Chapter 57 The Confrontation
Wynter's POV
The south path was darker than any of us remembered, the overhead branches blocking out what little moonlight penetrated the clouds.
We moved in formation—Chase taking point with the confidence of someone who'd been trained to lead, Jax ranging wide to cut off potential escape routes, me in the middle with my heart hammering against my ribs, and Rosalie trailing behind at a distance.
"Positions," Chase said softly as we reached the bend where the path narrowed between overgrown hedges. "Owen will come around that corner in less than two minutes. Jax, you block the south exit. I'll take north. Wynter, you're center—he's more likely to listen to you than any of us."
"And if he runs?" I asked.
"He won't get far," Jax said simply, melting into the shadows with the ease of long practice.
I took my position in the middle of the path, Jax's phone heavy in my pocket with its damning photo of the blood-red ring.
Footsteps echoed in the quiet—slow, dragging, exhausted. Owen Fletcher appeared around the bend, his shoulders slumped with defeat, one hand pressed protectively over his jacket pocket where his sister's photograph rested.
He saw me immediately, his body going rigid with instant recognition. His eyes swept the path with trained efficiency, cataloging exits, calculating odds.
"Owen," I said, keeping my voice gentle despite my racing heart. "Please. We just want to talk."
"About what?" His voice was flat, carefully neutral. "About how you ambushed me at dinner? About how you've been spying on me? About how you think you can—"
"About the person you met tonight," I said, pulling out Jax's phone. "About the ring they were wearing."
Owen went completely still. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do." I held up the phone so he could see the zoomed-in image. "Blood-red carnelian set in silver. House Kaine's mark. Bloodrock nobility, Owen. They are using your sister to control you, right?"
For a moment, Owen’s carefully constructed mask cracked. “Wait, how on earth did you know I have a sister?”
"You don't understand," he said, his voice cracking. "They'll kill her. If I betray them, if I tell you anything, they'll—"
"They're already killing her," I said softly. "We know where Lily is, Owen. We know what they're doing to her in that labor camp. And we can help."
Owen stared at me, his hands shaking. "How is she in a labor camp? As far as I know, she should be doing fine."
"Because we have resources," Chase said, stepping into view. "People who can extract her before Bloodrock knows what's happening. But we need your help."
"And you expect me to just trust you?" Owen's laugh was bitter. "You corner me in the dark, you show me proof you've been spying on me, and you expect me to believe that you're telling me the truth and that you're trying to help?"
"We're giving you a choice," I said. "Come with us willingly. Help us save your sister. And in return, we'll help you both disappear somewhere Bloodrock can't reach."
Owen looked between us, desperation and calculation warring on his face. I could see him weighing options, measuring odds, trying to find a path forward that didn't end in disaster.
Then his eyes narrowed, focusing on something past my shoulder.
"You've got someone blocking the south exit," he said flatly. "And probably someone in the trees watching to make sure I don't run. This isn't a choice. This is a trap."
Damn it, I thought. He's too smart. Too well-trained.
"It's a precaution," Chase said carefully. "We need to talk to you, and we can't risk you running back to your handlers before—"
Owen moved.
It happened faster than I could track—one moment he was standing still, the next he was sprinting toward the east side of the path where the hedges thinned, moving with a speed and grace that belied his exhausted appearance.
"Jax!" Chase shouted.
But Jax was already moving, cutting across Owen's path with Rogue reflexes. Owen saw him coming and changed direction mid-stride, spinning toward the west instead—
—directly into Chase's intercept.
They collided hard, both of them going down in a tangle of limbs. Owen fought like a cornered animal, all desperate strength and no technique, his training abandoned in favor of pure survival instinct.
"Stop!" I shouted, running toward them. "Owen, please, we don't want to hurt you—"
Owen got an elbow into Chase's ribs and twisted free, scrambling to his feet. But Jax was there, catching his arm and pulling him back with brutal efficiency.
"Let me go!" Owen thrashed, his voice breaking. "You don't understand, they'll kill her, they'll—"
"We're trying to save her!" I grabbed his other arm, and through the physical contact I felt his terror, his absolute certainty that cooperating would only make things worse. "Owen, listen to me—"
"No!" He wrenched away from me, stumbling backward. "You can't save her. No one can."
His foot caught on a root and he went down hard, his head cracking against the ground with a sound that made me wince.
For a moment, everything went still.
Owen lay on the cold earth, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, his eyes squeezed shut like he couldn't bear to look at any of us.
Seizing the opening, I signaled Jax to bind him with a rope, then we hauled him toward the maintenance building.