Chapter 68

Isla POV

I hadn’t thought much of it then, but the way Tristan’s gaze lingered on me now, his eyes flicking briefly before darting back to his plate, made me suddenly conscious of every bare inch of skin the fabric revealed.

I sat across from him, trying not to fidget under his gaze. The silverware gleamed, untouched.

Tristan gestured lightly toward the spread. “Please eat. The buttered toast is delicious.”

I picked at a piece of bread, my curiosity burning. Why here? Why now?

But if there was one thing I’d learned in this cursed bond, it was that Tristan never offered answers easily.

So I had to be patient.

We ate in silence, the quiet pressing around us heavier than usual.

I kept sneaking glances at him, but his expression betrayed nothing. He cut his food with deliberate, precise motions, like he was dissecting more than just his meal.

I finally set my fork down, tired of the tension that felt suffocating. “Why?” I whispered.

One brow arched slightly. “Why what?”

“Why breakfast here? Why break the routine? You hate… deviations so why are you doing all of this?”

His jaw flexed.

For a moment, I thought he would ignore me like usual but then his eyes slid back to mine, and although his face was calm, there was a faint tension in his shoulders. “Maybe I just wanted to. Why don't you just enjoy it instead of complaining?”

That stung.

My chest tightened with the familiar ache of distance, of being pressed up against the glass wall he’d built between us. But before I could push further, a sharp knock came at the door.

Tristan’s gaze flicked toward it. “Enter.”

A young messenger stepped in, bowing quickly. His face was pale and sweaty. “Alpha, I have word from the northern borders. Scouts have been spotted on rogue activity, but these are organized movements, not random attacks. There’s… there’s talk they were led.”

My heart lurched. Led? That meant strategy, leadership. That meant their leader, or someone powerful enough for them to listen to.

Tristan’s expression darkened, the calm composure slipping into steel. “Who’s spreading this news?”

“The hunters that return at dawn, Alpha.” The boy’s eyes darted nervously between us.

Tristan dismissed him with a nod, and the messenger bowed out quickly.

The silence that followed was heavier than before. I felt the words bubbling up inside me, the urge to speak warring with the fear of being dismissed.

But then I thought of last night, of the way he's distanced himself since we've been together, of how Vivianna pressed against him while he’d let it happen. The resentment flared hot in my chest, pushing the fear aside.

“I don't think any of the attacks are random,” I said finally, my voice steadier than I felt. “If it’s organized, if they’re coordinated, then they’re preparing for something bigger. Maybe they’re testing our borders, gauging the strength of our patrols before they make a larger strike.”

I expected silence. I expected the cool indifference of Tristan’s walls pushing me aside.

But instead, he set his fork down and turned his gaze fully on me. His golden eyes pinned me in place. “Why do you think so?”

The question hit me harder than it should have. He was listening. Actually listening to me.

My throat went dry.

“Because… that’s what I would do.” The words tumbled out before I could second-guess them. “If I were trying to break a pack, I’d probe the weaknesses first. Find the cracks before pushing harder.” I swallowed. “I think that they are planning something. It's the only thing that makes sense, if not why would they be sending two or three people at a time?”

For a long time, Tristan didn’t speak.

His eyes searched mine, his expression unreadable but intense, like he was weighing not just my words but me. Then, slowly, he nodded. “You might be right.”

I blinked, startled. He’d never acknowledged my thoughts before… at least not like this.

The rest of breakfast passed in quiet, but the silence was no longer suffocating.

It was charged, thick with something unspoken. And every so often, I caught Tristan’s gaze lingering on me, softer than before, as if he was seeing me not just as a duty-bound mate but… something else.

I dared not wonder what it might be.

By the time the plates were cleared, my heart was racing, though I tried to mask it.

I told myself it was nothing. Just a crack in his armor, nothing more.

But later, when evening fell and I slipped into the corridor to escape my restless thoughts, I found him there, waiting.

He stood at the end of the hall, leaning against the stone wall with his arms crossed, his gaze locked on me the moment I appeared.

My breath caught in my throat.

Realizing that he was alone in the dark and had probably come out here to avoid talking to anyone, I spun around on my feet to head back inside.

But his voice stopped me.

“Isla.” His voice was quieter than usual, stripped of its sharp edges.

I hesitated, slightly wary. “Yes?”

He pushed away from the wall, stepping closer. His eyes held mine, steady and deliberate. “I never got to thank you. What you said this morning, about the rogues.” A pause. “It was… insightful.”

My chest tightened, the compliment so foreign on his tongue that I almost didn’t know how to process it.

“You listened,” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

His jaw flexed, but there was no denial. “Yes, and maybe I should have done so sooner.”

For a moment, neither of us moved. His gaze lingered on me, softer, warmer, carrying something that unsettled me more than his indifference ever had.

Respect. Curiosity. Maybe even the beginning of something I dared not name.

I tore my gaze away, my pulse skittering. I wanted to believe it. I wanted to lean into the shift, to trust it.

But doubt gnawed at me, whispering that it could just be another fleeting moment, another cruel trick of hope.

And I wasn't sure if I would survive that, so I nodded, keeping my voice even. “Yeah, you should. Good night, Tristan.”

And before my trembling heart could betray me, I turned and walked away.

But even as I left, I felt his eyes on me… probing and intense.