Page 17 of Lone Wolf (Red Rivals)

CHAPTER 17

Sunny

The dining hall at Elysium is busiest in the mornings—the night shift coming off duty, the day shift fueling up, and those of us caught somewhere in between. The air is thick with the smell of coffee, bacon, and conversations that drop to whispers when certain people walk by.

People like Ariadne and me.

The morning after our second chance, which we celebrated loudly with more orgasms in Ariadne’s dorm room last night, I slide into the seat across from her, setting down my tray loaded with pancakes, fruit, and enough syrup to drown a small village. Ariadne has her usual—protein-heavy, no carbs, nothing that could slow her down in a fight. I tried to get her to live a little, but she’s still treating her body like it’s a weapon that needs constant maintenance.

“You’re staring,” she says without looking up from her eggs.

“Yeah,” I admit, grinning. “I like the view.”

A tiny furrow appears between her brows, but the corners of her mouth twitch upward ever so slightly. It’s barely a smile by normal standards, but for Ariadne? It’s practically a declaration of joy.

I dig into my pancakes, savoring the sweetness. After everything that’s happened—the warehouse, the meeting with Hadria, the night with Ariadne—I’ve learned to appreciate the small pleasures more than ever.

Vanessa and Enzo walk by our table, their whispers barely audible but their side-eyes unmistakable.

“…kept everyone up, fucking all night like a couple of…”

“…can’t believe she’d go for that crazy…”

I see Ariadne’s shoulders tense fractionally, the only sign that she’s heard them too. A wave of protectiveness washes over me. Here we all are, all of us recruits—survivors of unimaginable trauma, trying to figure out how to be human again, and yet these assholes think they have the right to judge.

I lean across the table, close enough to smell the clean scent of Ariadne’s soap. “Let’s give them something to really blow their minds, huh?” I murmur. “Kiss me.”

Ariadne freezes, her fork halfway to her mouth. “Right here and now?”

I nod, holding her gaze. “Why not? Unless you’re scared …”

Something flickers in her eyes—challenge accepted. She sets down her fork deliberately, a tiny smile playing at the corner of her mouth, and gives me a slight nod.

I reach for her, my fingers finding the fabric of her t-shirt, and pull her toward me. Her lips meet mine halfway, cool and soft and tasting faintly of coffee. The kiss is brief—just enough to make a point—and there’s a gentleness to it that makes my heart skip.

When we pull apart, the dining hall has gone silent. I can feel dozens of eyes on us, but the only ones I care about are Ariadne’s, watching me with a mixture of surprise and…something warmer.

Then Elijah, bless him, lets out a whoop and starts clapping from where he’s sitting a little further down on our table. Laughter ripples through the room, and just like that, the moment of tension breaks. Conversations resume, people return to their food, and the world continues spinning.

“Well,” Ariadne says, picking up her fork again with composure, “that was effective.”

I laugh, the sound bubbling up from somewhere light and giddy inside me. “Told you. Nothing like giving them what they want to take all the fun out of their gossip.”

She takes a bite of eggs, chewing thoughtfully. “Is that your strategy for everything? Lean into it until it loses power?”

“Pretty much.” I shrug, oddly pleased that she’s analyzing my actions. “Works for most things. Fear. Pain. Jerks.”

“Hmm.” Her expression turns contemplative. “Not a bad approach.”

“Just so we’re clear,” I say, lowering my voice so only she can hear, “I don’t plan on pretending not to be really into you.” I hold her gaze, making sure she understands. “If that’s going to be a problem…”

“It’s not,” she interrupts, and I think there’s an actual faint blush coloring her cheeks. It’s so unexpected, so human, that I want to reach across the table and kiss her again. “I’m just…not used to this.”

“What, public displays of affection?”

“ Any displays of affection,” she corrects, but there’s no bite to her words.

I finish the last of my pancakes, swiping a finger through the remaining syrup. “Well, get used to it, babe. I’m a very affectionate person.” I suck my finger clean of syrup and wink at her.

“I’ve noticed,” she says dryly, but her eyes are bright with amusement.

We finish our breakfast in companionable silence. Around us, the dining hall buzzes with the usual morning activity, but it feels different somehow. Like we’ve claimed our own little bubble in the chaos.

“At least one nice thing will have happened to me today,” Ariadne says as she stacks her plates neatly on her tray. “Since group therapy starts later this morning.” Her voice is flat, but I can see the tension returning to her shoulders. “ With Scarlett and Katy. And Dr. Khatri has decided to hold this charade outside, of all places.” She shakes her head slightly. “As if fresh air will magically cure everything.”

