Page 40 of Knot the Last Chapter

He closes the book and slides down the ladder. I try not to watch the way he moves, but it’s impossible. Corwyn is grace in loafers and a half-buttoned shirt, sleeves rolled, scent mild and pine-edged.

He sets the book aside and folds himself into the chair beside mine. “You seem lighter.”

“The notebook you left me, and that amazing pen… I wrote. Thank you.” He gives me a genuine smile, and I continue. “Let out a lot more than I meant to.”

“Good mystery writing tends to do that.”

That catches me off guard. “You read mysteries?”

He chuckles. “I devour them. Our grandfather stocked this library like a personal crime scene. He even made up this story about a mystery in this house—I’ll bore you with the details some day. But this library has pretty much every vintage detective you can name, plus regional noir, cozy countryside murders, a few magical whodunits.”

I lean forward. “I want to hear about this mansion mystery.” My writer brain is enjoying the mystery, dancing around with it already.

“Not much to tell,” he leans toward me, as well. “Said something about following the compass for the key. That’s it. There’s no compass here. I looked, even after he, and our parents, passed.”

“Oh,” I say, a bit disappointed.

“Not every mystery is novel worthy. That’s why I prefer mystery novels to real life mysteries.”

“Okay, then—character-driven or twist-driven?”

His smile turns sly. “Twist-driven plots with character-driven payoffs.”

I beam. “Exactly!”

We talk for a while, unraveling plot ideas and author quirks. We dissect endings, pacing, red herrings. I haven’t felt this alive in a long time. He listens with interest that feels genuine, asking sharp questions and offering insightful takes on character arcs.

“I’m working on one now,” I admit, shifting slightly. “An omega amateur sleuth. She inherits a crumbling estate with too many secrets and solves crimes on the side.”

“I love it already.”

“She’s not what people expect. No sweet-and-silent thing in the background. She’s observant, independent. Stubborn. She’s got things to prove. She doesn’t need an alpha in her life to be complete.”

His gaze shifts to curious, verging on potential disappointment. “Is that what you want? No alpha?”

I freeze for half a beat. Once upon a time, I would have said yes without blinking.

But now—

I glance toward the window, watching the rain smear faint trails across the glass. Secrets feel safe in the cozy library and Corwyn. Like I can tell him anything. “I don’t know. I think so. I want to be strong. I am strong. But… independence doesn’t mean alone, right?”

He watches me for a beat too long. “No. It doesn’t.”

I clear my throat. “But I still think we need stories where omegas solve things, where we’re not just a prize for an alpha to win. We’re more than pheromones and instincts.”

“You won’t get an argument from me,” he says softly.

We lapse into a thoughtful silence. The air between us is warm, close. It’s not charged the way it was with Rhys. With Corwyn, it’s slower. Softer. Like a book I want to read slowly, line by line.

He shifts slightly, one arm over the back of the chair, and I can feel his eyes on me again.

“You’ve got something rare,” he says.

I tilt my head. “Talent?”

“Voice.”

My cheeks flush. I look down at my hands.