Chapter Seventy-One: Carol's POV
I could have stayed in bed until noon, after all I had no morning classes.
I wasn't sure how to face Simon, or how to face that dream, or my body's own response to all of it.
I left early, wandered aimlessly around campus for a long time.
At this hour the campus was almost empty, just a few students in the main square holding coffee cups, and a few cleaners doing their final rounds in the distance.
I walked for nearly an hour, letting the cold morning wind clear my head, before finally turning toward the dorm.
When I pushed open the door, Emma was curled up on her bed.
A thick biology textbook propped against her knees, her reading glasses sliding down her nose.
She looked up at the sound, her expression changing instantly.
"Carol," she said, her tone mixing relief, worry, and a bit of anger, making me freeze in the doorway.
"God, Carol. Are you okay? I thought—" She threw the book aside, jumping off the bed, her blonde ponytail swinging with the motion.
"Do you know how long you haven't been back to the dorm? You didn't answer my texts either. Plus with that bitch Isabella's situation, I was starting to think something really bad had happened to you."
The concern in her voice was genuine, and it made guilt twist in my stomach.
During this time I'd been dealing with Valodin family affairs while facing my own confused thoughts about Simon, completely forgetting what my absence meant to someone who truly cared about me.
I put my bag by the door, trying to make my expression look somewhat normal. "I'm fine, Em. Really. Just had some things to deal with."
Emma pulled me to sit on her bed. My bed was still neatly made, untouched. She sat beside me, close enough that our knees touched.
"Is this related to the warehouse incident?" Emma asked in a low voice.
My breathing stopped for a beat.
"That thing you won't talk about. I haven't told anyone, Carol, I swear. But I need to know you're safe. I need to know whatever you're involved in won't hurt you."
I opened my mouth, then closed it.
That night she saw enough to know something was seriously wrong, though she might not understand what I was going through.
I turned to her, the words rushed out. "I'm not a werewolf, Emma. I know it doesn't make sense, you saw those things, but I'm not. I don't know what I am. My father was an Alpha, strong and respected, but I can't shift. I never could."
This confession just hung in the air, naked and vulnerable, making my whole body tense.
I was waiting for Emma to pull back, waiting for her to look at me with that expression I'd seen on Belinda's face countless times, pity mixed with disgust.
Waiting for her to say she couldn't be friends with someone stuck between human and werewolf, not belonging to either side.
But Emma's expression softened instead, almost like she understood.
She reached out and took my hand, her grip firm and grounding.
"Okay." She said simply.
"Okay. So you're not sure what you are. So what? That doesn't change the fact that you risked yourself to save me. It doesn't change that you're smart, brave, one of the best people I know."
She squeezed my fingers.
"Whatever you are, Carol, you're my friend. I'm not going anywhere."
Relief washed over me, tears surging up unexpectedly, I blinked hard trying not to let them fall.
"Thank you." I whispered, those two words carrying far more than I could express.
Emma smiled, then pulled me to my feet with unmistakable determination.
"Come on. You look like you haven't eaten properly in days, and I'm starving. We're going to get you some real food before you actually collapse. You can talk over breakfast if you want, or not if you don't. But you can't sit here alone, drowning in whatever's making you look like this."
I let her pull me toward the door, grateful for the distraction and for her not pushing me to say more.
Walking across campus to the dining hall, the morning crowd was picking up.
Students rushing to eight o'clock classes, professors clutching travel coffee mugs, the familiar rhythm of college life continuing.
It was both comforting and strange, like everything had changed yet nothing had changed.
We'd just joined the breakfast line when I spotted Leah Martinez at a corner table.
Her laptop was open beside half a bagel and a full cup of coffee, and from the slight tremor in her hands, that was probably her third cup.
She looked up as if sensing my gaze, her face lighting up with recognition.
"Carol!" She waved me over.
"Come here. I was hoping I'd run into you. Do you have time to come to the lab this afternoon? Professor St. Claire wants me to show you the new sequencing data, and there's something I think you should see."
The lab. Maurice. I needed to see him anyway. Maybe he had the information I needed.
"Sure." I steadied my voice. "What time works?"
"Around two? Everyone else should be there by then." Leah's smile was warm and genuine.
"Sure, see you then."
"See you then!"
Emma and I found seats by the window.
She kept piling food onto my plate, far more than I could possibly eat, while chattering about her organic chemistry midterm and dorm gossip I only half-listened to.
The normalcy of it was almost painful.
It gave me a brief glimpse of another life—if I'd been born fully human, if I'd never had to wade through the murky waters between werewolf politics and vampire conspiracies, if my worries were just passing exams and choosing a major, what would my life be like.
But normal was never my option, and as morning slid toward afternoon, I found myself walking toward the research building.
When I pushed through the heavy door, it was busier than I'd expected.
Leah was bent over a computer screen in the corner, Paul was calibrating some equipment at the workbench.
Even Hilda had emerged, not hiding in her usual dark corner—her usually cold face was somewhat softened as she examined samples.
"Carol," Paul said with a smile, "Leah's been going on about those genetic variation patterns you identified. Excellent work."
The compliment came unexpectedly, warmth spreading through my chest. "Thanks. I wasn't actually sure if my analysis was on the right track."
"Not just on track," Leah emerged from behind the screen, barely containing her excitement. "What you found, the rest of us missed. Come here, let me show you what we found following your hypothesis."
Even Hilda glanced my way.
"The data supports your judgment about the non-coding regions," she said. "Maybe we've been looking at inheritance patterns from the wrong angle all along."
I was heading toward Leah's workstation, my mind already starting to process the analysis data, when the inner office door opened and Maurice stepped out.
He looked impeccable as always—crisp white shirt, dark slacks, hair styled in that casual perfection that probably took more effort than he'd admit.
"Carol, perfect timing. I have something I need to discuss with you."