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My focus sharpens.

"What kind of writing?"

Carys looks toward the stairs.

"Come on."

The fact that she doesn't argue tells me everything. Something happened. Something serious. We follow her upstairs. I move automatically. Positioning myself slightly behind Carys and beside Morrow.

Protective formation. Old habits.

The attic door comes into view. And I stop. Three words are carved into the wood. Deep.

Fresh. Impossible.

YOU REMEMBER NOW.

I inspect the damage. No tool marks. No splintering around the edges. Whoever did this didn't force the door. They wrote into it.

"Did anyone enter the attic?"

Carys shakes her head.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

Her eyes flash.

"Yes."

I don't challenge her. Not because I believe something impossible happened. Because I believe she believes it. And that matters.

I touch the carving. Cold. Too cold. My wolf reacts. Not fear. Recognition.

I pull my hand away. Carys notices.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You are terrible at that."

"At what?"

"Pretending."

I almost smile.

"You always hated that about me."

"No."

Her voice quiets.

"I hated that you thought I couldn't handle the truth."

The words stay between us. Because they are bigger than the attic. Bigger than the carving. 15 years of things unsaid.