Chapter 32

Evelyn

The morning light cut across the room like a blade, slicing through the fragile darkness I clung to. My skull throbbed in time with my heartbeat, a low, persistent pounding that made me groan into my pillow. Everything was too loud, too bright, and the taste of stale liquor clung to the back of my throat.

What had I even said last night? I could barely remember how I got home.

Only fragments remained from the prior evening. As my aching head tried to recall the previous hours, all I could muster was a flash of cold brick at my back, rough hands, and fear. And then a growl, low and familiar. After that… nothing.

I thought I saw my brother... But that doesn't make any sense.

I sat up slowly, cradling my aching head in my hands. I should never have gone to that tavern. I should never have let myself spiral so close to the edge, all because Logan had stopped speaking to me.

Even if I had told myself that the night drinking was meant in celebration of my final night there, deep down, I had always known that the true reason had been to drown my aching sorrow.

He’d kept his distance, and I’d told myself that was a good thing. I told myself it was closure. But it didn’t feel like closure. It felt like a slow, invisible wound I didn’t know how to stitch shut.

In the flashes from my memory of the previous evening, I thought I could make out memories of Logan too. But surely that wasn’t true. He couldn’t have been there.

I sighed loudly. I needed space. Clarity. A place where my thoughts wouldn’t echo with his silence.

Thank god I was leaving today. Even though it was for the best, my chest throbbed alongside my head at the thought of leaving in a few hours.

The library would be quiet this early in the day, and the scent of old books promised to be soothing. I told myself I’d go to the library with a coffee to recover. I’d take the morning slow in the stacks while I revived, likely only staying for an hour. Maybe two. Just until the headache passed and I was ready to leave.

And the best part of this plan was that I knew Logan wouldn’t stop by the library; he would be too occupied with other Alpha tasks. I would be able to recover in peace before I silently slipped away for good.

But when I opened the door to leave my room, all of my plans changed.

There was a package outside my door, wrapped neatly in brown paper and tied with a faded ribbon. It brought me up short immediately, the strangeness of this sight.

No note. No signature. Just my name, written in a looping script I didn’t recognize.

I glanced down the hallway. Empty. There were no signs of anyone else in either direction.

Cautiously, I brought the package inside my room, my heartbeat quickening as I peeled the paper away. Inside was a stack of documents, photographs, and a thin leather-bound journal. I hesitated, then opened the first page.

Her name jumped out at me immediately as it was written so frequently, and I soon realized the subject of this makeshift gift.

Emma.

Her name was scrawled across a half-dozen documents—intelligence reports, intercepted messages, maps marked with rogue activity across the border. My breath caught as I flipped through the pages.

All of them led back to the same thing: Emma was deeply connected to the largest rogue community near the borderlands.

It seemed impossible. Good-girl Emma with her beautiful looks and smug demeanor. How could that same woman have this many questionable ties?

But it didn’t stop there.

One report, dated three years ago, detailed a brutal clash between Logan’s pack and the rogue faction. Bloodshed on both sides. And in the middle of it all was Emma.

She had betrayed the rogue community. Given up crucial intel. All to protect Logan.

He had been the reason she had started anew, and this was the reason she could be trusted so unwaveringly where I couldn’t. Because she had already made the ultimate sacrifice and given up her community for this man.

And the price?

Wolfsbane fever. The words were scrawled across a medical document, a diagnosis so severe it made my stomach turn.

This was the illness Logan had wanted me to cure her from so desperately. And no wonder why! He probably had been feeling guilty all this time since she had acquired it while trying to save his life.

All along, he had been using me like a tool to fix this person who had saved him. The real person he cared about. And I hadn’t been privy to even an inkling of any of this. Instead, I was kept in the dark about the whole truth of these two.

I sank onto the edge of my bed, the papers slipping from my fingers.

She almost died for him.

It wasn’t just that they’d known each other a long time. It wasn’t even that they shared a past. It was that Emma had risked everything—her life, her people, her future—to keep Logan alive.

The bond they shared wasn’t breakable. It wasn’t fleeting. It was forged in blood and sacrifice.

This was love.

I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold. My heart ached in a way I hadn’t known it could, a fresh pain from this morning’s lonesome feeling.

Because no matter what I felt for Logan—no matter how many stolen glances or near-kisses haunted me—I would never be that person for him. How could I ever have thought I might be able to compete with this?

Every time he looked at me since my last encounter with Emma, something flickered in his gaze. Something cautious. Like he was waiting for me to reach out to him and break this expanding silence between us. But I couldn’t. Not after this.

I couldn’t compete with a bond like that.

He and Emma were written in ink. I was penciled in the margins.

I stood slowly, brushing away the tears I hadn’t realized had fallen. I had been a fool to ever think that we may have been possible. If I had known all of this from the start, would I have ever even tried pursuing something with him? I wasn’t sure.

My eyes burned, my throat tight. But the decision was clear now, sharper than it had ever been.

It really was time to go.

This place had given me shelter for an extended period of time. Logan had given me a glimpse at something I wanted, something I was willing to fight for in the future, just with someone else. That hope he had given me had always been fragile. Illusory.

I gathered the documents and slipped them into my bag, sealing them away like a wound that wouldn’t close. They seemed to gape at me even from the bag, leering into my every thought.

Maybe someday I’d understand why someone had given them to me. Maybe it was a warning. Perhaps I would even find out who it was. Maybe it was a kindness, brutal, but honest.

Either way, it didn’t matter now.

I would say my goodbyes to everyone but Logan. I would leave this place behind and put distance between us. There was no reason to linger longer or mourn. This was well and truly over.

And I would try—really try—to forget the way Logan made me feel when he looked at me like I mattered.

Because he already had someone who did.