actual corpse lay rotting in the basement. But it was Ivy's performance that truly chilled me. The way she leaned into Mother's embrace, the perfect tremor in her voice, the concerned furrow of her brow—it was all so convincing.

Because I was starting to remember.

The memory came back in fragments, like pieces of a shattered mirror slowly fitting together. This morning—was it really just this morning?—I'd been in my room, getting ready for something important. Something I'd been looking forward to for weeks.

The Crescent Medal ceremony.

It was the pack's highest honor, awarded only every two years to the member who'd shown exceptional service and dedication. At seventeen, I would have been the youngest recipient in pack history. All those late nights helping with pack security, mediating disputes between younger members, organizing supply runs to neighboring territories—it had all led to this moment.

I'd planned to slip away quietly during Ivy's party, accept the medal in a small ceremony with the pack elders, then return before anyone noticed I was gone. I didn't want to overshadow Ivy's Luna announcement. I never wanted to overshadow Ivy.

But I'd never made it to the ceremony.

Instead, three rogues had been waiting for me in the garage. They'd grabbed me before I could shift, dragged me kicking and screaming into the house through the back entrance. Down the stairs to the wine cellar, where no one would hear my cries over the party music.

I remembered their leader—a scarred wolf with yellow eyes and breath that reeked of cheap whiskey. He'd smiled when he saw my fear, showing teeth filed to points.

"Nothing personal, kid," he'd said. "Just business."

Business. Someone had paid them to kill me.

And now, watching Ivy's perfect performance, I remembered something else. Something that made my spectral form feel like it was drowning in ice water.

The rogues' leader had pulled out a set of keys while his companions held me down. Car keys, house keys, and hanging from the ring like a trophy—a small silver wolf charm. Ivy's charm. The one she'd worn on her keychain since she was twelve, the one she claimed was her good luck piece.

I'd seen those keys in his hand right before everything went dark.

My sister. My baby sister who was currently accepting sympathy and praise for her "concern" about my disappearance. She'd hired those rogues. She'd arranged my murder.

The perfect daughter, the beloved princess, the future Luna—she'd wanted me dead.

And she'd gotten her wish.