Page 50 of Lone Wolf

I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. Her presence has a weight to it, an energy I’ve been attuned to since our days in Grandmother’s house.

“Scarlett,” I say, steadying the bag and turning to face the doorway.

Scarlett leans against the frame, arms crossed over her chest. Her hazel eyes track my movements with the assessment of a fellow predator. “Mind if I come in?” she asks, though she’s already stepping into the gym.

I shrug, reaching for my water bottle. But I don’t relax my stance. Old habits die hard, and I’m not stupid enough to forget about the time she nearly beat me to death. My ribs remember, even if we’re supposed to be on the same side now.

And we’re alone in the room. “What do you want?” I ask, taking a swig of water.

Scarlett gestures to the bench at the side. “To talk.”

“We’ll be talking plenty soon enough.”

“Please,” she says firmly.

I hesitate, then follow her to the bench. We sit with enough space between us for another person to fit—a neutral zone. Up close, I can see the changes in her. The wild rage that once consumed her has been tamed, channeled into something more controlled. More dangerous, perhaps.

I wonder if she sees changes in me too.

“So,” I say when the silence stretches too long. “Talk.”

Scarlett meets my gaze directly. “I’m hoping group therapy might actually work.”

“In what sense?”

Scarlett takes a breath. “Healing. For both of us.”

A memory flashes—a young man with Scarlett’s eyes, pleading. The wet sound his body made when my knife sank in. The way his blood felt, sticky and warm on my hands.

“You think therapy will make it all better?” I keep my voice neutral, though my heart pounds against my ribs like it wants to escape.

“I think nothing will make it all better,” Scarlett says quietly. “My brother is gone. You took him from me.” Her words are factual, not accusatory, which somehow makes them worse. “But we’re still here. And I’ve done terrible things since then. I nearly killed you with my bare hands. But we both have to live with what we’ve done—and I’m tired of carrying all these heavy memories between us.”

I look away, unable to hold her gaze. For years, Adam Fletcher had been nothing more than a mission to me. A name crossed off a list. I’d never allowed myself to think of him as someone’s brother, someone’s everything. The shame of it burns in my gut.

“But what about Katy?” I ask, desperate to change the subject. “You really think she can change?”

“I think if you and I can change, anyone can,” she says. “And in Katy, I see someone capable of more than what Grandmother made her. Ihaveto. The violence and hatred has to stop,” Scarlett says softly. “Or it will just go round and round, endless and pointless.”

I swallow, finding my throat unexpectedly tight. “And you really think Dr. Khatri and her fucking therapy circle is going to accomplish that?”

“I think it’s a start.” Scarlett shifts on the bench, turning more fully toward me. “Look, I didn’t come here to reopen old wounds. I just wanted you to understand that the therapy wasn’t actually Hadria’s idea. It was mine. My hope for moving forward. It’s my hope for Katy, too. And besides, Lyssa thinks she might actually be useful, if she can get past it.”

“Whatever. I mean, I have to be there, right?” But it’s not a dismissal. It’s acceptance.

We sit in silence for a moment. “It was the way you look at Santiago that made us realize things were turning around for you,” Scarlett says finally.

I stiffen. “What the hell does that mean?”

Scarlett gives a half-smile. “You broke protocol to train her. You covered for her after the warehouse incident. And then…we saw the way you looked at her in that meeting.”

Heat flushes my cheeks. “I was protecting a promising recruit.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Scarlett’s tone is teasing, but her eyes are serious. “It’s a good thing, you know. The ability to form bonds, to care about someone besides yourself. It’s one of the reasons Hadria agreed to the group therapy suggestion.” Scarlett’s expression softens slightly. “Whatever’s between you and Sunny is your business. But for what it’s worth…I hope you don’t push her away out of fear.”

“Fear?” I echo, an edge creeping into my voice.

“Fear that you don’t deserve happiness. Fear that everything you touch turns to ash.” Scarlett’s gaze is knowing, too knowing. “I lived in that fear for a very long time.”

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