Maya's POV
I didn't sleep.
How could I, knowing Dominic was on the other side of that wall, so close I could hear his breathing? Knowing he stayed pressed against the wall for hours, his hand probably in the same spot as mine?
Now I'm sitting at breakfast trying to pretend everything's normal, even though my eyes are red and puffy and I feel like I've been hit by a truck.
The dining room is empty except for me and him.
Dominic sits at the far end of the long table, drinking coffee and reading something on his tablet. Fresh shirt. Clean shaven. Like he slept perfectly fine.
Like last night never happened.
I stare at my scrambled eggs and try not to remember his whispered apology through the wall. Try not to wonder what he was apologizing for.
Try not to hope it meant something.
Good morning, Miss Thornhill.
I flinch. Miss Thornhill. So formal it hurts.
Morning, I mumble.
Silence stretches between us. I can hear him turn pages on his tablet. Can hear myself chewing too loudly. Can hear every awful second ticking past.
This is torture.
So, I say, forcing normalcy into my voice. When do we start training? For the... Trials?
Dominic doesn't look up. When you shift. Can't train a wolf that doesn't exist yet.
The words sting more than they should. My wolf that doesn't exist. My broken, late-blooming failure of a wolf.
Right. Of course. I push eggs around my plate. And if I never shift? What happens then?
You will.
You sound pretty confident for someone who
You're Alpha-born. He finally looks at me, and something flashes in his eyes. The shift will come. Your bloodline is too strong to stay dormant forever.
I'm twenty-three. Most wolves shift at sixteen. Maybe I'm just
You're not broken. His voice cuts through my spiral. Hard. Certain. Don't let them make you believe that.
Our eyes meet across the table. For just a second, I see it—the Dominic who used to ruffle my hair and call me kid. The one who taught me self-defense and made sure I ate properly during exam weeks.
Then the walls slam back up.
Eat your breakfast, he says, returning to his tablet. You need protein.
We go back to silence, but something's shifted. The air feels less hostile. Almost... careful. Like we're both trying not to break something fragile.
I'm halfway through my eggs when I hear it.
Tires on gravel. A car door slamming. Then a voice I'd recognize anywhere.
MAYA THORNHILL, YOU BETTER BE ALIVE IN THERE!
My heart soars. Iris.
I'm out of my chair and running. Through the hallway, past startled pack members, straight to the front door. I yank it open just as Iris raises her fist to knock.
She takes one look at me and pulls me into a crushing hug.
Oh honey. You look terrible.
I bury my face in her shoulder, breathing in coffee and vanilla perfume and normalcy. I'm so glad you're here.
Where else would I be? She pulls back, scanning my face with sharp eyes. Okay, who made you cry? Point me at them.
Nobody. I'm fine.
Liar. She drags her suitcase inside. Where's this Dominic guy you've been obsessing over since—oh.
She stops dead.
Dominic is standing in the hallway, arms crossed, looking every inch the dangerous Beta wolf.
Iris looks him up and down slowly. So you're the famous Dominic Ashford.
Miss Chen. His voice is flat.
Wow. Maya said you were hot, but she really undersold it. I mean, the whole dark and brooding thing you've got going is very
IRIS! My face bursts into flames.
What? I'm being honest. She turns back to Dominic with a shark's grin. I'm Iris Chen. Maya's best friend and the person who'll make your life hell if you hurt her.
Something flickers in Dominic's expression. Noted.
Good. So what's the plan for keeping my girl safe? Because I did research, and werewolf politics are a mess. Lots of people want Maya to fail.
I'm aware.
Are you? Because from where I'm standing, making her sit alone at breakfast while you ignore her doesn't seem like much of a protection plan.
The air goes electric. Dominic's jaw tightens.
That's enough, he says quietly.
Is it? Iris steps closer, fearless despite being tiny compared to him. Maya's father just died. She's grieving. And you're treating her like a stranger. So no, I don't think it's enough.
For a long moment, they stare at each other. Then Dominic's eyes cut to me.
Your friend can stay in the guest wing. Third floor, east side. His voice is carefully controlled. I'll have someone bring up her bags.
He walks away without another word.
Iris watches him go, then whistles low. Okay, what was that? The sexual tension was suffocating, but he's acting like you have the plague.
It's complicated.
Un-complicate it for me.
I pull her toward the stairs. Let's get you settled first. Then I'll explain everything.
We're halfway up when a voice stops us cold.
Well, well. The charity cases are multiplying.
Vanessa Cross stands in the hallway, perfect in expensive workout clothes. Her eyes rake over Iris with contempt.
A human, she says, like it's a dirty word. How quaint. Does she know how dangerous it is for her kind here? One wrong move and someone might forget she's not a chew toy.
Something rises in my chest—hot and protective and angry. Don't threaten my friend.
Threat? That was a warning. Vanessa smiles coldly. Your father always had a soft spot for weak, broken things. Including you.
Before I can respond, Iris steps forward. Hi! Iris Chen, criminal psychology student and professional bitch detector. And honey, my meter is going crazy right now.
Vanessa's smile freezes. Excuse me?
You're excused. Iris links her arm through mine. Come on, Maya. Let's go somewhere that doesn't smell like desperation.
We leave Vanessa sputtering.
But as we climb the stairs, I catch sight of Vanessa's reflection in a window. She's on her phone, texting fast. And the look on her face isn't anger.
It's satisfaction.
Like we just played right into her hands.
Maya? Iris squeezes my arm. You okay? You just went really pale.
Yeah. I just... I glance back, but Vanessa's gone. I think we need to be careful. Something feels wrong.
Wrong how?
I think about Uncle Marcus's fake concern. Vanessa's threats. The way pack members whisper and won't meet my eyes.
The way my father supposedly died of heart failure when he was the healthiest person I knew.
I don't know yet, I say quietly. But I'm going to find out.
We reach the guest wing, and I help Iris unpack. She chatters about her drive, her classes, her thesis on criminal behavior patterns. Normal things. Safe things.
But my mind is elsewhere.
Spinning through memories of the funeral. Marcus's too-smooth speech. The lawyer's uncomfortable expression during the will reading.
Dominic's haunted eyes when he said my father made him promise something.
Maya, seriously, what's going on? Iris sits on the bed, patting the spot beside her. And don't say 'nothing' because I can literally see your brain working overtime.
I sit down heavily. Do you think someone can fake a heart attack?
Iris goes very still. Why would you ask that?
My dad was fifty-two. Healthy. Strong. Then suddenly his heart just... gave out? I shake my head. It doesn't make sense.
You think someone killed him.
I think something's wrong. I think there are things I don't know about his death. And I think— I stop, the words catching in my throat.
What?
I think people are lying to me. Uncle Marcus. The pack doctor. Maybe even... I can't finish.
Even Dominic? Iris says gently.
I nod, hating how much the possibility hurts.
Iris is quiet for a moment. Then: Okay. So what do we do?
We?
You think I came all the way here just to watch you cry over Mr. Tall Dark and Emotionally Constipated? She grins. I'm a criminology student, babe. Let's investigate.
Relief floods through me. Thank you.
Don't thank me yet. If your dad really was murdered, whoever did it isn't going to be happy about us poking around. Her expression turns serious. This could be dangerous.
I know.
And you still want to do it?
I think about my father. About the promise I made at his funeral to find the truth. About the way everyone keeps treating me like I'm weak and broken and stupid.
Yes, I say firmly. I want to know what really happened.
Iris nods. Then we start tonight. After everyone's asleep.
We shake on it.
Neither of us notices the shadow that passes by the door.
Or the fact that someone was listening to every word.