Chapter 21
Nora's POV
After lunch, I was assigned a single room at the motel. I stood by the window, watching rain trace endless patterns down the glass.
My phone buzzed. Julian's name lit up the screen.
You can have the afternoon free.
I stared at the message, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard. The professional thing would be to accept gracefully, to use the time to rest. But something—stubbornness, maybe, or the need to prove I deserved to be here—made me type back:
I'd like to continue learning, if that's okay.
The reply came quickly.
You can. But if you're tired, stay and rest.
I set the phone down and turned back to the window, my chest tight with emotions I couldn't quite name.
The sky darkened abruptly, clouds rolling in like a bruise spreading across flesh. Rain that had been steady became violent, suddenly hammering against the window with force. I pulled my jacket tighter and sat at the small desk, spreading out my notes, trying to focus.
But exhaustion pulled at me like an undertow. The words blurred. My head felt heavy. Before I knew it, I was folding my arms on the desk, resting my cheek against them, just for a moment...
---
I woke to my phone vibrating against the desk, the sharp buzz cutting through the fog of sleep. I lifted my head, disoriented, my left cheek numb and creased. The sky outside was brighter now, the heavy rain had weakened.
Downstairs. Meet in ten.
Julian's message was terse, urgent. I pushed myself up, stumbling slightly as blood rushed back to my legs, and caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Jesus. A deep red line ran down my left cheek where it had pressed against my sleeve. My hair was a disaster, half-fallen from its ponytail.
I splashed cold water on my face, scrubbing at the mark until it faded to a dull pink. My hands moved mechanically—fixing my hair, smoothing my shirt, grabbing my jacket and work bag.
Where are we going? Why the rush?
The questions circled my mind as I hurried down the narrow stairs, my boots echoing on the worn carpet.
---
The motel lobby was dim and shabby, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like dying insects. Julian stood near the entrance, alone.
No Ethan. No one else. Just him.
His usual suit jacket had been replaced with a dark jacket, water beading on the shoulders. In one hand, he held a set of car keys, turning them idly between his fingers. When he saw me, something flickered across his face—amusement, maybe, or something softer.
"You slept well," he said, his voice carrying that hint of dry humor I was starting to recognize.
My hand flew to my cheek instinctively, covering the faint mark that probably still lingered. "I—yes. Sorry."
"Don't apologize." He turned toward the door, keys jingling. "Come on. I'm driving."
I froze. "Just... the two of us?"
He glanced back, his silver eyes unreadable in the dim light. "Yes."
Then he was moving, pushing through the door into the storm. I followed.
The SUV sat alone in the parking lot, rain hammering its roof. Julian opened the driver's side door. I moved automatically toward the back seat, my hand on the handle, when his voice cut through the rain.
"Front."
It wasn't a request.
I obeyed, sliding into the passenger seat and fumbling with the seatbelt.
Julian got in, water dripping from his hair, and started the engine with smooth efficiency. He adjusted the mirrors, checked the gauges, his movements confident and unhurried. Like he did this all the time. Like he didn't have a team of drivers and assistants for exactly this purpose.
Why just us?
The question burned in my throat, but I swallowed it down, settling my hands on my knees and staring straight ahead as we pulled out of the parking lot.
---
The windshield wipers beat a steady rhythm, and for a few minutes, neither of us spoke. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, exactly, but it was weighted, full of things unsaid.
Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore.
"Mr. Sterling..." My voice came out smaller than I'd intended. "Where are we going?"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he asked, "What did you think of Howard's presentation this morning?"
I chose my words carefully. "He was... very prepared."
Julian's mouth curved slightly. Not quite a smile. "Yes. Too prepared."
He took a turn onto a narrow road, the SUV's headlights cutting through the gray gloom. "So I don't want to see a second performance like that. When people know I'm coming, they have too much time to prepare. Too much time to hide what matters."
Understanding dawned. "So you want to see... the real situation."
"Exactly." He glanced at me briefly, then back to the road. "Even without the rain, I would have changed the plan. The official schedule is useless. It's all theater."
My chest loosened slightly. He's not just going through the motions. He actually cares.
But that only raised more questions.
I hesitated, then forced myself to continue. "Why did you choose me to come along? There are social workers at Silverton with decades more experience."
For a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer. Then, quietly: "What do you think?"
The question threw me. "I... I suppose because I know Blackwood District better than they do?"
"That's one reason." He was silent for a beat, then added, "But mainly because I've read your case reports. Every single one you've filed in the past two years."
My heart skipped. "Jeremy mentioned you'd seen my files, but I didn't realize you went back two years."
"You don't avoid problems. You don't polish numbers to make them look better. Cold Creek's water contamination, the abandoned elderly Lycans in Old Blackwood—you documented everything honestly." His voice was steady, matter-of-fact, but there was something deeper underneath. "In a world where everyone's trying to climb by looking the other way, you still give a damn. That's why I trust you."