Chapter6 You don't trust me?

Silver's POV

I'd gathered my few belongings while Callum stood nearby, holding an expensive-looking suitcase he'd brought—far too nice for the handful of borrowed clothes and toiletries I was packing.

He'd insisted on carrying it, even though it was barely half full and I could have managed it myself.

Then we'd driven out of the city, the buildings growing sparser until we turned onto a private road that seemed to go on forever.

When the estate finally came into view, I'd actually gasped.

I couldn't help it. The house—no, mansion—rose from perfectly manicured grounds like something out of a movie.

All clean lines and huge windows, surrounded by gardens that looked like they'd been painted into existence. The shelter's cramped room with its water-stained ceiling felt like another lifetime.

"Mr. Vaughn will return as soon as possible to join you for dinner," Callum had said as he opened the door, his tone professional but not unkind. "Until then, you're free to settle in however you'd like. Unpack, explore the grounds, rest. The estate is yours to enjoy."

I'd nodded mutely, clutching my pathetic plastic bag, feeling more out of place with every second.

The housekeeper—a woman named Helen with gentle eyes and graying hair—had met me at the entrance. She'd smiled as if I belonged here.

"Let me show you to your room, dear."

My room. As if I'd be staying long enough to call it that.

But when she'd opened the door, I'd frozen in the doorway.

The space was bigger than the entire cabin I'd grown up in. A massive bed with white linens that looked impossibly soft. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking those painted gardens. Furniture that was somehow both elegant and comfortable.

A bathroom visible through an open door that had countertops and a tub big enough to swim in.

"The closet is already stocked," Helen had said, moving to open double doors I hadn't even noticed. "Mr. Vaughn had his stylist send over some basics in your size. If anything doesn't fit or isn't to your taste, just let me know, and we'll arrange alternatives."

I'd stared at the closet. At the rows of clothes—soft sweaters, dark jeans, dresses I'd never have the courage to wear. All in my size.

"I'll leave you to settle in," Helen had said. "If you need anything at all, just press the button by the bed. I'll be right up."

Then she'd left me alone in this beautiful, terrifying room.

I didn't need to unpack. There was nothing to unpack. My plastic bag sat on the floor by the door, looking as out of place as I felt.

So instead, I'd spent the afternoon tiptoeing through the hallways like a ghost, terrified of touching anything, of breaking something I could never afford to replace.

Nessa had told me once, back when she first came to the city, that everything in the human world had a price tag.

"The scary part isn't the obviously expensive stuff," she'd said. "It's the things that look normal but cost more than a year's rent."

I'd laughed then. But now, I understand. That vase by the window—was it priceless? The throw blanket—would I ruin it just by touching it? I didn't know. Couldn't tell.

My old flip phone buzzed against my palm, making me jump.

The thing had been dead since I'd fled Blackwood Ridge, the battery drained days ago. But this afternoon, tucked inside the expensive suitcase Callum had brought, I'd found a replacement battery. Brand new, still in its packaging.

I'd swapped it in during the drive over. Rhydian had thought of everything.

A notification blinked on the screen. A text.

A text from Rhydian: Callum mentioned he got you settled. How's the new house? I'll be home for dinner. - R

Something in my chest loosened slightly.

I typed back with clumsy thumbs: It's beautiful. Thank you.

The response came quickly: Good. Make yourself at home. That's an order.

I smiled. Then I set the battered flip phone down. My fingers traced its worn edges, movements jerky and uncertain. I should throw it away.

Slade had given it to me years ago, "for emergencies"—which really meant so he could always reach me, always know where I was.

The thing could barely do anything except make calls and receive texts. No internet. No escape into the wider world.

Just like he'd wanted.

I stared down at the phone's dark screen, catching my reflection in the blank glass. The silver-white hair that had always made me a target fell around my face, catching the afternoon light, turning almost translucent.

Even in this tiny reflection, I looked wrong. Out of place.

In Blackwood Ridge, the other girls had whispered that my silver-white hair proved I was cursed. Half-breed. Tainted.

My father had cheated on his mate with an outsider—my mother, and I was the evidence of his betrayal. That's why the pack hated me—not just for the mixed blood, but because I was proof of his shame.

At home, I was barely tolerated. My father looked at me like a mistake. My stepmother pretended I didn't exist. The only person who'd ever been kind was my older sister, who'd sneak me food and teach me how to braid my hair.

And then there was Nessa. And Slade.

God, Slade. If he hadn't tried to force that ceremony, if he'd just... we might have been friends.

The phone buzzed in my hand, and I nearly dropped it.

Nessa.

My heart lurched.

By now, she had to know I'd run. That's why she was calling—it had been months since she'd gone back to the city for school, and she'd never once reached out before.

My thumb hovered over the answer button. One conversation. Just to hear her voice. To know I wasn't completely alone in this strange new world.

I pressed accept.

"Silver?" Her voice came through sharp, urgent. "Oh, thank God, you finally answered!"

The relief in her tone made my eyes sting. "Nessa, I—"

"Do you have any idea how worried I've been?!" She didn't let me finish. "I've been trying to reach you for days! What the hell happened?"

"I'm sorry." The words tumbled out automatically. "I didn't mean to worry you, I just—"

"Slade is losing his mind." Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "He's torn Blackwood Ridge apart looking for you. And now he's here. In Manhattan. With some of his guys."

Ice flooded my veins. My free hand flew to my neck, fingers pressing against the spot where the mark still throbbed.

"He's... he's in Manhattan?" My voice came out small, childlike.

"Yeah." Nessa's tone shifted, something I couldn't quite identify threading through it. "He said the ceremony started. That you have his mark. That was according to our pack law, you have to come back and finish it."

"No." The word ripped out of me. "I can't. I won't."

"Silver, where are you?" Now her voice turned pleading. "Tell me where you are. I'll come get you. We can figure this out together, like we always do."

My mouth opened to answer. I wanted so badly to see her. But Rhydian's words from that night echoed in my head.

And I didn't want to put her in danger. Not Nessa. Not if Slade was already looking for me.

"I..." I swallowed hard. "I can't tell you that."

Silence stretched between us, sharp and cutting.

"You don't trust me?" Nessa's voice went cold. "Silver, I'm your best friend. Your only friend. And you won't even tell me where you are?"

"It's not that." Tears burned behind my eyes. "I just... this place, it's not mine. Someone's helping me, and I can't—I don't want to cause them trouble."

"Someone?" She latched onto that. "Who? What kind of 'someone' gives you a place to stay but won't let you tell your friends where you are?"

"He's not—it's not like that."

"Isn't it?" She laughed, bitter and harsh. "You know what? Fine. Don't tell me. But when this mysterious 'helper' of yours shows his true colors, don't come crying to me."

"Nessa, please—"

The line went dead.

I sat there, phone still pressed to my ear, tears streaming down my face. My chest felt tight, like I couldn't get enough air.