Chapter 13 The Brother's Grief (Wesley POV)
Tyler’s dorm room still smelled like him, mint gum, old textbooks, that stupid citrus body spray he thought made him smell sophisticated. I stood in the doorway for a long minute, key dangling from my fingers, before I could make myself step inside. The Ironwood RA had given me twenty minutes to pack his things before they reassigned the room. Twenty minutes to erase my brother.
I started with the desk. Laptop, already wiped by security. Textbooks stacked neatly. A half-empty bag of sour gummies he’d never finish. I shoved them into the cardboard box the school provided, then froze when my hand hit something under the bottom drawer, a small black notebook, edges worn soft from handling.
I pulled it out.
The cover was plain except for one word in Tyler’s tight handwriting: TRANSFERS.
I flipped it open.
Pages of dates, names, arrows connecting them like a conspiracy board. Hannah Kimura → transferred 2009 → no pack record. Gabriel Cross → 2008 → same. Jennifer Reyes → 2007 → vanished. Scribbled in the margins: Project Chimera? Suppression logs? Why kids?
My stomach twisted. I didn’t understand half the words, chimera, suppression, but the urgency in his handwriting was unmistakable. He’d been chasing something. Something big enough to get him killed.
I glanced at the door. No one in the hallway. I slipped the notebook into my back pocket, finished throwing clothes into the box, zipped it shut. The gummies crunched under my shoe as I stepped on them on the way out.
The morgue was in the basement of the medical wing, cold, sterile, reeking of formaldehyde and something sweeter underneath. The coroner, Dr. Patel, met me at the door. She was small, gray hair pulled into a tight bun, eyes kind but tired.
“Wesley,” she said softly. “You sure you want to do this?”
“I need to see him.”
She nodded. Led me inside.
The room was brighter than I expected, harsh white lights, stainless steel everywhere. Tyler lay on the center table under a sheet. Only his face was uncovered.
I stopped breathing for a second.
His skin looked wrong, too pale, too still. The claw marks on his throat were deep, ragged, crusted black at the edges. Four parallel lines, just like the ones they’d found in the courtyard. I stared until my vision blurred.
Dr. Patel stood beside me. “Take as long as you need.”
I reached out, slow, touched his cheek. Cold. Plastic. Not him.
“Why does it look like that?” My voice cracked. “The wounds. They’re… cleaner than I thought.”
She hesitated. “We cleaned them for the viewing tomorrow. But yes.”
I swallowed. “Can I… see the rest?”
She studied me for a long moment, then nodded. She folded the sheet down to his waist.
The damage was worse than the photos. Throat torn open. Chest gashed. One arm nearly severed at the shoulder. Bite marks, deep punctures, on his forearm.
I gripped the table edge until my knuckles ached.
“How many?” I asked.
“Multiple attackers?” She shook her head. “No. The trajectory, the depth, all consistent with one set of claws. One set of teeth.”
“Then why…” I gestured at the mess. “It looks like a frenzy.”
“Because it was.” She pulled a tablet from the counter, tapped the screen. “But there’s something else. Something we haven’t released yet.”
I looked at her.
She turned the tablet toward me. A DNA chromatogram, jagged peaks in red and blue.
“Saliva recovered from the wounds,” she said. “We ran it against known pack profiles. Rowan Ashford’s is there, clear match. But there’s a second profile. Fainter. Overlaid. Different markers.”
My heart slammed. “Two wolves?”
“That’s what it looks like.”
“But you said the wounds match one attacker.”
“Exactly.” She set the tablet down. “Unprecedented. In all my years, I’ve never seen saliva from two distinct wolves in the same bite pattern. It’s as if… the attacker’s biology was unstable. Shifting mid-attack. Partial form. Human-wolf hybrid.”
I stared at the screen. The second profile, fuzzy, incomplete, still carried Rowan’s signature markers.
“So it’s still her,” I said slowly.
Dr. Patel sighed. “The evidence suggests yes. The instability could be explained by the incomplete Turning. Her system in flux. Two sets of markers because she wasn’t fully one thing or the other.”
I looked back at Tyler’s face. Peaceful now. Too peaceful.
“She did this,” I whispered.
Dr. Patel touched my shoulder. “We don’t know intent. But the physical evidence, ”
“I don’t care about intent.” My voice rose. “She killed him. She tore him apart. And she doesn’t even remember?”
Dr. Patel didn’t answer.
I leaned closer to Tyler. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I should’ve noticed. Should’ve seen you were digging into something dangerous. I should’ve stopped you.”
Nothing. Just silence and the hum of the refrigeration unit.
I straightened. “When’s the funeral?”
“Tomorrow night. Full moon vigil. Pack tradition.”
I nodded. “I’ll be there.”
She squeezed my arm. “Take the notebook if it helps. Whatever he was working on… maybe it means something to you now.”
I touched my back pocket where the notebook sat heavy. “Yeah. Maybe.”
I walked out without looking back.
The hallway blurred. I didn’t cry, not yet. The tears were there, hot behind my eyes, but I wouldn’t let them fall. Not here.
I pulled the notebook out as I climbed the stairs. Flipped to the last page.
Tyler’s final note, dated the day before he died:
Chimera isn’t dead. It’s active. Suppressed kids still on campus. One of them is the key. If they force a Turning, the whole thing unravels. Check Ashford file. She’s not human. Never was.
I stopped in the stairwell. Leaned against the wall.
Rowan.
Not human.
Never was.
My fingers tightened on the notebook until the cover creaked.
She’d been hiding in plain sight. One of them. One of the experiments.
And she’d killed my brother to keep it secret.
Or maybe someone else had forced her hand. Made her snap.
Either way, she was the weapon.
And weapons don’t get forgiveness.
I shoved the notebook deeper into my pocket.
Tomorrow night, under the full moon, I’d stand with Ironwood. I’d watch them lower Tyler into the ground. I’d listen to the howls.
And when the trial came, when they dragged Rowan into the Eclipse Chamber, I’d be there.
I’d watch them end her.
For Tyler.
For every lie she carried.
I pushed through the stairwell door into the cold night air.
The moon hung low. Almost full.
I looked up at it.
“Soon,” I whispered.