93

93

Everything felt like a movie.

Elena didn’t remember how she got home, nor how she ended up in this soft bed, wrapped in clean, lavender-scented sheets. All she remembered was Jaxon’s face—pale with worry, eyes burning like wildfire—just before everything had gone black.

Now, sunlight streamed through the cream curtains, brushing her cheeks with warmth. She blinked, momentarily stunned by the brightness. Then slowly, she sat up.

Her hand instinctively reached for her stomach. There was no pain.

Startled, she peeled back the blanket and checked the spot where the deep gash had once been. Nothing. Her skin was flawless—like nothing had happened. She blinked again, lips parting in disbelief.

“A wolf’s superpower,” she muttered to herself, breathless.

She looked around the unfamiliar but tidy room, then saw her phone resting neatly on the bedside table. Next to it, a steaming bowl of noodles sat, garnished and served with care. Hot breakfast… in bed?

Her brows furrowed. Mr. Damien had always been cold—commanding her and her father to carry out the execution of the “three suspects” like she was a trained hunter, not a broken girl with secrets. And now? Hot noodles? A warm bed?

It didn’t add up.

Still, her stomach rumbled. Despite her confusion, she was thankful to be alive. And Rock—he had been taken care of. That alone brought a wave of relief over her.

She picked up her phone and tapped the screen.

Missed calls: 5. Messages: 12.

Her eyes skimmed through the names, and her heart softened.

Jaxon: Please call me, Elena, when you see this message.

Rick: We’ll wait for you. Hope you get well soon.

Jack: The house is chaotic without you. They’ve been bullying me. Please come back and fight for me 😭.

Elena chuckled through her nose. Street boys, she thought, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

She kept scrolling until a familiar name popped up.

Elizabeth.

Her smile grew gentle. Elizabeth’s name always brought comfort, like a hug in words.

I heard what happened to you. Get well soon. I’m so sorry I haven’t been available lately. I had to travel with my dad for something urgent. That’s why I’ve been out of school.
I hope you’re healing.
Also… I saw your babies. They’re with my mom now.

Elena, they can walk.
They can talk.
They eat on their own now.
They’re beautiful and handsome—like you and Jaxon.
And honestly… they’re different.
Special.

Please… if you have space in your heart, forgive Jaxon.
Take him back.
Your babies… they’re waiting.
Love you always—your dearest friend, Elizabeth.

Elena covered her mouth as a sob escaped. Elizabeth—her soul sister. She could almost picture the twins, toddling on shaky legs, calling out “Mama.” It hurt. It hurt in the sweetest, deepest way.

She wiped her face, trying to catch her breath when another notification popped up.

Father.

I’m sorry for forcing you to kill the one who has always protected you.
I hope you can forgive me.
I hope you and Jaxon find the love you both deserve.
Take care of yourself.
—From your loving father.

The tears wouldn’t stop this time. Her chest heaved, and she clutched the phone close. Was she really loved like this? After all she’d done… all she’d hidden?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open.

She turned quickly.

Mr. Damien—tall, silver-haired, wearing his usual black turtleneck and slacks—walked in slowly, a rare smile on his face.

“You’re awake,” he said gently.

Elena said nothing, just wiped her eyes quickly, trying to gather herself.

He glanced at the untouched food. “Still not eating?”

She looked down.

“The doctor said your condition would improve with rest,” he added, walking closer. “Thankfully, it wasn’t too abnormal. You’re lucky.”

There was silence. Just the distant chirp of birds.

He pulled up a chair and sat beside her. “As for Rock,” he continued with a dark sigh, “he’s been handed to the police. You’re safe now.”

Elena’s lips trembled.

“And… both our packs—mine and Jaxon’s—are turning themselves in. We had to. This war has gone on long enough.”

Her eyes snapped toward him, tears welling again. “You’re surrendering?” she whispered.

His face softened. “Yes. For you.”

Elena’s shoulders shook as silent sobs returned. Damien reached for a tissue and handed it to her, guilt heavy in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Elena. I caused you all this trouble.”

She looked at him then—really looked at him. Not the cold-hearted elder she’d known, but a man who had watched her cry, fed her breakfast, and admitted defeat.

She didn’t speak. Just cried harder.

⸻

Meanwhile, back at the boys’ house, the silence was deafening.

Rick lay sprawled on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. Jack sat cross-legged on the floor, fidgeting with the corner of the rug. Jaxon leaned against the window, arms crossed, eyes blank as he looked out toward the woods.

No one said a word.

Elena had always filled the silence—laughing, complaining, teasing. She’d play music in the morning, dance with Jack while Rick rolled his eyes, then sit close to Jaxon at night and ask questions about stars.

The house felt dead without her.

Jack was the first to break the silence. “Was this house always this quiet?”

Jaxon didn’t answer. Rick didn’t move.

“I miss Andrea,” Jack muttered, voice low. “Or Elena. Whatever we call her now.”

He glanced up. “If she were here, she’d be doing something ridiculous. Making us sweep. Telling us ghost stories. Or cooking and almost burning the kitchen.”

Rick let out a dry laugh. “She once made me cry with pepper soup.”

“She’s sunshine,” Jack said, eyes misting. “And we’re standing in the dark.”

Finally, Jaxon turned. “So why don’t we do something? Go ride bikes by the river. Laugh. Shout. Pretend we’re not breaking inside.”

His voice cracked.

“I know she’ll come back. Sorry—Elena. I’ve just gotten used to calling her Andrea,” he said, shrugging, trying to play off the pain in his voice.

But no one responded.

Rick’s eyes stayed glued to the ceiling. Jack looked away.

Jaxon gave a small, humorless laugh. “Never mind,” he whispered, slumping into the armchair. “I miss her too.”

Tears slid down his cheek.

⸻

Later that day, Mr. Damien called for Jaxon.

Jaxon cleaned himself up, put on a black hoodie and jeans, and walked to the office.

Mr. Damien sat behind a mahogany desk, sipping coffee and typing on a silver laptop.

“You’re here,” he said, glancing up.

Jaxon nodded and pulled something from his pocket.

A silver knife—long, stained, and deadly.

“I brought this,” Jaxon said. “It was used by the hooded man—sorry, I mean Rock. I didn’t know where to discard it, so I brought it here.”

Damien’s eyes widened. “You… kept it?”

Jaxon shrugged. “Yes.”

“Why?” Damien asked, frowning.

Jaxon’s voice was firm. “Because it was used between you and my father… for war. But Elena and I won’t use it. We’ll protect each other with it. We’ll protect both our packs.”

He stepped closer. “And… I hope you’ll make her Alpha of her pack. She deserves that.”

Before Damien could reply, Jaxon turned and walked away, hoodie brushing the doorframe.

Damien stared at the knife, chest tightening. He gently set it on the cupboard, whispering, “This boy… he means every word.”

He closed the laptop and leaned back, voice low and thoughtful.

“I won’t stand in your way anymore. If fate put the two of you together, then so be it. I will make her Alpha. That way… the two of you can protect each other.”

His fingers traced the knife handle one last time.

“And our clans will finally find peace.”

But as he turned to his shelves to place the knife in safekeeping.