“Mine starts after breakfast,” I tell her, trying to keep my tone encouraging. “But Dr. Khatri told me to report to the therapy room.”

Ariadne meets my eyes, and for a moment, I see a flash of concern there. “You’ll be okay?” It’s half statement, half question.

I’m actually looking forward to it. Kind of. I need someone to talk to, someone who isn’t Ariadne. Because a lot of what I want to talk about is Ariadne. How she makes me feel. Whether we can figure things out like I hope we can?—

I cut off that thought. “Always am,” I say with more conviction than I feel. “Anyway, I better get moving. What about you? Going to the gym?”

She nods. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

We stand together, and for a moment, I hesitate. Then I lean in and press a quick kiss to her cheek. “Good luck with your session later.”

She doesn’t pull away, doesn’t flinch. Progress. “You, too.”

We part ways at the dining hall exit—Ariadne heading toward the training wing, me toward the administrative section where Dr. Khatri’s office is located. My stomach churns with nervous energy as I walk, and I find myself wishing I’d gone lighter on the syrup.

The hallway leading to the therapy room is quiet, the soft carpet muffling my footsteps. When I reach Dr. Khatri’s door, I pause, taking a deep breath before knocking.

“Come in,” calls a voice that isn’t Dr. Khatri’s.

I push open the door to find not only Dr. Khatri waiting for me but Hadria Imperioli as well. The Boss is standing by the window, her tall figure silhouetted against the morning light. Dr. Khatri sits in her usual chair, clipboard in hand, expression professionally neutral.

“Santiago,” Hadria greets me with a slight nod. “Apologies for the unannounced intrusion.”

“Boss,” I acknowledge, fighting the urge to stand at attention. My heart hammers against my ribs. What is this? Why are they both here?

Dr. Khatri stands, smoothing down her tailored pants. “I’ll wait outside to give you two a moment,” she says, offering me a reassuring smile that does nothing to calm my nerves. She slips out, closing the door softly behind her.

I stare at Hadria, fear clutching at my throat. “Have you changed your mind?” I ask, hating how small my voice sounds. “Are you kicking me out after all?”

“No,” Hadria says, her voice gentler than I’ve ever heard it. “No, it’s nothing like that. Please, sit down.”

I sink into one of the armchairs, perching on the edge like I might need to flee at any moment. Hadria takes the seat opposite me, her posture perfect as always, but there’s something in her gray eyes that looks almost...human.

“Sunny,” she says, and the use of my first name sends a fresh wave of unease through me. “We’ve been looking into your sister, Marisol.”

Hope and dread war in my chest. “You found something?”

Hadria takes a breath, and I know. I know before she says the words.

“According to evidence we found at the warehouse, and information extracted from the Mancini soldier we captured…it’s likely that Marisol is no longer alive.”

The world seems to tilt beneath me. I’ve spent so much time searching, hoping, keeping the flame of her memory alive. The possibility of her death has always existed in some dark corner of my mind, but I’ve refused to give it space, refused to believe.

“How?” I manage to ask, my voice barely a whisper.

“The records indicate she was supposed to be transported from Chicago to New York after the initial sale,” Hadria says, each word measured and careful. “There was an incident during transport of her and some other women—an attempted escape. The guards responded with excessive force, and as far as we can tell…well, it seems that the entire group was killed.”

My vision blurs.

“I’m so sorry, Sunny.”

I don’t hear her. All that time when I was still desperately searching. While I was beating myself up for not looking hard enough, for not being smart enough to find her.

She was already gone.

A sound escapes me—not quite a sob, more a gasp of pain. I curl forward, arms wrapping around my middle as if I could hold myself together through sheer force.

“I should have been there,” I whisper. “I should have helped her. I should have?—”

“No,” Hadria cuts me off, her voice firmer now. “What happened to your sister was not your fault. The blame lies with the men who took her, who hurt her.”

I look up at her through tear-blurred eyes. “But she died alone, thinking I abandoned her.”

“You don’t know that.” Hadria leans forward, her gaze intense. “And if Marisol knew you like we know you, Sunny, then her last thoughts of you would have been nothing but happy. That counts for something.”

I wipe my eyes roughly with the back of my hand. “Does it, though?”

