III

The rain fell in sheets, thick and unrelenting, drumming against the windshield of Jace Lawson’s car with a force that made it sound almost violent. The wipers struggled to keep up, swiping back and forth in frantic motions, but the downpour was too heavy, too relentless. The world outside was little more than a blur of dark trees and streaked streetlights, the roads slick with water, reflecting the glow of headlights in long, distorted lines. It was snow season. It wasn’t supposed to rain. Not like this. Not this heavy.

I pressed my fingers against my temple, barely aware of how cold my skin felt against my own touch. The tension in my chest was suffocating, pressing against my ribs, making it hard to breathe, making it hard to do anything but sit there in silence, staring out into a world that had suddenly stopped making sense. I felt like I was moving through something unnatural, something wrong, and it wasn’t just the storm.

My father, my adopted father, was gone.

I hadn’t cried yet. I was holding it in. But I could feel the pressure of it, heavy behind my ribs, behind my eyes, pressing against the back of my throat like a weight I couldn’t shake. I sucked in a quiet breath through my nose and clenched my fists in my lap, my nails digging into the fabric of my hoodie. The last thing I wanted was to break down here. Not in front of him.

Jace Lawson’s car was too nice, too sleek, too expensive. A black Audi R8, all sharp edges and smooth lines, with a low rumble beneath us that barely made a sound, even as he pressed down on the gas. The interior was pristine, leather seats, a dashboard that looked like it belonged in a spaceship, cool blue lights glowing faintly along the controls. It smelled like him, too, something clean, something sharp, something undeniably masculine. The scent was subtle, but I hated that I noticed it.

I hated that I noticed him at all.

Jace’s fingers drummed against the steering wheel in a slow, thoughtless rhythm. His posture was relaxed, one arm resting along the window, his other hand gripping the wheel loosely. But I knew better. Jace Lawson didn’t do relaxed. He was watching me. Not openly, but in small, subtle glances, like he was gauging my reaction, waiting for me to say something.

He exhaled through his nose, low and controlled. "You okay?"

The question barely registered. My focus was still on the storm outside, on the unnatural way the rain hit the windows, the force of it so strong it sounded almost like static. Like something wrong.

Jace sighed, his grip on the wheel tightening just slightly. "Hey."

I blinked, realizing too late that he’d been talking to me. I turned my head just enough to glance at him, my gaze locking onto his for a brief second before shifting away again. His eyes were dark, too dark in the dim lighting of the car, and I hated that they made my stomach twist the way they did.

"Stupid question," he muttered under his breath. "I know you’re not."

I didn’t respond. I didn’t have the energy to.

The road stretched before us, disappearing into the dense woods that marked the beginning of the werewolf territory. Beyond the trees, hidden from human eyes, was the only home I had ever known. But as we drove, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was headed somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere I wouldn’t recognize when we arrived. Without Tobias, nothing would feel the same.

I shifted in my seat, crossing my arms over my stomach as if that would somehow ease the ache in my chest. My throat felt tight. My hands were freezing. I curled my fingers into the fabric of my hoodie, trying to steady myself.

Jace noticed. He noticed everything.

"You can talk, you know," he said after a beat, his voice lower this time. "I won’t push, but—"

"You’re already pushing," I interrupted, my voice quieter than I wanted it to be.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "I just don’t think sitting in silence is helping you."

I let out a short, humorless breath. "And talking will?"

His fingers flexed against the steering wheel. "Maybe."

I scoffed, turning back toward the window. The rain was still coming down in heavy waves, blurring the world outside, making the trees seem like they were shifting, moving in the darkness. I watched the distorted lights of the town disappear behind us, swallowed by the storm, by the winding roads that would take us deeper into the mountains, deeper into our hidden world.

Jace didn’t speak again for a while. I could feel the tension between us, stretched thin like a wire ready to snap. He wanted me to say something. Anything. But I wasn’t ready.

Instead, I thought about how lonely life was about to get.

I had already lost my adopted mother years ago. My adopted brother had been sent overseas for his Alpha training, leaving me behind with my stepmother, Sarah, and her son, Kieran

Kieran.

