"Rogan, what exactly are you trying to say?" I crossed my arms to protect myself from the storm building in his eyes, and my voice faltered.
He paused, our quiet elongating like a tightrope, one slip and fall away from catastrophe. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. The man who was always able to say the right thing was now silent. I was afraid of what his stillness meant, not of his silence itself.
With my voice sharper now and the vulnerability hidden beneath layers of defiance, I continued, "If you're not going to answer me, I'll find someone who will."
At last, Rogan said, "Ava, don't," and moved forward. I avoided his hand as it stretched out, and the gap between us felt like a canyon all of a sudden. "You're not understanding."
"Then explain to me," I retorted. "Because everything we've created seems to be a lie at the moment. Was this merely a practical method for you to remain near Aria, or were you ever really with me?
His jaw tensed, and his eyes briefly flashed with something savage. It was remorse, not guilt.
Before he could respond, I pushed through the door and out into the chilly night air, my heart pounding in my chest. In my lungs, every breath felt like glass fragments. What little resolution I still had was in danger of being crushed under the weight of doubt.
I paced my room the next morning, my thoughts whirling with bits and pieces of discussions, quick glances, and subtle changes in Rogan's behavior since Aria's return. I recognized a pattern, although a weak and dispersed one. He stared at her for too long. When she came close, his shields gave down too quickly. Then there was the suggestion.
Was it authentic? Was that a deliberate maneuver, or what?
After grabbing my coat, I made my way to the archives of the council. I had to look further if I wanted answers. I hardly noticed that the light was a weak counterfeit of warmth and the air was crisp. Dark and relentless, my thoughts whirled like a storm cloud.
The smell of old parchment and ink filled the dimly lit archive room. As I walked up, the records keeper, an old man with a hawk-like look, arched an eyebrow.
"Miss Ava, are you looking for something in particular?" His tone was neutral but inquisitive as he asked.
I responded, "Anything on Victor Langston—and Aria." His brow furrowed, but he shuffled off into the maze of shelves without asking me any more questions.
He came back a few minutes later carrying a thin file that was bound in cracked leather. All we have is this. Though there are a few mentions, Langston's name is primarily spoken in whispers.
After thanking him, I sat at a nearby table and opened the file with shaking fingers. The information was brief but insightful. For offenses against the pack, including as collaborating with outsiders and undermining the Alpha's power, Victor Langston had been banished years prior. The suggestion of a connection to Aria, however, chilled me to the core.
One phrase said, "Missing but not forgotten." "The last known movements of Langston coincide with her disappearance."
It was sufficient to raise a thousand questions, but it wasn't conclusive. Was Rogan aware of this? Had he shielded Aria by keeping it from me?
Later that night, I went up to him. As though the walls themselves were preparing for the force of my remarks, the mansion felt drier and colder.
"What prevented you from informing me about Victor Langston?" I entered his study and made a demand. Rogan's expression briefly changed from one of surprise to guardedness as he looked up from his desk.
"Because it wasn't relevant," he stated in a measured tone.
"Not pertinent?" Incredulous, I repeated. "You didn't think I deserved to know that he's connected to Aria's disappearance?"
He stood up and said, "Ava, this isn't your battle." "I own it."
"Yours? or Aria's? Before I could stop them, the words out, and I witnessed their effect. His eyes narrowed and his face tightened as though I had crossed an imperceptible boundary.
"Avoid doing this," he said.
"What do you do?" I pushed. "Speak the truth? Rogan, you've been keeping stuff from me from the start. I have a right to know where we stand and where I stand.
He remained silent for a minute. Finally, he spoke in a strained, low voice. "Ava, you're my friend. That remains unchanged.
I added, "But your heart isn't mine," with a deeper-than-expected realization. "Not totally."
His silence was sufficient response.
The fresh breeze that night carried the smell of earth and pine as I strolled through the woodland that surrounded the estate. I went over our talk again in my head, analyzing each word and each pause. Though uncertainty stuck to me like a second skin, I still wanted to believe him.
I was startled out of my reverie by a rustling sound and froze. As I looked into the darkness, my heartbeat accelerated. "Who is present?" With a voice more steady than I felt, I called.
Out of the shadows came a familiar figure. Aria.
She said in a quiet, frantic voice, "We need to talk."
"How about?" I inquired cautiously.
She moved closer and added, "About Victor." Something between dread and resolve glinted in her eyes. "As for Rogan."
My breath caught. "What do you mean?"
She stabbed me in the chest with her words, "He's been meeting with Victor." It's not what you think, and I'm not sure why. It isn't treacherous.
"So what is it?" I insisted.
Aria paused, looking around as though she thought someone was watching us. "I can't explain just now. I assure you that everything is more intricate than it first appears.
I wanted to believe her, but I already had too much trust, and trust is brittle.
Tell me right away, Aria, if you know anything. I'm tired of being in the dark.
A piercing, frightening howl rang out through the trees before she could respond. Aria seized my arm as her eyes grew wide. "We must leave. Right now.
There was no arguing with the earnestness in her voice. We sprinted together, the scream getting closer and louder. Questions were racing through my head, but they would have to wait. Right now, the only thing that mattered was survival.
We arrived at the mansion, tense and out of breath. With her eyes searching the shadows outside the entrance, Aria dragged me into the main hall's safety. "This isn't over," she stated in a somber tone. Victor is more than just a renegade Alpha. He is pursuing someone or something.
I felt cold when her eyes locked with mine. The implied meaning lingered in the air. Victor's game was about all of us, not just Aria or Rogan.
Next on his board was me.