Chapter 67 A Brief Moment of Normalcy
Wynter‘s POV
I shot him a look to steady him.
"But he should have noticed," Jax said. "He's your Mate."
"The suppressants distort the connection," Chase said quietly, guilt heavy in his voice. "They made her pain feel like exhaustion. By the time I realized something was seriously wrong, she was already dying."
The word hung in the air like a death sentence. Rosalie flinched.
Silence fell, heavy and suffocating. I could feel the weight of Owen's death pressing down on all of us, the grief we hadn't had time to process, the fear of what came next.
Then something inside me cracked.
"This is my fault," I whispered, and suddenly I couldn't hold it back anymore. "Owen is dead because of me. Because I involved him, because I pushed too hard, because I—"
My voice broke, and tears I'd been holding back since I woke up finally spilled over. "He had a sister. He was trying to save his sister, and now he's dead and she's still trapped and it's all my fault—"
"Stop," Chase said firmly, pulling me against his chest. "This is not your fault. Owen died because Bloodrock murdered him to cover their tracks. You didn't kill him—they did."
"But if I hadn't—"
"If you hadn't investigated, we wouldn't have heard—from Owen himself—that Bloodrock intends to start a civil war and pit our two territories against each other," Jax cut in, his voice rough. "Owen made his choice, Sis. He chose to help you. Don't dishonor that by blaming yourself."
"Jax is right," Rosalie said softly, squeezing my hand. "Owen knew the risks. We all do. And we're choosing to keep fighting anyway, because what Bloodrock is doing—it has to stop."
I wanted to argue, wanted to take the weight of Owen's death onto my shoulders where it belonged, but exhaustion pulled at me and I had nothing left to fight with.
"So what do we do now?" I asked instead, my voice small and broken. "Without his evidence, without witnesses—how do we prove anything?"
The question settled over us like a shroud.
"We start over," Chase said finally. "Gather evidence slowly, carefully. Document everything—every suspicious interaction, every connection we can find. It'll take time, but eventually we'll have enough."
"That could take months," Jax protested. "And in the meantime, they're free to keep killing anyone who gets in their way."
"I know," Chase said, frustration bleeding through. "But we don't have a choice. Not unless we want to end up like Owen."
"Maybe not completely without options," I said, an idea taking shape. "Anne. When I confronted her yesterday—she was defensive, but underneath I saw doubt. She's starting to question her father."
"You think we can turn her?" Rosalie asked skeptically.
"Push her to investigate on her own," I said. "She has access we'll never have. If we plant enough doubt—"
"She might find proof we never could," Chase finished. He pulled out his phone. "I could send her a message. Suggest she ask her father about what really happened, and pay attention to how he answers."
His fingers moved quickly across the screen. After a moment, he showed us:
Anne. I know you don't want to hear this, but you need to ask your father about Arthur Vaughn's death. Really ask him—pay attention to how he responds, to what he doesn't say as much as what he does. Sometimes the people we trust most are the ones hiding the darkest secrets. Don't let blind loyalty destroy your chance to know the truth.
"That's good," Rosalie said. "Not accusatory, but it plants doubt."
Chase pressed send. "Now we wait."
Silence fell again, heavier this time. The weight of Owen's death, the uncertainty of our future, the exhaustion of fighting a battle that seemed impossible to win—it pressed down on all of us until the room felt suffocating.
Then Rosalie cleared her throat.
"I know this might sound crazy right now," she said hesitantly. "But—winter break starts in two days. And I was thinking—maybe before we all go home, we should do something normal?"
"Like what?" I asked, surprised.
"Go into town? See a movie? Eat somewhere that doesn't smell like the cafeteria?" She looked between us uncertainly. "I just—winter break's about to start, and we won't see each other for a long time. And when we come back, things are only going to get more complicated." She swallowed and tried a small smile. "So... could we just relax for a bit first?"
The tention hung in the air.
"You're right," I said quietly. "We should go. While we still can."
Before anyone could respond, Jax moved suddenly, inserting himself between Chase and me with deliberate force, his shoulder bumping Chase aside.
"You just want more time with my sister," he said flatly, staring Chase down. "That's what this is really about. More chances to convince her you're worth trusting."
"Actually," Rosalie interjected quickly, "I really do just want a few hours where we're not constantly afraid. Is that so wrong?"
Her voice had gone small, almost pleading, and I saw tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. Rosalie, who'd been so strong through everything, was finally showing cracks.
"I think it sounds nice," I said firmly. "We've been trapped in fear for so long. We need to remember what we're fighting for."
"You're sure?" Chase asked, concern evident as he took in my pale face. "Dr. Reeves said you need rest—"
"I'll take my medications and let you fuss over me as much as you want," I interrupted. "But Rosalie's right. We need this. We need to remember we're still alive."
Rosalie's face lit up with fragile hope. "Really?"
"Really," I said, managing a smile. "We deserve a few hours of being normal teenagers."
"Thank you," she whispered, squeezing my hand.
Jax was still glowering at Chase, but after a moment he sighed in resignation. "Fine. But if Sterling tries anything—"
"He won't," I said firmly.
"So it's settled," Chase said, and I heard carefully controlled hope in his voice. "Day after tomorrow, after classes. We'll go into town."
"Sounds perfect," Rosalie said.
She turned to me. "Wynter? What do you think? Final yes?"
I looked at her hopeful face, at Jax's reluctant acceptance, at Chase's carefully neutral expression that couldn't hide how much he wanted this. And I thought about Owen, about how he'd died before experiencing anything beyond fear and obligation.
Then I thought of my dying dad, and the pain-in-the-neck aunt and uncle back home.
"I..."