Chapter 186
Ellie's POV
The evening air carried the sharp bite of approaching winter, frost already forming on the edges of the lake. I arrived early, giving myself time to prepare.
Lucas was already there.
He stood at the edge of the clearing, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold. Or maybe against something else. When he heard my footsteps, he turned, and I saw the dark circles under his eyes, the weight he'd lost, the way his whole body seemed to sag with exhaustion.
"You came," he said, like he hadn't quite believed I would.
"I said I would." I kept my distance, perching on the familiar flat rock where Jackson and I sometimes sat. The same rock where Lucas and I had shared secrets as kids. "Sit. Please."
He sat on the ground instead, as if he didn't deserve to be on my level. The gesture was so unlike him—so absent of the casual confidence I'd grown up with—that something tight in my chest loosened slightly.
Silence stretched between us, filled only by the distant call of geese flying south and the gentle lap of water against the shore. The moon hung pale and growing in the darkening sky, pulling at both of us.
Finally, Lucas spoke. "I volunteer at Riverbend Psychiatric Hospital. Where they took Samantha."
I hadn't expected that. "You... what?"
"Wednesdays and Saturdays. Afternoon shifts." His voice was hoarse. "I help with recreational activities—art therapy, music, walks in the garden. Dr. Morrison says consistent familiar faces help patients feel safe."
"Does she recognize you?"
"Sometimes." He pulled at a loose thread on his jeans. "Most of the time she's... somewhere else. The medications keep her calm, but they also keep her distant. She'll look right through me like I'm a stranger. Then suddenly she'll grab my hand and call me 'Dad.'"
My throat tightened. "Lucas..."
"She draws wolves, Ellie. Constantly. These beautiful, terrible wolves with golden eyes. The art therapist thinks it's symbolic—processing trauma through metaphor. I know better." He looked up at me, eyes wet. "She paints what she saw. What I showed her. What broke her mind."
I thought about Samantha before all this: calculating, manipulative, willing to hurt others to get what she wanted. I'd hated her for months. But sitting here, listening to Lucas describe her trapped in medicated fog, painting the monsters that destroyed her sanity... I couldn't hold onto that hate. She'd become just another casualty of our world.
"There are good days," Lucas continued. "Days when she's lucid enough to hold a real conversation. We talk about books, or TV shows, or what she wants for lunch. Never about what happened. Dr. Morrison says pushing memory recall could trigger a psychotic break." He swallowed hard. "On those good days, she seems almost peaceful. Like maybe forgetting is a mercy."
"But the bad days?"
"Screaming. Thrashing. Begging invisible monsters to leave her alone. They have to sedate her, and I just..." He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "I just sit in the hallway and listen and know I did that. I put her there."
"You didn't attack her," I said quietly. "Caleb did. You were trying to protect—"
"I dated a human while keeping the biggest secret of my life. I let my wolf get too close to the surface around her. I created the perfect storm." His voice cracked. "You can't absolve me of that, Ellie. Please don't try."
We sat with that truth for a long moment. The lake had gone dark, stars beginning to pierce through the twilight. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled—probably one of the network members doing a practice shift in the deep woods. Thalia's ears perked up instinctively.
"My mom's getting worse," Lucas said eventually, changing direction. "The doctors adjusted her medication again last week. She has to take pills every three hours now, precise to the minute. Any variation triggers flare-ups."
"I heard. My mom mentioned it." I'd been avoiding the Millers, but information still filtered through.
"The worst part?" He laughed bitterly. "I'm her biggest trigger. Every time she looks at me, she's reminded that I endangered our secret, failed at being the perfect son she needed me to be. Dad tries to run interference, but he's exhausted. The whole house feels like it's holding its breath, waiting for her to collapse."
Thalia whispered in my mind: "His mother chose this path. She pushed for control, for perfection. These are her consequences."
But I couldn't say that out loud. Instead: "Is she still on the medical trial?"
"No. It failed." Lucas pulled his knees to his chest. "They pulled her off it three weeks ago. Now she's just managing symptoms, buying time. She keeps bringing you up. Pretending it's casual—'Oh, I ran into Sarah at the farmer's market, she mentioned Ellie's doing well'—but I can hear what she's really asking. She'll suddenly remember some story from when we were kids, how we used to play by the lake, how 'natural' we were together. Like if she reminds me enough times of what we had, I'll somehow undo everything that's happened."
He looked at me then, and I saw the question he didn't dare ask. The hope he'd buried but couldn't quite kill.
"No," I said firmly. "Lucas, I'm with Jackson. That's not changing."
"I know." He dropped his gaze. "I know, and I don't... I'm not asking for that. I swear. I just..." He took a shaky breath. "She doesn't know I joined the network. Neither of them do. But God, Ellie, I wish they could see what you're building."
That surprised me. "Why?"
"Because maybe if they knew they weren't alone, they'd be less scared. Maybe Mom would understand that her way—the bloodline obsession, the isolation, the secrecy at all costs—isn't the only way to survive." He met my eyes. "You've created something I never thought possible: a space where wolves can just... exist. Without hierarchy. Without performance. Without fear of being cast out for not being perfect enough."
"It's not perfect yet," I said. "We're still figuring it out."
"But it exists. That's more than anyone else has done." He hesitated. "Could they join? My parents? I know it's probably a terrible idea, but—"
"Yes."
He blinked. "Yes?"
"With conditions." I sat forward, choosing my words carefully. "The network's principles are non-negotiable: voluntary participation, equal standing, anonymity protection. If your parents join, they can't use their family status to pressure anyone. They can't treat this like another pack hierarchy. They're members, same as Ethan or anyone else."
"I'll make sure they understand."
"And Lucas?" I waited until he looked at me. "If they violate those principles, I will remove them. Not you. Me. Because this network isn't about protecting feelings or maintaining appearances. It's about keeping wolves safe."
He nodded slowly. "I wouldn't want it any other way."
"Good." I pulled out my phone, opening a notepad. "I'll need their basic info for verification. Nothing that compromises anonymity—just enough for the system to confirm they're wolves."
As I took down details, a thought occurred to me. "Your mom's condition. Miles might know Council members who've dealt with genetic instability. I can ask, see if there are treatments beyond what human doctors understand."
Lucas's head snapped up. "You'd do that? After everything?"
"This isn't about 'after everything.'" I put my phone away. "It's about not letting someone suffer when I might be able to help. That's what the network is for, Lucas. Mutual aid. Support. Being there when traditional systems fail."
"Thank you." His voice broke. "Ellie, I don't know how to—"
"Don't." I stood, brushing dirt off my jeans. "Don't thank me. Just... show up. Do the work. Be the person you're claiming to be in those messages."
He scrambled to his feet. "I will. I swear I will."