The conversation falls silent. I stand frozen in the hallway, mulling over everything I just overheard.
Axle is right about one thing—I don’t know anything except that I’m in way over my head.
I turn around and retreat back to the guest room before either of them realizes I was listening. My phone sits on the nightstand where I left it, screen lit up with multiple notifications.
Three messages from Caelan asking if I’m okay and when I’ll be home. One from my aunt requesting an update on the investigation. Two missed calls from numbers I don’t recognize.
The guilt twists deeper. My sister worries about me. My aunt expects regular reports. My pack needs me to figure out this curse situation before Thornridge makes their move.
And here I am, hiding in a guest room because I don’t know how to face the man I slept with or the questions I can’t answer.
I type out a response to Caelan.Still working on the research project. Everything is fine. Will call soon.
Before I can send it, someone knocks on the guest room door.
“Sera?” Reeyan’s voice comes through the wood. “Can we talk?”
My finger hovers over the send button. I could pretend I’m not here. Could hide in this room until he gives up and leaves.
But that’s cowardice. And whatever else I am—confused, scared, overwhelmed—I’m not a coward.
I delete the unsent message and open the door.
Reeyan stands in the hallway, fully dressed now. Those green eyes search my face with concern that makes my chest ache.
He doesn’t try to touch me, keeping a respectful distance. “I got a message this morning. From Isla Moonwhisper. She’s agreed to meet with us this afternoon.”
Isla. The elder and keeper of Llewelyn oral histories. Ancient and terrifying, and possibly the only person who might know the truth about the curse beyond what we found in Hysopp archives.
“Isla agreed to talk to you? She doesn’t speak to outsiders. Ever.”
“Your aunt contacted her and explained the situation. Made it clear this investigation has official pack sanction.” He pulls out his phone and shows me the message. “She’s willing to meet at two o’clock this afternoon.”
I read through Isla’s terse message. Classic her—no wasted words, no pleasantries, just essential information delivered with maximum efficiency.
“If Isla agreed to meet, she knows something.” I hand the phone back. “She wouldn’t waste her time otherwise. The woman is older than most of the trees in this valley, and she doesn’t suffer fools or pointless conversations.”
“Then we'd better make sure our questions are good ones.” He pockets his phone. “I’ve been compiling a list based on what we learned from Evangeline. Want to help me refine it?”
Research. Questions. Concrete tasks that have nothing to do with mate bonds or feelings or what happened in his bed last night. I grab onto the lifeline gratefully.
“Yes. Let me get my notes.”
We spend the morning at his dining table, surrounded by books and documents and carefully crafted questions. What does Isla remember about the time of change three hundred years ago? Are there oral histories that mention Moira Ashwood or the Hysopp Coven? Has there ever been talk within pack leadership about the emotional distance being anything other than cultural tradition?
Reeyan takes notes in his worn journal while I cross-reference historical records. Gradually, I feel myself settling. The awkwardness from this morning fades as we work together, falling into rhythms that feel natural despite how little time we’ve actually known each other.
Axle joins us after an hour, bringing coffee and pastries from somewhere in town. He greets me with politeness that suggests he knows I overheard his conversation with Reeyan earlier. To his credit, he doesn’t bring it up, just sets the food on the table and jumps into the research discussion like this is perfectly normal.
Maybe it is normal. Maybe working through three-hundred-year-old curses while processing new mate bonds is just what my life looks like now.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it settles something in my chest. Acceptance, maybe. Or just exhaustion from fighting against reality.
“We should leave soon.” Reeyan checks the time around noon. “It’s about an hour’s drive, and we don’t want to keep Isla waiting. She seems like the type who considers tardiness a personal insult.”
“She absolutely is.” I gather my notes and tuck them into a folder. “Fair warning—she’s going to interrogate you. Ask questions about your intentions, your research methods,and why you think you have the right to investigate Llewelyn history. Isla doesn’t trust easily, and she definitely doesn’t trust outsiders.”
“I can handle tough questions.” He stands and stretches. “Though I appreciate the warning.”
