Chapter 32

Chapter 32
Elara's POV

Ethan stared at me for another long moment, his eyes searching my face for cracks in the story. I could see him weighing my words, looking for the lie underneath.

The car felt too small suddenly. Too hot. The air between us was thick with unspoken questions.

"Elara—" he started.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out, grateful for the interruption, and glanced at the screen. A text from Chloe asking if I was okay. Perfect timing.

I looked up at Ethan with what I hoped was genuine concern. "Shit, I almost forgot. I promised Chloe I'd help her organize her biology notes this afternoon. She's been texting me."

Ethan's frown deepened. "Right now? We just got back from—"

"I know, I know." I reached for the door handle. "But I already bailed on her once this week. She's freaking out about the exam tomorrow."

"Elara, wait—"

But I was already opening the car door, one foot on the pavement. "I promise I'll be home before dinner, okay? We can talk then."

He looked like he wanted to argue, but I was already out of the car, slinging my bag over my shoulder. I leaned down to look at him through the open door.

"Tell Mom I'll be back in a few hours. Love you."

I shut the door before he could respond and started walking toward the main street. I could feel his eyes on my back through the windshield, that same searching look that said he knew something was off but couldn't quite pin it down.

I didn't look back. If I looked back, I might lose my nerve. I might tell him everything—about Derrick's offer, about the rogues, about the impossible choice I was facing.

But Ethan had principles. Lines he wouldn't cross. And I was about to cross so many lines I'd lose count.

Better he didn't know.

I turned the corner and confirmed he wasn't following. The car was still parked where I'd left it, Ethan's silhouette visible through the windshield. He was probably still sitting there, trying to figure out what the hell was going on with his sister.

I slowed my pace and reached into my pocket. Empty. I opened my small crossbody bag and rifled through it. Lip balm. Inhaler. A crumpled receipt from last week.

No wallet.

I stopped walking and pressed my palm against my forehead. Of course. Of course I'd forgotten my wallet. In my past life, I'd coordinated weapon deals worth millions of dollars. Now I couldn't even remember to bring money for the goddamn bus.

I walked to the nearest bus stop and studied the route map. Two transfers to get to school. At least five dollars one way. I looked down the street toward the direction of campus. The university was on the far side of town, but at least walking there would put me closer to the edge of Black Ridge Forest.

My lungs were already tight from the stress of the day. The thought of pushing them that hard made my chest ache in anticipation.

But what choice did I have?

I started walking.

The main street was busy with afternoon traffic. Cars passed in a steady stream, their engines humming, exhaust fumes mixing with the smell of hot asphalt. I kept my head down and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. My mind was still churning through the Derrick situation, running tactical scenarios, weighing options.

I was so lost in thought that I almost missed it.

The sound came from a narrow alley to my left—low voices, tense and controlled. Not a normal argument. Something darker.

My feet stopped before my brain caught up. Every instinct from my past life flared to attention. I knew that tone. I'd heard it a thousand times before, in a thousand different contexts. That was the sound of predators circling prey.

I should have kept walking. Whatever was happening in that alley wasn't my problem. I had enough problems.

But my body had already moved closer to the mouth of the alley, pressing against the brick wall, angling my head just enough to see around the corner.

Three large men stood in a loose semicircle. Werewolves, obviously—I could tell from the way they carried themselves, the controlled tension in their shoulders, the faint shimmer of wolf just beneath their skin. They were surrounding someone.

And that someone was Kael Harrington.

I recognized him immediately, even in the dim shadows of the alley. That face was hard to forget—sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, black hair falling across his forehead. The same face that had looked at me with cold amber eyes in the Black Ridge Forest. The same face that had looked at me with cold dismissal when I'd tried to defend him to his mother.

Right now, that face looked like it was carved from ice.

"We're just saying, Alpha," the buzz-cut one was speaking, his tone dripping with false respect, "it's unusual for someone of your... status... to be slumming it in a town like this. No pack. No territory. Just playing student."

Another one circled closer, hands in his pockets, casual but threatening. "Makes people wonder what you're really doing here. The Harrington heir, all alone, no backup. Seems almost... careless."

The third one laughed, low and ugly. "Or maybe Daddy's testing you. Seeing if the golden boy can handle himself without the family name protecting him."

I watched Kael's hands curl into fists at his sides. His jaw was tight, muscles jumping beneath the skin. But he didn't move. Didn't lunge. Didn't shift.

This wasn't about him being unable to fight. This was about control. Or maybe restraint.

The smart thing to do was leave. Walk away. This wasn't my business. I could still hear his voice from yesterday, cold and dismissive: You shouldn't have interfered. I don't need an Omega defending me.

I turned away from the alley. My feet started moving in the opposite direction.

Screw him. If he didn't want help, he could handle this himself.

But even as I walked away, my brain wouldn't shut up.

Derrick had already told me the basics—seven to ten rogues.

But basic intel wasn't enough. I needed details. Patrol patterns. Weak points in their defenses. The layout of the mill. Information that could only come from someone who'd actually engaged with them.

My mind flashed back to that night in the forest. The sound of heavy impacts. Trees splintering. The low snarl of wolves in combat. Kael standing over a scene that his man Drake had called "cleaned up and secure."

What if they'd been dealing with Ragnar's rogues that night?

What if Kael already had the intel I needed?

I stopped walking. My hand tightened around the strap of my bag.

Think tactically, Lynette. You need information. He might have it. And the best way to get someone to cooperate is to put them in your debt first.

I turned around slowly and looked back toward the alley. The voices were getting louder now. More aggressive. I heard one of the men say something about "bastard bloodline" and "worthless heir."

This wasn't about helping Kael. This wasn't about feeling sorry for him or wanting to defend him again. This was pure calculation. Cold strategy.

I needed his knowledge of Black Ridge Forest. I needed his experience with the rogues. And if saving his ass from three bullies was the price of getting him to talk, then fine.

I could swallow my pride for two hundred thousand dollars.

I walked back toward the alley entrance, my heart pounding against my ribs, my mind already working through the angles.