Chapter 50 The Priority Line
Evie:
The Luna Wing felt heavier than it had yesterday. I moved through it with the effort of someone carrying a load that would not unload no matter how many times I set it down. Mothers smiled at me the way they had the last week, warm and relieved. Pups darted between pads. The training dummies bounced under careful hands. Everything was right in the room, and my chest hurt.
I tried to focus. I really did. I updated rota notes for Mara, checked supply orders, and answered a dozen small questions about training times. I tied a knot wrong twice and learned it right the third time.
Jenna teased me about ‘that look’ Grayson gave me yesterday.
Isla braided a crooked clip into my hair and then insisted I wear it the rest of the day. I laughed because I wanted to laugh. I smiled because someone had to hold this space steady.
I remember the way Grayson had held me last night after the bonfire, how careful he was when he brushed a ribbon into my hair, the way he asked if I was cold. I remember his hands like a promise. I wanted to believe his promise. I wanted to trust that his tenderness this month had not been a performance.
But that night before our wedding, still lived inside me. He had believed lies. He had made me the punishment. He had stood in a room and let them humiliate me while he kept his hands clean. That memory is hard to make smaller.
I moved through the morning as a worker. I answered questions. I distributed new pads. I showed a pup how to fall safely. I did what I could to keep the Wing running. But my hands trembled when no one watched.
By midday, I decided to go to my mother’s. I told Jenna I would be back before evening. I sent a quick text to Grayson from my own number, short and practical. I wanted to say more, but I didn’t trust the words on the screen.
Harrow was waiting at the gate with that look he always had when he thought I was fragile. He did not ask unnecessary questions. He only offered his presence. I took it. My mother’s house was small and busy. She fussed like always, offering tea and asking about the rota.
“You look tired,” she said finally, looking at me over the rim of her cup.
“I am fine,” I lied. “Just a long week.”
She did not argue. She stood and pressed a hand to my face and held me like she used to when things were simple, and the world made sense. For a moment I let myself breathe. For a moment, I felt safe.
We left my mother’s house after an hour. Harrow escorted me to the skimmer. I told him I would text Grayson when I reached the estate. We barely stepped out of her front door when my wrist-link lit up. A blue glyph projected above my palm.
Priority channel. Knight Estate.
The message braided into the air in a calm, automated voice. “Luna Evangeline Hart. Alpha Grayson Knight requests your presence at the Knight Estate Sector Council Office. Immediate arrival required.”
I blinked. I tried to read his tone into the words. There was nothing. It was official, not personal. I swallowed.
“Did he say what he wants?” Harrow asked, his voice low.
“No,” I said. “The priority line just says to come.”
He narrowed his eyes. He offered to call the estate and confirm. I waved him off. The glyph was authenticated. The suit of the skimmer’s insignia was accurate. It should have been enough.
The skimmer arrived sleek and silver-edged. The rear door sighed open. The driver was not Walter. He stepped forward, polite, hands visible and empty.
“Good morning, Luna,” he said. His voice was smooth. “Walter’s mate fell ill. He rushed home. I’m covering.”
Harrow’s body tightened. The driver offered credentials. He raised his wrist; the Knight sigil glowed. The emblem matched.
As we settled inside the skimmer, Harrow sniffed. It is a small motion, less than a nod, but it is always honest. He sniffed for more than scent. He read the air. He rolled slightly on his heels. Nothing registered.
“Evie?” he murmured. “We can call to confirm with the estate. You should not go if...”
“No,” I interrupted before the thought could make me look weak. “No, I’m going. If he needs me, I will go.”
I climbed into the skimmer. Harrow followed. He closed the door, but he did it with the patience of a man who would notice the smallest wrongness. I slid my hand under the back of my dress where the butterfly clip snagged, and tried to breathe like someone who wasn’t afraid.
Once we were moving, the route changed. Initially, we skimmed toward the city center. Then the pilot angled away. I frowned.
“This is the Seaside Ridge Road,” Harrow said quietly. “Why are we going out of the way?”
“Detour,” the driver said without turning. “Construction in the Inner Ring.”
“Detours are usually announced,” Harrow said.
“Traffic control issued a reroute,” the man replied. “No need to worry.”
My unease pulled tighter. I reached for my wrist-link to call Grayson. His number wouldn’t connect. The line cut to silence. I tapped again, and the same sound answered me.
Harrow’s posture moved from watchful to tense. He leaned forward, scanning the road with an intensity that made the pilot glance in the rearview. His jaw worked.
I tried to tell myself not to read everything into the change in route. Maybe it was construction. Maybe it was just a delay. Maybe I was overthinking.
Then the pilot spoke behind us. His voice was too calm.
“We will be there soon, Luna.”
Harrow turned with a speed that made his shadow cross the seat. I heard the faint click of his hand moving.
“Why did you lock the doors?” he demanded.
The pilot’s hands remained at the controls. He smiled politely. “For everyone’s safety. It is protocol on this route.”
I felt my breath stop. The view of the cliff passed like a ribbon. Harrow’s eyes were on the pilot and then on me.
This was wrong. The way the route had changed. The way Harrow had stiffened. The way pilot had been too ready with answers.
I should have gotten out then. I should have refused. I should have made him drive back to the Inner Ring, to the estate, to anywhere that made sense.
Instead, I sat very still and held Harrow’s hand until it went warm and steady.
The pilot’s voice came again, too smooth to be casual, too steady to be kind. My heart hitched hard enough to make the skimmer judder.
“Down, Evie,” Harrow whispered, and the panic in his voice tugged at the air like a rope.
The pilot’s fingers moved. The lock clicked.
My stomach dropped.
I had tried to trust. I had tried to move forward. But doubt had not left me. It settled into my bones and made my world small and sharp.
I braced for whatever came next.