Chapter 51: Chapter Fifty-one

Chapter 51

Lia’s POV

I’d never been afraid of the dark.

Not until Duskwood turned it into a hunting ground.

The streets were quiet tonight, too quiet. The kind of quiet that pressed against your ears until you thought you heard footsteps that weren’t there.

My hood was pulled low, my cloak heavy around me, and every step toward the healer’s hall felt like a step toward the gallows.

Quinn’s words echoed in my head: Get proof the curse is worse than they think.

Proof meant Edgar’s medical reports. Which meant breaking into one of the most heavily guarded places in the pack’s territory.

The hall loomed ahead, its wooden frame carved with wards that shimmered faintly in the moonlight. Normally, those wards were meant to keep danger out. Tonight, they’d keep me in if anyone caught me.

I slipped around to the side, fingers brushing the latch on the healer’s supply door. It was locked, of course. But the lock was old, older than me, and a thin dagger could do wonders if you knew where to press.

A click. A breath. The door eased open.

The scent inside hit me first: crushed herbs, moonwater, and the faint iron tang of blood. Shadows sprawled across shelves lined with glass jars and scrolls. My boots made no sound on the polished floor as I moved deeper, toward the records room.

Edgar’s file would be here somewhere. If I was lucky, it would be under “Alpha Edgar Nolan.” If I wasn’t, the healers would have hidden it under a false name.

I crouched by the first set of drawers, sliding one open inch by inch. My fingers skimmed parchment, leather-bound books, wax-sealed notes

“Who’s there?”

The voice was soft, uncertain.

I froze.

A lantern flared at the end of the hall, revealing a young healer’s apprentice, barely out of childhood, staring at me.

“Lia?” she whispered. “What”

“Shhh.” I stepped forward quickly, holding a finger to my lips. “I need you to pretend you didn’t see me.”

Her eyes darted toward the door. “If they catch you”

“They won’t,” I said, keeping my tone low but firm. “But if you speak a word of this, Edgar’s life gets shorter. Do you want that?”

She swallowed hard, then shook her head.

“Good.” I moved past her before she could ask more questions, heart pounding harder now. She might stay quiet. Or she might run straight to the council.

I found the second drawer and yanked it open. Names, names, names, there. Nolan, Edgar. The folder was heavier than I expected, bound with a strip of black ribbon.

I slipped it under my cloak and turned to leave

A shadow moved across the window.

I ducked into the shelves just as the main door creaked open.

“Someone’s in here,” a male voice murmured.

Two sets of boots crossed the floor. Guards.

I held my breath, the parchment in my cloak crackling softly as I pressed myself against the wall.

One guard’s lantern swept across the room, light sliding closer, closer

The apprentice coughed loudly from the other side of the hall. “Sorry! Just doing inventory!”

The boots paused.

“You’re not supposed to be here after midnight,” one guard said.

“I’m finishing the elder’s order. They want it ready by morning,” she replied, her voice surprisingly steady.

After a tense pause, the guards muttered something about “healers and their midnight work” and left.

I didn’t move until the sound of my boots faded completely.

When I stepped out, the apprentice was watching me with wide eyes. “You owe me,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“Is he really”

“Yes,” I said, cutting her off before she could speak the word dying.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t ask anything else. I slipped out the supply door and melted back into the night.

By the time I reached my own quarters, my hands were shaking. I dropped the folder onto the table and sat heavily beside it.

The ribbon slid free under my fingers.

Inside were pages of healer’s notes, diagrams, and something worse, a timeline.

They’d charted the progression of the curse in meticulous detail. And the last entry was dated two days ago.

Stage Four. Vision loss accelerating. Cardiac strain is increasing. Estimated survival window: two weeks.

Two weeks.

I pressed my palms against my eyes until stars danced behind them.

Quinn had said we needed proof. This wasn’t proof, it was a death sentence written in ink.

Still, it was what we needed to force the council’s hand. If the elders saw this, they couldn’t pretend Edgar was strong enough to survive long enough for their chosen heir to be groomed.

I tied the ribbon back around the folder, tighter this time, and tucked it into my pack.

The plan was simple now, get this to Quinn before anyone knew it was missing. Then… pray she could turn enough votes to stall the council’s scheme.

But as I lay back on my bed, exhaustion finally pulling at me, I knew one thing for certain.

If this failed, it wouldn’t just be Edgar’s life on the line.

It would be mine.