“Yeah, he does.”
The cold bites through my shirt, and I reach for my hoodie. As I pull it on, I look back toward the house, where the glow of lanterns reflects on the frosty ground. Inside, laughter rises again. Grief lingers, but so does hope.
Jericho’s words echo in my mind.You gave me something to fight for.
That’s just it, isn’t it? Hope won’t do us any good if we aren’t willing to fight for the things we want.
If we can keep moments like this alive, keep showing packs that not all vampires are the enemy, then maybe there’s still a chance. All we need is enough people to join the cause. To fight for a future without Foxx’s brutality.
Justice deserves that.
Tobias deserves it too. His futureneedsit.
I breathe deep, tasting the night, and start the walk back toward home. My pulse quickens, that low ache sharpening into something steadier—instinct, maybe. I don’t know what this feeling is yet, only that I won’t let him face what’s coming alone.
Tobias needs something to fight for. And until he finds his strength again, he’ll have mine.
12
TOBIAS
It’s been four days since Red dropped the bombshell that changed everything. Four days since my entire life shifted, and I started to question everything—every moment, every memory.
Nothing makes sense anymore.
Except,everythingdoes. And that’s what scares me.
Being alone makes my mind spin—too many questions, too many fears—so I avoid it, spending my time around the others as much as possible. I help in the kitchen, hang out with Ivy or Taren or whoever’s around, usually Rowen. I’m with him the most.
I take pictures every day. I haven’t let the digital camera out of my sight since they gave it to me. The weight is a steady comfort in my hands.
But even when I’m around them, I don’t talk. I don’t know what to say. All I can think about is what Red told me.
You might be a half-blood.
Half shifter. Half human.
If it’s true… God, if it’s true—if that’s what my mom was—it would explain everything.
Red hasn’t brought it up again, almost like he knows I’m not ready to talk about it. But the things he said play on a loop in my head, twisting the lens of my memories.
Nights are the worst. If it’s not dreams of Rip or the club, then it’s dreams of my mother. I hear her screams, see her vacant eyes. The way she’d talk to people who weren’t there, the way she’d beg me to listen to things I couldn’t hear. I used to think it was mental illness. Used to beg her to take her meds. Watched her struggle for years. Fight with her mind, her body. And even with medication, she still succumbed to her… well, I can’t say illness anymore, can I? It doesn’t fit. She’d succumbed to hershifterside.Her animal. It was literally tearing at her trying to get out.
After an evening shower, I head downstairs. The living room is empty. So is the kitchen. Everyone is either working or out on a run. Grant went to talk to another pack and hasn’t come back. Forest locked himself in his office to make some phone calls.
I can’t stand the silence, so I take my camera and go upstairs.
Rowen’s door is open, as it almost always is. He’s at his desk with his headphones on, tapping something into his laptop. I drop onto the massive beanbag beside his bed and fidget with the camera strap in my hands.
He looks over, removing the headphones. “Need something?”
I don’t want to tell him the truth—that I just don’t want to be alone—so I mumble, “The memory card is full again.”
His warm eyes glint with humor. “Already?”
I smile a little.
“You’re relentless with that thing.” He pulls a spare laptop from under his desk, handing it to me. “Here.”
