Chapter 4

My life is bleak.

I slumped into the broken swivel chair, its missing armrest leaving my elbow dangling like a sad afterthought, and took a swig of cheap merlot from a plastic cup. Night had settled over the city, and the rooftop air bit at my skin with a crisp edge.

Georgia sprawled on a patchy scrap of carpet we’d swiped from the maintenance office a year ago, her legs stretched out, wine sloshing in her hand. Ralph perched on the busted medium-sized couch—springs poking through the faded upholstery—another gem we’d liberated from the maintenance graveyard before it got hauled off.

This roof was our spot, our scrappy little kingdom, claimed after we’d survived our first year as full-time drones at The Valmont Collection. Our trio’s hideout, furnished with office castoffs and a whole lot of spite.

"...I can't believe you dumped, Xavier..." Ralph spoke.

“Yup,” I said. My shoulder-length brown hair whipped in the breeze, and I yanked my sweater tighter.

Georgia sat up, her dark eyes narrowing as she swirled her wine like a detective piecing together a case. “Well, he doesn’t tell you why he’s going, how long he’s gone, or what this ‘pack stuff’ even is. That’s shady as hell. You don’t spring that on someone you’re supposed to love—not without a damn good explanation.”

“Exactly!” I threw my hands up, nearly spilling my drink. “I’m not some clueless sidekick who nods and waits. I asked him for details—when, how long, why—and all he said was to trust him. Screw that.”

Ralph groaned, flopping back on the couch, his lanky frame sinking into the broken cushions. “Oh, come on, Tilly. Xavier’s a dreamboat. I’d trust him to rob a bank and still cheer him on. He says he loves you, like, a million times.”

Georgia pointed her cup at me like a gavel. “But if he can’t tell you why he’s ditching, that’s a red flag the size of Texas. You don’t leave your girl hanging unless you’ve got something to hide. Dumping him was smart.”

“Smart?” Ralph sat up, his voice pitching high with indignation. “Xavier’s not hiding anything—he’s got pack duty! He’s doing his job, and he loves her. Why’s that not enough?”

I took a long gulp of wine, the sour tang burning my throat, and glared at him.

“Because ‘trust me’ isn’t a plan, Ralph. It’s a dodge,” I told him.

Georgia leaned forward, all business now, like she was plotting a marketing campaign. “Think about it. If he’s so in love, why’s he keeping you in the dark? That’s not love—that’s control. Or cowardice. You deserve answers, Tilly, not some vague ‘pack stuff’ excuse. Again, you did the right thing.”

I stared into my cup. Georgia got it, got me. I didn’t plan my life around maybes; I needed facts, damn it. Breaking up made sense. It was the only move that kept me in charge.

But Ralph wasn’t done. He leaned in, elbows on his knees, his voice softening like he was pleading Xavier’s case for him. “Look, I get it—you hate the unknown. But Tilly, he’s crazy about you. All he’s asking now is for you to trust him. Why can’t you? What’s so hard about believing he’ll come back?”

I froze, the wine halfway to my lips. His words landed like a punch I didn’t see coming, and my chest tightened.

Why couldn’t I? Xavier had never lied to me before—not that I knew of. So why was I so quick to torch it all?

Georgia huffed. “He doesn’t get a free pass just because he’s hot and says nice things. Tilly’s not wrong to want more.”

“Yeah, but she’s not right to ditch him over it,” Ralph shot back, crossing his arms. “I’ve dated a lycan before, you know this, Georgia. Pack duties are serious and critical. Come one, Tilly, cut Xavier some slack.”

Georgia looked at me. “Arman was seriously hot but was a major flirt.”

Ralph snorted. “Fair, but that doesn’t mean Xavier is the same.”

“Okay, but explain to me why they all do that thing,” I said, gesturing vaguely. “The ‘I have to do something, I can’t explain, just trust me’ nonsense? Like, no, sir, I will not just trust you. You either explain, or I assume you’re leading a double life.”

Georgia pointed at me. “Exactly! We are grown. If you want trust, you communicate.”

Ralph sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You two are exhausting.”

“We are right,” Georgia corrected.

He rolled his eyes. “Look, Arman had his flaws—”

“Understatement.”

“But,” Ralph continued, ignoring me, “he also had real reasons for keeping things private. There’s more to this world than you two give credit for.”

I exhaled sharply, the wind nipping at my cheeks. “Okay, but where do we draw the line? When does it stop being ‘trust me’ and start being manipulation? Because if I have to be the one constantly waiting, constantly understanding, constantly making space for his reality, where the hell does mine fit in?”

Georgia snapped her fingers. “That part.”

Ralph groaned. “I hate when you two team up.”

“We’re the voice of reason,” Georgia said smugly.

Ralph rubbed his temples. “I just think you should talk to him before you burn it all down.”

I bit my lip. Maybe. But burning things down was my specialty.

Soon the wind picked up, slicing through my sweater, and I shivered. The bottle of wine’s empty, and tomorrow’s workday loomed like a guillotine.

Georgia yawned, stretching. “It’s freezing up here. I’m done—gotta function tomorrow.”

Ralph nodded, hauling himself off the couch. “Yeah, me too. Let’s bounce.”

“You guys go,” I said, waving them off. “I need a minute.”

“Are you sure?” Georgia asked, concerned.

I nodded. “Don’t worry about me.”

They shrugged, grabbed their cups, and shuffled to the stairs, their footsteps fading. I stayed put, the swivel chair creaking under me, Ralph’s words looping in my head. My throat tightened, and before I could stop it, tears spilled out—hot, messy, pissed-off tears. I swiped at my face, muttering, “Stupid lycan pack duty.”

The rooftop felt too quiet now, too big. I squinted into the shadows near the HVAC unit—nothing but dark corners and wind.

I exhaled sharply, forcing a laugh at myself. “Jesus, Tilly. One glass of cheap merlot and you start acting like you’re in a horror movie.”

I inhaled deeply, but then a prickle ran up my spine. I froze. Because in the farthest corner, something shifted. A shape in the shadows.

My pulse stuttered. My first thought was raccoon. My second thought was a murderer. My third thought was that I was about to embarrass myself, and yet, my mouth betrayed me anyway.

“Hello?”

No response.

The shadow didn’t move, but it didn’t feel... still either. It was the kind of presence you feel before you see—the kind that makes your instincts scream even when logic tells you there's nothing there.

I swallowed, squinting again, willing my eyes to adjust. My breath came out in uneven puffs. Maybe it was just a trick of the light. Maybe I was paranoid.

I blinked.

The shadow was gone.

And then—so soft, so fleeting I almost convinced myself I imagined it—something cold brushed against my cheek.

Not the wind. Something else.

I gasped and spun around, heart slamming against my ribs, hands clenched into fists like I’d be able to punch a ghost in the face if necessary.

Nothing.

The rooftop was still empty. The city buzzed on, indifferent.

I let out a shaky breath, my fingers trembling as I reached up to touch my cheek. It still burned from the cold.