Chapter 130

Chapter 130
Autumn’s POV

The nightmare came back like it always did. It was the same place, the same cold room, the same hands that hurt me. I could feel the ropes cutting into my wrists. I could hear the laughter. I could smell the wet stone and the iron. It felt so real that I woke up gasping, my sheets wet with tears.

Maybe my hate was eating me alive. That thought terrified me. I had spent so long wanting revenge, wanting them to feel the things I felt. I had kept my heart shut for so long. I had promised myself I would never trust, never hope. I had wanted revenge. But now I wondered if revenge was all I had left. If I kept living like this, would I lose myself?

I wondered if that was the punishment I chose for myself. I wiped my face and told myself to be strong. I had to do something. I could not only wait for Adonis to find my family. I had to try on my own. I could not be a passive thing that moved when others pushed.

My late adopted father, Alpha Bryan, who was the former Alpha and the older brother to the three Alphas, had been kind to me. He had found me when I was small and taken me in. He told me stories about the streets and about surviving. He never said where he found me exactly. He said it was not important. 

But the truth was he recorded things. He liked to write. He liked to keep small notes and pieces of cloth and tickets and scraps of paper. He said one day I might want to know. He put them away in a locked room at the pack house. He called it his records. 

After he died, the papers stayed in the old study. I had never looked through them much. Now it felt like the time. The records were in the old study. It was a quiet place. Dust lay on the shelves. The sun came through the windows in stripes. I pulled the heavy chair out and climbed onto the small ladder. I found dad's box with his name carved into the lid. 

My hands shook when I opened it. Inside were small things: a faded blue cloth, a thin wire ring with a dull stone, a tiny child's shoe, dried flowers, and notes in dad's neat hand. He had written about finding a small girl on a cold night and carrying her home. He wrote of soup and a warm blanket and a promise to keep her safe.

I needed to look myself. I needed proof. If Adonis was going to help me find my blood family, I wanted to give him anything I had. I wanted to do more than wait.

"Dad, I'm sorry for opening this now. You must be so disappointed in me. I'm sorry, I took too long but it's not too late. I'm here now." 

I sat for hours with the papers and the small things. I read dad's notes again and again. He had written names of streets he liked to avoid. He had written names of river corners where people sold old things. He had written the name of a man who ran a small stall for secondhand clothes. I jotted the names in my own book.

If the scrap of cloth meant anything, maybe the man at the stall might remember a small girl who wore a blue dress. Maybe the stone ring belonged to someone who sold things at the market. Maybe the picture included a mark at the back that would tell me more.

I took dad's records and made a list. The list was small, but it was a start. I locked the box and carried my notes close to my chest like they were a map.

The next morning I went to school carefully. I kept my head low. I walked in slow so no one would notice I was watching them. I felt other eyes on me sometimes, but none moved to hurt me. Maybe the rogues were regrouping. Or they had given up. Or they were waiting to strike at a better moment. My skin crawled with the idea.

I could hardly focus in school because I kept thinking about the things that I found in my dad's records. He mentioned the market which was the first place I thought I should visit if I wanted to know anything. Perhaps, those people he mentioned would still be there by now. I finally reached the market after leaving school. 

I walked past the stalls slowly. People sold old books, cracked pots, torn fabrics. I asked about a man who sold secondhand clothes. Some people pointed. He was by the corner near the bridge.

The stall looked old. The man behind it had a face lined like old paper. His hands moved quick as he folded shirts. I asked him about a small blue cloth. He looked at me like I was foolish and then his eyes softened.

“A long time ago,” he muttered. “I saw a child like that. She came with a man carrying her. He left a small ring to keep until he came back. He never came back.” His voice stopped short. He squinted at my face and his eyebrows rose. “Why do you ask?”

My heart beat loud in my ears. “Do you remember more?” I asked. “Any mark? A name? Anything?”

He scratched his chin. “The man whispered a name, a family name I did not know. He said the child’s name was Autumn.” He said my name and his voice sounded like he had found a small treasure. 

“But that was a long time ago. Maybe ten years.” He looked down at his hands and then back at me. “I kept the ring. The man never returned. If you are her, maybe that ring belongs to you.”

I didn't understand what was going on. My dad clearly told me he named me Autumn because he found me during the autumn season and I looked so beautiful. Now this man said he mentioned a family name. Could it be that my dad knew who my family was and he never told me about it? 

What exactly happened back then? What could be the reason he was hiding something so serious from me? Why didn't he want to tell me anything? I clearly deserve to know who my family was and why he gave this old man a ring to keep for me. Was this ring the only clue he left for me and was this supposed to mean something significant? 

I kept looking at the ring without knowing what to say about it. It looked like an ordinary ring but it was very beautifully crafted and looked like something that belong to royalty. Could I be from a royal family? I don't think so. That's too much of fairy tale dreaming for me to think that I come from a royal family. 

Gina was sleeping when I went to check her at the hospital and she was confirmed she would be able to leave in a few days. I waited till she woke up and she asked if I got followed today. I told her about how I felt some people were following me but none of them were coming after me. 

“George set secret guards,” she said. “They watch the roads and everywhere else. You don’t need to worry.”

Then I understood why I felt some people were following me yesterday and today, but they were not coming after me. It turned out that they were people secretly protecting me. Perhaps this was the reason why the rogues didn't attack me yet, because they couldn't get past the secret guards. 

Should I still be worried or not? Who knows what they plan to do next? George was clearly doing much for me again than my supposed mates. But why do I still have conflicted feelings? I shouldn't give a care about them at all.