My bladder protests, demanding attention. Basic bodily functions continue even when your world implodes. How inconsiderate.
I push myself up from the window seat, clutching the blanket around my shoulders like armor. Hunter steps forward, hand outstretched.
“Aurora—”
I walk past him without acknowledgment. His hand falls to his side. Good.
The hallway stretches before me, leading to a bathroom I barely remember using earlier. I move on unsteady legs, my bare feet silent against the hardwood floor. On way back from the bathroom, I hear voices drift from the kitchen. Penn’s low murmur catches my attention as I leave the bathroom.
“She’s going to break her silence eventually,” he says. “When she does, it’s going to be brutal.”
I freeze, hand on the doorknob.
“I know,” Hunter replies, his voice rough with exhaustion. “I deserve whatever’s coming.”
“It’s not about deserving,” Penn says. “It’s about whether you can handle it. She’s stronger than you think.”
I slip back to the living room before I can hear Hunter’s response. Their voices continue, muffled now by the closed door.
They’re talking about me like I’m a bomb about to detonate. Maybe I am.
It happens at sunset.
The mountains outside the window transform into silhouettes against a bleeding sky. Crimson and gold spill across the horizon, painting the room in warm light that feels like a mockery of the cold emptiness inside me.
For hours, I’ve sat immobile, processing fragments of grief while Hunter maintains his vigil. Sometimes he leaves—phone calls, whispered conversations with Penn, bringing food I won’t touch. But he always returns, taking up space in the doorway or sitting silently in the chair across from me.
Waiting. Watching. As if I’m the dangerous one.
The dying sunlight catches on something metal across the room—Hunter’s watch.
Something breaks inside me. Not like glass shattering, but like ice giving way beneath unsuspecting feet. A sudden plunge into frigid waters.
I stand in one fluid motion, the blanket falling away from my shoulders. My legs should feel weak after hours of sitting, after days of captivity, but rage fuels my strength. I turn to face Hunter directly.
His expression changes when our eyes meet—surprise, then wariness. He recognizes that something has shifted. The silence between us is about to end.
“Tell me everything,” I demand, my voice hoarse from screaming during my captivity, from crying, from twelve days of horror. Each word scrapes against my raw throat. “Every detail about my father’s death. Why did you never tell me?”
Hunter straightens, his injured shoulder forgotten. His face—that beautiful face I once traced with reverent fingers—hardens into something unreadable. But his eyes... his eyes give him away. There’s fear there. Not of me, but of this moment. Of what happens after truth is spoken aloud.
He takes one step toward me, then stops as I instinctively back away.
“Aurora—” he begins, but I cut him off with a raised hand.
“No excuses. No lies.” My voice grows stronger with each word. “Just the truth. All of it.”
I wrap my arms around myself, watching Hunter’s face as he struggles with whatever truth he’s about to reveal.
He stands before me, blood seeping through his haphazardly bandaged shoulder. Exhaustion etches deep lines around his eyes. For a moment, I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.
“Your father...” Hunter begins, his voice rough. He clears his throat and tries again. “Your father participated in the hunt. Like the one that happened the night you and I did.”
My breath catches. “What?”
“The Vipers have always conducted these trials. Your father tried to become one of us. It’s—it’s how we test recruits’ abilities and their instincts.” Hunter’s eyes never leave mine. “Sometimes recruits don’t make it out alive.”
The room tilts slightly. I steady myself against the windowsill.
