Chapter 14
Elena's POV
I couldn't sleep.
The dorm room was quiet except for Lila's soft breathing from the bed across from mine, her back turned toward the wall in that boneless way she always slept.
I stared at the ceiling, tracing the faint shadows cast by the streetlight outside. The guilt sat heavy in my chest, something thick and ugly that I couldn't swallow down no matter how hard I tried.
You're all the same. I'm used to it.
I turned onto my side, pulling the blanket tighter.
I wanted to say I was different from them.
My consciousness drifted between sleeping and waking, and memories I'd forgotten began to surface.
I used to go to Blackwood Manor all the time when I was little.
My parents would bring me along for family gatherings—those stiff, formal affairs where the adults drank expensive wine and talked in low voices about territory disputes and business mergers while the children were left to entertain themselves in the sprawling gardens. I'd always seek out Damon because he was the closest thing I had to a friend there.
There were always other wolf pups running around during those visits—Damon's cousins and the children of his father's allies.
But there was one person who disappeared at every gathering.
Caleb.
I'd catch glimpses of him sometimes through the second-floor windows—a small figure standing alone in one of the upstairs rooms, always watching, never allowed to come down. The adults never talked about him directly, but I'd overheard enough whispered conversations to piece together the story: the illegitimate son, the boy whose bloodline was "tainted" and "unpredictable." The other children called him the mixed-blood freak, and even at eight years old, I knew better than to ask questions about him.
Until Damon's birthday.
There were so many people there—wolf families from all over the territory, their children running wild through the hallways while the adults congregated in clusters. Damon was surrounded by his friends, showing off the custom racing model someone had given him. I'd tried to stay close to him at first, but he kept brushing me off, too busy soaking in the attention to bother with me, so I'd eventually drifted to the edges of the party, picking at the food on my plate and wishing I could go home.
That's when I saw it.
Isabella was dragging someone across the entrance hall toward the far wing of the manor. At first, I didn't recognize the boy she had by the arm, but then I caught sight of his face, pale and expressionless, and my stomach dropped.
Caleb.
He couldn't have been more than ten years old, small for his age and dressed in clothes that didn't quite fit right, like they'd been handed down from someone else. Isabella's grip on his arm was tight enough that I could see her knuckles turning white, and she was hissing something at him in a voice too low for me to hear, but I didn't need to hear the words to understand the tone. She was furious.
"You embarrassed me," she said, loud enough now that a few heads turned. "In front of everyone. Do you understand what you've done?"
Caleb didn't say anything. He just stared at the floor, his shoulders hunched, his whole body radiating the kind of defeat that made something in my chest twist uncomfortably.
"Your eyes," Isabella snapped, stopping at the base of the staircase that led to the old bell tower—the place everyone knew was off-limits, the place where they put things they wanted to forget. "They changed in front of the guests. I told you to control yourself, and you couldn't even manage that for one night."
I didn't understand what she meant at the time. But the way she said it made it sound like something shameful, something monstrous. Caleb's head stayed down, his hands curling into fists at his sides, and for a moment, I thought he might say something back, might defend himself, but he didn't. He just let her drag him toward the tower door like a prisoner being led to execution.
"If you dare show your face at this party again," Isabella said, her voice sharp enough to cut, "you'll stay in there until I decide you've learned your lesson. Do you hear me?"
Caleb nodded once, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement, and that was it. She took him into the old bell tower.
No one said anything.
They just went back to their conversations, their laughter, their drinks, like nothing had happened.
---
I don't know what made me do it.
Maybe it was the way Caleb hadn't fought back, the way he'd just accepted it like he was used to being treated that way. Maybe it was the memory of seeing him through those windows all those times, always alone. Maybe it was just the uncomfortable tightness in my chest that wouldn't go away no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.
Whatever it was, I found myself slipping away from the party an hour later, climbing the narrow spiral staircase that led to the bell tower. The wooden steps creaked under my weight, each sound impossibly loud in the silence.
The door was heavy oak, old and scarred, with a thick metal bolt slid across the outside like something you'd use to lock up a dangerous animal. My hand hovered over it for a long moment, my fingers trembling, and I almost turned back.
What if he hated me? What if he remembered that day a month ago when I'd stood there with Damon's friends, watching while they tore up his things, and I hadn't said a single word to stop them?
But then I thought about the look on his face when Isabella had dragged him away, that empty, defeated look, and something in me snapped.
I slid the bolt back.
The door opened with a low groan, and the world split in two.
Behind me: music and laughter. In front of me: darkness so complete, the air thick with the metallic tang of silver and something else—something damp and rotting and wrong.
I couldn't see anything at first. My eyes struggled to adjust, and for a moment, all I could hear was my own breathing. Then, slowly, shapes began to emerge from the darkness: the outline of a window, sealed shut with iron bars; the glint of something metal hanging from the walls; dark stains on the floor that I didn't want to think too hard about.
And in the corner, curled up with his knees pulled to his chest, was Caleb.
He was sitting on the cold stone floor, his back pressed against the wall. His head was down, his arms wrapped around his legs, and for a moment, I thought maybe he was asleep, but then he lifted his head and looked at me.
His eyes glowed faintly in the darkness—amber-gold.
"What are you doing here?" His voice was rough, suspicious, the kind of tone you'd use with someone you didn't trust. "Come to laugh?"