“Yes,” Hadria says with such conviction that I almost believe her. “But Sunny, I’ll understand if you don’t want to continue working on this operation. If you need time, or if you want a different assignment?—”

“No,” I interrupt, straightening my spine. The initial shock is hardening into something colder, something sharper. “I want to stay on this. I need to see it through.”

Grief is a heavy thing, but the desire for justice? It’s lighter. And it will give me wings.

“I need to honor her,” I continue, my voice steadier now. “I couldn’t save her. But maybe I can save someone else’s sister.”

Hadria studies me for a moment. Then she reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder—a gesture so unexpected that I nearly flinch.

“The Styx Syndicate is incredibly proud to have you,” she says quietly. “And I’m proud of you, too.”

Despite my grief, I feel a warmth spreading through my chest at her words. “Thank you,” I manage.

She nods once, then withdraws her hand. “Do you want me to ask Dr. Khatri to come in? Or would you prefer to reschedule?”

The thought of talking about this now, of analyzing my feelings and processing my grief under the sympathetic gaze of Dr. Khatri, makes my skin crawl. What I need is space. Air. Room to breathe around this new reality.

“I…think I need some time,” I say. “Can I reschedule?”

“Of course.” Hadria stands. “Take whatever time you need. I’ll let the doctor know your decision.”

I rise too, suddenly desperate to be outside. I think of Ariadne mentioning that her therapy session would be held in the gardens, and something in me yearns for that—for open sky, for growing things, for the reminder that life continues even in the face of death.

“I might take a walk in the gardens,” I say. “Clear my head.”

Hadria nods. “Nature can be…therapeutic, in its way.” There’s the faintest hint of irony in her voice, as if she’s quoting someone else’s opinion rather than expressing her own.

She moves toward the door, then pauses, turning back to me. “One more thing. Regardless of how this operation proceeds, and whether or not you choose to become a full member, you will always have a home here. I want you to know that.”

That catches me off guard, makes my throat close up dangerously. “Thank you,” I choke out.

She gives me another slight nod, then slips out of the room, leaving me alone with the weight of this new truth.

Marisol is gone. My big sister, my protector, my hero. Dead. And I’ve been chasing ghosts.

I sink back into the chair, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes as if I could physically hold back the tears. But they come anyway, hot and fast, streaming down my face as I finally, finally let myself believe what part of me suspected all along.

I’m not sure how long I sit there, letting the grief wash over me in waves. Eventually, though, the tears slow, and I’m left feeling hollow, wrung out, but somehow lighter.

I stand on shaky legs, moving to the small washroom adjacent to the therapy office to splash cold water on my face. In the mirror, my reflection stares back at me—red-eyed, pale, but still standing. Still here.

For her. For Mari. For the girl I was, and the woman I’m trying to become.

I take a deep breath, straighten my shoulders, and head out of the office. I make my way through the mansion, avoiding the busier areas, slipping out a side door into the gardens. The morning air is crisp, the sky a clear, endless blue. I follow the winding paths, letting my feet take me where they will.

Eventually, I find myself in the night garden—the beautiful space Aurora created, with its night-blooming flowers and peaceful atmosphere. It’s different in the daytime—quieter, more subdued, the flowers closed tight, waiting for darkness to reveal their beauty.

I sit on a bench beneath a large tree, letting the dappled sunlight warm my skin. The breeze carries the distant sounds of training exercises, vehicles coming and going, the steady heartbeat of Elysium.

“I’m sorry, Mari,” I whisper to the empty air. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t find you in time.”

A small bird lands on the path near my feet, pecking at something in the gravel. It glances up at me, unafraid, before continuing its search.

Life goes on. Even after loss, even after heartbreak, the world keeps turning. Birds keep singing. Flowers keep growing, opening and closing with the rhythm of day and night.

And I’m still here. I survived. And I owe it to Mari to make that survival mean something. I have a purpose now—not just finding Mari, but honoring her memory by continuing the work to dismantle the trafficking ring. By making sure what happened to her doesn’t happen to others.

I have people here, too. Ariadne, complicated and fierce and proud. And the rest of the Syndicate, too. Hadria offered me a place, resources, a chance to be part of something bigger than my own pain.

It’s not the life I fantasized about when I was a kid. But maybe it’s a life worth living anyway.

I close my eyes, turning my face up as I lean back against the tree, and let myself imagine Mari watching over me, finally at peace.

But the peace is broken a few moments later by a shout of warning, and I get to my feet, startled. It comes again. Something’s going on—something is wrong .

Instinct takes over and I run toward the sounds of fear.