Chapter 20
Elara's POV
I closed the door behind me and leaned against it for a second, letting the cool wood press into my spine. My hands were shaking. Not from exhaustion—though God knows I was exhausted—but from that look on Marcus's face downstairs. That concerned, tired, familiar face.
I shoved off the door and stripped out of my clothes fast, letting the damp fabric hit the floor in a heap. The bathroom was tiny, barely enough room to turn around, but the hot water worked and that was all I needed. I cranked the knob until steam started rising and stepped under the spray.
Heat hit my shoulders and I hissed through my teeth. Every muscle screamed. My calves burned. My left wrist throbbed. There were bruises forming on my ribs from where Sophia's knee had connected before I'd swept her legs out.
This body was so damn weak.
I braced both hands against the tile and let the water pound down on my neck. In my previous life, I could run for hours without breaking stride. Could track prey through blizzards. Could fight twelve armed enemies and walk away with nothing but shallow cuts.
Now? I could barely make it through one school day without my lungs trying to quit on me.
I needed to start training. Serious training. But not the brutal Northern Territory method—that would kill this body in a week. I'd have to modify everything. Endurance runs shortened to account for the asthma. Core strength exercises that wouldn't trigger an attack. Breathing control drills adapted for acceptable limitations instead of wolf physiology.
The water was starting to run cold. I shut it off and grabbed the threadbare towel hanging on the rack. Wrapped it around myself and stepped out into the steam-fogged room.
My book bag had tipped over near the bed. Must've knocked it when I'd thrown my jacket down earlier. The contents had spilled across the worn carpet—notebooks, pens, the inhaler Emily had made me promise to carry.
And a pink notebook I didn't recognize.
I froze, water still dripping from my hair.
The cover was faded, edges worn soft from handling. It had fallen open to a page covered in looping handwriting. Even from here I could make out the words at the top: October 3rd.
Elara's diary.
I'd shoved it in my bag this morning in the rush to get to school, planning to read it later. Then the fight with Sophia had happened and I'd completely forgotten about it.
Now it was lying there on the floor, open and waiting.
I crossed the room slowly and picked it up. The pages were thin, some of them crinkled like they'd gotten wet and dried again. I sat down on the edge of the bed, still wrapped in the towel, and flipped back to the first entry.
September 1st
First day of senior year. Saw Blythe in the hallway and he smiled at me. Just for a second, but it made my whole day better. Sophia was with him, of course. She always is. But he still smiled at me.
My chest went tight.
I kept reading.
September 5th
Helped Blythe organize his locker today. He said thanks and I swear my heart almost stopped. Chloe says I'm being ridiculous but I can't help it. When he looks at me like that, like he actually sees me...
The entries went on like that. Page after page of Blythe's name. Every small interaction documented in painful detail. Every smile analyzed. Every casual conversation replayed until the words lost meaning.
I could feel my jaw clenching.
The original Elara had been so focused on him. So desperate for scraps of attention. And he'd known. He'd known and used it. Used her to carry his stuff, do his homework, cover for him when he was late to practice.
And she'd let him. Because she thought it meant something.
I flipped ahead, scanning faster now.
October 15th
Sophia asked me to help her with archery practice after school. She said I have good instincts even if I can't shift. That made me feel... I don't know. Like maybe I'm not completely useless?
She wore the bracelet I made her for her birthday. All day. People kept complimenting it and she told them I made it. I know I shouldn't care so much about that kind of thing but it felt good. Like maybe she really does think of me as a friend.
The words blurred a little. I blinked hard.
Sophia. Perfect, sweet, manipulative Sophia. Who'd spent months building Elara up just enough to make the fall hurt worse. Who'd learned exactly which buttons to push, which compliments would keep Elara loyal and grateful and useful.
I kept reading. The entries started getting shorter. More scattered.
November 2nd
Why can't I shift? Everyone else can. Even the Omegas who are supposed to be weak—they can still do it. But not me. I'm broken. Defective.
Sophia says it doesn't matter, that I'm still part of the pack. But I see how people look at me. Like I'm less. Like I don't belong.
Maybe they're right.
My fingers tightened on the pages.
December 10th
If I disappeared, would anyone even notice? Would they care?
Mom and Dad would. Ethan would. But everyone else...
Sometimes I think it would be easier. For everyone.
The handwriting was getting shakier. Harder to read.
January 8th
I'm so tired. All the time. Of pretending I'm okay. Of trying to fit in. Of being the weak one.
Blythe asked me to help him study for the biology exam. Spent three hours going over everything. He passed. Got a B+. Didn't even say thank you.
I don't know why I keep doing this to myself.
I flipped to the last few pages. The entries were sporadic now. Days or weeks between them.
March 3rd
Maybe if I was stronger. Prettier. Better.
Maybe if I could shift.
Maybe then...
The sentence trailed off unfinished.
March 19th
Sophia wants me to help her get equipment from the storage room tomorrow. She says she trusts me to pick out the right stuff.
I won't mess this up. I can't.
That was the last entry. Dated the day before Elara died.
I stared at the page until the words stopped making sense. Until they were just shapes. Lines of ink that used to mean something to a girl who didn't exist anymore.
My throat felt like someone had their hands around it.
This wasn't just some random body I'd landed in. This was a person. A real person who'd had thoughts and feelings and pain. Who'd loved people who'd hurt her. Who'd tried so hard to be enough and never quite managed it.
And now she was gone.
I closed the diary slowly and set it on the nightstand.
If I told them—if I walked downstairs right now and said "I'm not Elara, I'm Lynette, I'm your missing daughter"—what would happen?
Marcus and Emily would be overjoyed maybe. Confused definitely. But they'd get their daughter back. The one they'd lost seventeen years ago.
Except they wouldn't. Because Lynette wasn't their daughter either. Not really. She was a killer. A predator. Someone who'd spent her whole life in ice and blood and darkness.
And Elara would still be gone.
I looked at my reflection in the small mirror above the dresser. Wet hair plastered to my skull. Dark circles under my eyes. This face that belonged to a girl who'd written pages and pages about a boy who didn't deserve her.
I couldn't tell them. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Because the truth was, I didn't know if I was doing this for them or for me. If I was trying to protect Elara's memory or just avoiding the messy, complicated feelings that came with being part of a family.
In the Northern Territories, emotions were weaknesses. Attachments were liabilities. You kept your distance because caring about someone gave your enemies leverage.
And I was very, very good at keeping my distance.
A knock on the door made me jump.
"Elara?" Ethan's voice, muffled through the wood. "Dinner's ready. Mom made enough food to feed an army, so you better get down here before I eat it all."
I grabbed the diary and shoved it back in my bag. Pulled on clean clothes—soft cotton that smelled like that same lavender detergent. Ran my fingers through my damp hair.
"Coming," I called back.