Page 49 of Lone Wolf

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 theycome 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 iswrong.

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

CHAPTER 18

Ariadne

The rhythmic thudof my fists against the heavy bag echoes through the empty gym. Left, right, left—each impact sends a satisfying jolt up my arms. Sweat trickles down my spine, soaking the back of my sports bra. My muscles burn, but I push harder. Physical pain has always been easier to process than the emotional kind.

Especially the kind of emotions Sunny Santiago has stirred up in me.

Sex was just another weapon in Grandmother’s arsenal, another way to control and manipulate. A skill to be mastered, like knife work or hand-to-hand combat. Clinical. Calculated.

With Sunny, it’s anything but. And it’s not just a physical thing, either. With her, I feeleverything. The gentleness of her touch. The fire in her eyes. The way she gasps and pants…

And I keep thinking I’ll ruin it, say the wrong thing or let my darkness seep out and poison what little light she’s managed to coax into my life. I’ve never had anything worth keeping before. I don’t know how to hold something without breaking it.

But Sunny doesn’t seem to mind. She’s taking me in stride, even kissing me in full view just before at breakfast.

I wish I could have her approach to life, because this first session of group therapy is fast approaching. My punishment, Hadria called it.

And she wasn’t wrong. It will feel like punishment.

I deliver a vicious kick to the bag, making it swing wildly on its chain. Pain shoots through my ankle—I’ve been at this too long, pushing too hard. But I can’t stop. If I stop, I’ll have to think, and thinking only leads to?—

The hairs on the back of my neck rise. Someone’s watching me.

---