ISLA'S POV
"Maya's fine. The guards got her out safely."
Rowan's voice cuts through my panic, his hand steady on my shoulder. We're still in the diner booth, my phone face-down on the table between us.
"How do you know?" My voice cracks. "How do you—"
"I called Finn the second you dropped your phone. He contacted the warriors protecting her. They're taking her to a safe house right now." His silver eyes are fierce. "No one is touching Maya. I promise you."
I want to believe him. But Elder Mira was supposed to be safe too.
The funeral was yesterday. Closed casket. The entire pack pretending to mourn while I stood there knowing someone killed her because she was kind to me.
"This is my fault," I whisper.
"No." Rowan's hand tightens on my shoulder. "This is the fault of whoever is doing this. Not yours. Never yours."
But it feels like mine. Everyone who shows me kindness ends up hurt.
Two weeks pass in a blur of fear and construction deadlines. Maya texts me every hour from the safe house to prove she's alive. Rowan increases security on the building site. I barely sleep.
And somehow, in the middle of all this chaos, something shifts.
I start noticing things I shouldn't notice. Like how Rowan always positions himself between me and potential danger. How he brings me lunch when I forget to eat because I'm buried in blueprints. How he listens when I talk about architectural theory like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever heard.
How he looks at me like I'm something precious.
It terrifies me.
One afternoon, Maya shows up at the construction site despite my protests. She's flanked by two massive warriors, but she's grinning like nothing's wrong.
"You can't keep me locked up forever," she says, hugging me tight. "I needed to see you. Make sure you're not spiraling."
"I'm fine."
"Liar." She drags me to the trailer. "We're talking. Now."
Over coffee that's gone cold, I confess everything. The feelings I shouldn't be having. The way my heart jumps when Rowan smiles. The growing suspicion that maybe—just maybe—people can change.
"I think I'm starting to like him," I admit, the words tasting strange. "How stupid is that? The guy who made my life hell for years?"
Maya studies me carefully. "People can change, Isla. The real question is: has he changed enough? And can you forgive him?"
"I don't know." My hands twist together. "Every time I start to soften, I remember something awful. Like when he made me kneel in the cafeteria to pick up food Celeste knocked over. Or when he 'accidentally' spilled paint on my only good dress right before the spring formal."
The memories taste like acid.
"Those were terrible things," Maya says quietly. "Cruel things. But that was five years ago. Who is he now?"
I think about the Rowan I've been working with. The one who defended me against Ron. Who brings me coffee every morning. Who actually listens when I talk instead of talking over me.
Who looks at me like I matter.
"He's different," I whisper. "Better. But what if it's an act? What if he's just doing this to get what he wants?"
"Then you'll know," Maya says firmly. "Trust your instincts. They got you out once. They'll protect you again if needed." She squeezes my hand. "But Isla? Maybe consider that you deserve happiness. Even complicated, messy, terrifying happiness."
The words hit me like a punch.
Do I deserve happiness? After everything?
The next morning, Rowan asks me something unexpected.
"I want to show you something. Pack-related. I need your opinion."
My instinct is to refuse. But curiosity wins.
He drives us to a different part of pack territory. There's a building going up—not as large as our project, but substantial.
"What is this?" I ask as we pull up.
"A community center." Rowan's voice is careful. "For pack members who need support. Come see."
We walk through the half-finished structure. There are spaces for counseling, a library with books for all reading levels, rooms designed for childcare, training areas for young wolves learning control.
"You designed this?" I ask, genuinely impressed.
"I hired an architect," Rowan admits. "But I planned every detail. I wanted to show the pack that change is real. That we take care of everyone, not just the strong."
He explains each room, each purpose. There's so much thought here. So much care.
"When did you start this?"
Rowan stops walking. "Two years ago. Right after—" He pauses. "Right after I finally accepted that you weren't coming back. I kept thinking... if I'd been better, if the pack had been better, maybe you wouldn't have needed to run."
My chest tightens painfully.
"I'm not telling you this for sympathy," he says quickly. "I just need you to see that the changes are real. Permanent. This isn't an act, Isla. This is who I'm trying to be."
I look around the building—at years of work, of commitment, of genuine change. This isn't for show. This is real.
"I see it," I whisper.
Rowan steps closer. Not threatening. Just... close.
"I know I don't deserve forgiveness," he says, his voice raw. "I know what I did can't be erased. But I need you to know something. You changed my life. Losing you broke me in ways I needed to break. And these past weeks working with you? They've been the happiest I've been in five years."
The mate bond flares warm between us. I feel myself leaning toward him without meaning to.
"I'm scared," I admit, the words barely audible. "Scared to trust this. Scared to trust you."
"I know." His voice cracks. "I'm scared too. Scared I'll mess up again. Scared you'll leave and I won't survive it this time." His hand lifts slowly, giving me time to pull away. "I'm not asking you to forgive me today. Or tomorrow. I'm just asking you not to close the door completely."
The door isn't closed, I realize. Somewhere between the coffee and the construction site and the community center, I opened it without meaning to.
His hand hovers near my face. Waiting. Asking permission.
I should step back. Should protect myself.
Instead, I stay still.
His palm cups my cheek, warm and gentle. Like I'm something that might break.
For one breath, two breaths, I let myself feel it. Let myself imagine what it would be like to trust this.
Then I step back. Not harshly. Just... carefully.
"Okay," I whisper. "The door stays open. A crack."
Rowan's smile could light up the whole pack territory.
My phone buzzes. Another message.
I almost don't look. But Rowan's expression shifts as he reads over my shoulder.
The photo shows us. Right now. In this building. Taken from outside through a window.
Below it: "How sweet. The little silver wolf is falling for her bully. Does he know what you really are, Isla? Does he know about the power you're hiding? Tell him the truth, or I will. You have 48 hours."
My blood runs cold.
Rowan stares at the phone, then at me. "What power? Isla, what are they talking about?"
I can't breathe. Can't think.
Because they're right. There is something I haven't told him. Something about my wolf, about what happened when I shifted, about abilities I don't understand and can't control.
Something that terrifies me.
"Isla." Rowan's voice is urgent. "What aren't you telling me?"