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Once he’s gone, I stand by the window, gazing out at the city spread below. So different from my kingdom—chaotic, polluted, entirely human. This is where she chose to rebuild? Among steel and glass and strangers?

The minutes stretch into an hour. I remain standing, patient as only a predator can be. She’s testing me, making me wait to establish control over the interaction. I allow it. This small victory for her costs me nothing.

Finally, the door opens again. This time, there’s no mistaking the scent—lavender and chemicals and something uniquely her. I turn slowly, keeping my expression neutral despite the way my heart is hammering against my ribs.

Maya stands in the doorway, white lab coat over a simple blouse and dark pants, her hair pulled back in a severe bun. She’s thinner than when I last saw her, her face sharper, more angular. But her eyes—they haven’t changed. Clear, intelligent, and carefully devoid of emotion.

“Griffin.” Her voice is cool, almost like she is greeting a stranger.

“Maya.”

She steps fully into the room, closing the door behind her. “What are you doing here?”

For a moment, I say nothing, drinking in the sight of her like a parched man.

She has let her hair grow out. If I thought she was thin when we escaped, she has lost even more weight now.

“I’m sorry about your mother—”

She stares at me as if my words are meaningless. “Why are you here?”

I feel some confusion at the lack of emotion in those eyes at the mention of her mother. However, “I need your help,” is what I say.

“My help.” She doesn’t betray any emotion, everything locked up inside her, behind that calm, cool mask. “With what?”

It bothers me, the way she doesn’t react, the way she looks at me as if I’m no one significant to her. I don’t know what I expected, but this cold indifference certainly wasn’t it.

“There’s a disease spreading among my people. The antidote you developed before leaving only works on the first strain. This mutation is resistant.”

Her eyes narrow. “And this concerns me how, exactly?”

The lack of empathy has me staggering. This is not the Maya I remember, not my warm-hearted Maya.

“Three hundred forty-two shifters affected so far,” I continue, trying to ignore her apathy. “Forty-seven in critical condition. Without intervention, the death toll will continue to rise.”

Professional interest flickers briefly across her face before disappearing behind her mask of indifference. “I’m sure your healers are perfectly capable—”

“They’re not.” I take a step closer. “You know they’re not. This is beyond traditional healing. It requires your expertise in shifter biology and human medical science.”

She studies me. “I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

“I want you to continue your work on the antidote. You are the only one who can create a cure. You’ve done it once before.”

“Sorry.” Her voice is cool. “I’m not interested. I don’t want to be dragged back into your world.”

My jaw tightens. “The people you care about will also be affected, Maya. Jerry, Erik—”

“The people I care about?” She stares at me as if I’ve said something foreign. “You mean the same people who let my mother burn alive in her cottage? The ones who refused to return because a human mother and daughter were not worth coming back for?”

“We didn’t know, Maya—” I begin, my tone gentle.

“Don’t lie to me.” For the first time I see a glimmer of emotion in her eyes. “I was told a message was sent and that you refused to come back.”

“I received no such message,” I say fiercely now. “I found out about your mother’s passing—”

“Murder,” Maya cuts me off sharply. “Call it what it is. She was murdered, and had I been in that cottage, asleep in my bed like she was, I would have been burned alive, as well. But then, perhaps you would have preferred that.”

My blood goes cold at the very thought. “How can you say something like that? I would never—Maya, it was a faulty wire.”