Page 66

The morning light barely crept through the blinds when Seren stirred, her body wrapped in warmth that didn't belong to her blanket.

A weight shifted against her side.

Soft fur. Steady breath. A heartbeat she knew better than her own.

"Gods," she whispered, blinking as she registered the large wolf curled beside her on the bed, taking up most of it—again.

"Really?" she muttered.

The wolf gave a huff, his icy blue eyes cracking open. He blinked at her with unrepentant innocence and then—very deliberately—shifted.

In less than a breath, Hagan was lying beside her, shirtless, his body heat radiating like a furnace.

"I brought breakfast," he said, unfazed.

She stared. "And you thought breaking into my bed was the best way to deliver it?"

He shrugged, sitting up and grabbing a backpack from the floor. "You weren't answering the door. So, I took the initiative. "

She just looked at him for a long moment before rolling out of bed and grabbing the nearest blanket to wrap around herself. "What do you want, Hagan?"

"I want to show you something."

She opened her mouth to say no, but something in his expression stopped her. That quiet intensity. That desperate patience.

She sighed. She had become quieter since the memories hit her yesterday. "Fine. "

They took the bus across the bridge into the human side of the city. Hagan didn't talk much—just watched her, content.

When they arrived, she looked up and blinked. "The cathedral?"

"Trust me."

The old building loomed against the sky, its gothic spires rising like claws. Moss crept along the stone, and time had stained its flanks with soot and age. It was beautiful. Tragic.

They climbed the ancient staircase, the spiral narrowing until it felt like a passage into another world. At the top, the wind greeted them, and the city lay stretched out below like a painting.

She turned to him. "Okay, I'm impressed. Why are we—?"

He pointed silently to a recess in the stone roof .

And there they were.

A family of peregrine falcons, perched and preening in a nest cradled in an archway.

Seren's breath hitched.

She lifted her camera, falling silent as she clicked, adjusted, and whispered soft encouragements to the birds. Hagan didn't speak. He just handed her strips of dried meat.

"Mamma bird must be peckish," he murmured.

She didn't argue.

They ate sandwiches from his backpack, sitting with their backs against the stone, legs stretched out, shoulders brushing.

It was quiet. Peaceful. The kind of silence that didn't need filling.

As the sun began to set in shades of amber and lavender, a chill swept across the rooftop. Seren shivered.

Hagan reached out and took her hand—gently as if asking permission. She didn't pull away. Not yet.

"I want to talk about Lia," he said.

Seren's spine stiffened. She started to pull her hand away.

He held on. "Please. I just want to try to explain. "

She didn't speak, but she didn't leave either.

He looked down at their joined hands, rough thumb brushing over her knuckles.

"She was... broken," he said softly. "I think you saw it too. We all did."

Seren said nothing, but her gaze lingered on his face, searching.

He swallowed. "I met her when I was eight.

I told you about the run-in with the forsaken and about how she and her mother crept into the territory.

I remember... she didn't speak for days.

Just stared. She wouldn't eat unless someone else started first. Couldn't shift. Wouldn't look anyone in the eye."

His jaw flexed. "She was small and silent and skittish. Like a stray pup who didn't know if she was going to get fed or kicked."

Despite herself, Seren's chest tinged with sympathy.

"I was too young to think of anything but being her friend. I'd bring her little things—crushed berries, cool stones from the river. Sometimes I'd shift just to make her laugh. And when she finally did... gods, it felt like I'd won something."

He glanced at Seren then, something weary in his eyes.

"I was just trying to be kind. I didn't realise back then that she needed more than kindness. That she was looking for someone to make her feel safe. And loved. And later, when she started leaning harder, I thought—maybe I owed her that. For helping her come out of the dark."

He exhaled hard.

"But I wasn't the boy she needed. I wasn't the man she deserved. And somewhere along the way, I forgot that being loyal to her didn't mean letting her push past boundaries."

Seren turned her face away, the wind catching a few strands of her hair.

"I told myself I was helping her, protecting her. But all I was doing was giving her space to pull me in too deep."

"And when you finally saw me hurting?" she asked quietly, her voice steady but raw.

He closed his eyes. His face was twisted with remembered agony. "That horrible moment when you walked in on us. That was the moment I realised I'd failed the one person who mattered the most. My heart."

Her lips trembled, but she said nothing.

"There's a reason I never slept with her," he added, voice low.

"Even when I could've. Even when she kept pushing for it.

My body knew what my mind refused to accept.

That it was always you. Always. If you had come in a few seconds later, you would have seen me push her away.

That was never going to happen. All I have ever wanted is you. "

He turned toward her fully, their knees brushing.

"I should never have let her get that close. That's on me. I messed up. But never again. Not if the cost is you. Your pain. Your silence."

His thumb traced circles over the back of her hand.

"Never again."

"She was using me. I'm sorry I didn't see it sooner. Sorry, I let you carry that pain alone. But I'm not that boy anymore, Seren. I swear it on the moon."

She blinked fast, gaze falling to the ring of calluses on his fingers. His hand was warm around hers.

"I should have fought for you from the start," he said. "I cannot change how I was in the past. Those are stains on my soul that will remain. I regret them like nothing else. But I'm here now. And I'll never let go again. If you would just give me one chance."

Seren looked away; throat tight.

But when he leaned in, brushing his temple against hers, she didn't turn away.