Sal found me in the garden the next morning.
I sat on the fountain’s edge, shoulder throbbing under its bandage, shivering a little in the cold.
I watched the water catch the morning light, just like it had two days ago when everything tipped sideways and gold.
“You’re not supposed to be out here alone,” Sal said, but he didn’t sound annoyed, and he didn’t send me back inside.
“Is that Isabella’s idea, or Adrian’s?” “Both, technically.
Not that either bothered to show up themselves.” He eased himself down beside me—close enough to talk, not so close it felt like an intrusion.
“How’s the shoulder?” “Healing faster than it should.” I rolled it, winced, but not as much as before.
“Dr.
Voss keeps muttering about it.” “Get used to people muttering about you.” That dry edge in his voice almost made me laugh—a bit of normal that felt more real than anything else these last few days.
“Happens when you’re the most interesting thing to hit this place in years.” “Isabella said almost the same thing.” “She’s usually got a good read.” He glanced over, and something more serious crept into his face.
“For what it’s worth—and I get if it doesn’t mean much yet—you ended up somewhere that’ll actually stand up for you.
That’s rare.
Rarer than people think, in either of our worlds.” I didn’t answer right away.
I’d spent two years hearing the opposite from people who were supposed to love me.
Hard habit to break, believing anything different.
“Can I ask you something?” I said after a while.
“You can try.” “You’ve known Adrian forever?” “Since before either of us had the hope of a beard.” Something like fondness flickered there.
“Grew up here, pretty much.
His father took me in—my own family was done with me once the mafia business got too messy for kids.” “What’s he really like?
When he’s not—” I waved a hand, not sure how to sum Adrian up.
“Calculating everything.” Sal took longer with that than I expected.
“Careful,” he said.
“More careful than anyone gives him credit for, because all the planning makes people think he doesn’t feel things.
He does.
Just figured out real young showing it only gets you hurt.
So he locks it up.
Except…
I haven’t seen him bury it much lately.
Not around you.” That made something in my face hot.
I looked away, pretending not to care, but the words stuck with me.
Footsteps snapped across the garden behind us—quick, clipped.
I turned to see a young staff member hurrying over, clutching something.
“Sal.” His voice was tight, urgent.
“Gate patrol found this.
East fence, in the old drop spot.
Wedged into the stone last night.
No camera footage.
Whoever did it knew where to stay invisible.” Sal took the folded sheet and his whole mood switched in a heartbeat—relaxed to sharp.
He scanned it twice, then handed it over with no explanation.
My name was on the front.
I recognized the handwriting before I even opened it—careful, looping, steady only because the writer forced it.
Nova.
My hands started shaking as I read.
Wren — I don’t know if you’ll ever see this.
Damian said he’d try, but the old drop point might not work.
I need you to know I’m alive.
They told the pack you died at the border.
Elias made sure of it—he said it was cleaner than telling what really happened.
Things are worse after the ceremony.
Ronan barely leaves his room.
Briar acts like Luna already, even though there wasn’t a second ceremony—Elias is pushing for one soon, before anyone wonders why the last went wrong.
Two nights ago, I overheard something.
Elias and Selene were arguing—walls in the east wing are thin, and I’ve learned how to listen.
Selene talked about “the Calloway line” and said “should have ended it a generation ago.” Elias said it was too late, all that mattered now was making sure you never come back for anything.
Claim what, Wren?
What didn’t they tell us?
I’m scared.
Not for me—Elias still needs me to keep Ronan under control, so I’m safe for now.
I’m scared for you, out there alone, with people still hunting whatever they think you shouldn’t have.
Please be careful.
Come back when you can.
I don’t know how much longer I can watch the pack pretend you never existed.
— N.
I read it twice, just to be sure the words were real.
My eyes burned and blurred, but I wasn’t going to break down here—at least, not loudly.
Sal watched me with that neutral expression I was starting to recognize as privacy—his way of letting someone fall apart without an audience.
“Selene,” I managed, voice rough.
“Ronan’s mother.
She said the Calloway line should have ended a generation ago.” I saw Sal’s jaw clench.
“That’s not just talk.
She knows exactly who she’s dealing with.” “She knew.” It hit me hard, sickening.
“She knew all along—training, ceremony, everything.
She let it happen anyway.” He dropped his voice, careful now.
“It’s worse than that.
If she knew, and still pushed for a public rejection instead of quietly dealing with you inside pack lines where no one would question it—that means she wanted it done this way.
Out in the open.
So the whole pack would see.” “Why bother, if all she wanted was me dead?” “Because rejection in front of witnesses breaks the bond forever, legal and final.
If she had you killed quietly, an Elder could step in later, reopen bloodline claims—raise all kinds of trouble.
But a public rejection, then a ‘random’ rogue attack outside the territory?” He shook his head.
“That’s careful work, Wren, not panic.
She set you up to vanish and made sure nobody would ever look behind her script.” I felt the paper tremble between my hands.
From somewhere beyond the garden wall, life at the Vitale estate kept moving—footsteps, talking, every ordinary thing carried on, totally unaware the ground was shifting under them.
“I need Adrian to see this,” I said.
Sal was already moving, grim again.
“He’ll want the registry search bumped up.
If Selene Blackwood risked breaking pack law so nobody would check your bloodline, that tells us something Rocco Moretti doesn’t know yet.” “What?” He looked at me, dead serious.
“That whatever you are, it scares your own Alpha’s mother enough she’d rather see you erased than risk the truth coming out.” I folded Nova’s note and pressed it flat in my hand—like it might disappear if I let go.
Something solid and cold settled in my chest that hadn’t been there three days ago.
Not just fear this time.
Not just grief.
This time, it felt like purpose.
“Then let’s find out,” I said, “before she buries it for good.”