The name itself sent a shiver down my spine, though not from the cold. He wasn’t like the others. He was something else. Something dangerous. And now, with Tobias gone…

I clenched my teeth, swallowing back the lump in my throat.

A sniffle escaped before I could stop it.

Jace heard. Of course, he heard.

His gaze flicked toward me, sharp but unreadable. He didn’t say anything right away, but the silence between us shifted, became heavier. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, hesitant. "Hey—"

"I’m fine," I cut in, too quickly, too sharply.

He didn’t believe me. I could see it in the way his grip tightened on the wheel, in the way his lips pressed together as if he wanted to argue but chose not to.

Instead, he let out another slow breath and muttered, "Right. Of course, you are."

The car kept moving, the rain kept falling, and the road stretched endlessly ahead. The deeper we drove into the territory, the more the human world faded behind us, swallowed by the thick, towering trees. The road was smooth, but not paved like human highways, this was engineered for wolves, built to be undetectable, to blend with the land. If a human ever stumbled upon it, they’d think it was nothing more than a forgotten forest trail. But we knew better.

Jace’s car moved effortlessly through the winding path, tires gliding over the rain-slicked road. Outside, the storm lashed against the world, a relentless downpour that made it hard to see beyond the windshield. The day felt like something was mourning.

I exhaled sharply, forcing the thought away.

And then, through the mist, the city emerged.

It was breathtaking in a way that made my chest tighten. Not a village, not a primitive, hidden encampment—this was a world within a world, a civilization tucked so deeply into the forest that no human would ever find it. It was smaller than human cities, but it had everything.

The roads widened into smooth, well-maintained streets, lined with homes that looked like they belonged in the most expensive parts of Los Angeles. Sleek architecture blended with the landscape, natural wood, stone, and glass, crafted in a way that allowed the buildings to merge with the forest rather than overpower it. Large, luxurious houses sat on sprawling properties, each spaced out just enough to give privacy but still close enough to maintain the unity of the pack.

Shops and cafés lined the streets in the center of town, their storefronts warm with light, their awnings shielding against the rain. There were no big chain stores, no neon signs—everything here was self-run, created by the pack, for the pack. High-end boutiques stood next to family-run bakeries. A sleek, glass-walled bookstore sat nestled between a café and an apothecary that smelled of herbs even from a distance.

Streetlights glowed softly, casting golden halos against the wet pavement. Unlike human cities, there were no honking cars, no blaring sirens, just the quiet hum of life, of wolves moving with practiced ease. The few people outside walked swiftly through the rain, most of them dressed in dark coats, their movements graceful, almost unnaturally smooth. Werewolves were like that—always in sync, always aware.

Jace’s car moved through the heart of the city, passing the town square—a wide, open space surrounded by more elegant buildings. A fountain stood at its center, the water dark under the storm, its usual shimmer dulled by the heavy rain. The Pack Hall loomed beyond it, a grand estate-like structure with towering columns and massive double doors, its presence commanding yet refined.

This was where my father had ruled.

Where he had kept order.

And now he was gone.

My throat tightened, my vision blurring for the first time since we left the gym. I blinked rapidly, trying to force the tears back, but it was useless. Everything felt heavier here—more real. It had been easy to pretend, back at school, back in the human world. But here? In the heart of the pack, where my father’s presence had been stitched into every corner of our world? There was no pretending.

Jace pulled the car to a stop outside the Pack Hall, cutting the engine. For a moment, neither of us moved. The rain pounded against the roof, an endless, deafening rhythm.

Then, quietly, Jace spoke. “Look at me.”

I didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. My hands clenched in my lap, nails pressing into my palms.

“I know this is…” He hesitated, exhaled through his nose, then tried again. “You don’t have to go in alone.”

Something about the way he said it made my heart ache. As if he actually meant it. As if he wasn’t just saying it out of obligation.

But I had spent too many years learning how to carry things alone.

“I’ll be fine,” I murmured, my voice steadier than I felt.

Jace didn’t push, but I could feel his eyes on me. Searching. Considering.

The silence stretched.

Then, with a quiet sigh, he reached for the door handle. “Come on.”

I stepped out into the storm.