Rhett
The sterile white walls of Dr. Maxwell’s office had beco as familiar as my own bedroom over the past few months.
I sat on the examination table, the paper crinkling beneath as Dr. Maxwell moved his stethoscope across my chest, listening to the rhythm that had been growing increasingly irregular.
My mind wandered as he conducted his routine checks, thoughts spiralling in directions I couldn’t quite control.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Charis turning up after all this ti, alive and beautiful and completely transford from the boy I’d thought I’d known.
The shock of seeing her standing in our dorm room doorway had nearly brought to my knees.
But what was more surprising, after I’d done so digging through academy records, was discovering she was returning as the ward of the mysterious investor Isolde Knox—while still using her father’s status as an Alpha’s daughter.
The more I thought about it, the more it didn’t make sense.
If she were Alpha Silas Greye’s daughter, why would she need a guardian? Why would soone as wealthy and powerful as Isolde Knox take on that role? And how had she managed to fake her death so convincingly that even pack investigators had been fooled?
The pieces didn’t fit together, and as soone trained to analyze political situations and power structures, the inconsistencies bothered more than I could articulate.
"Rhett," Dr. Maxwell’s voice cut through my thoughts. "I need you to focus for a mont."
I looked up to find Maxwell’s face creased with concern, his usual expression replaced by sothing that looked suspiciously like sympathy. He was holding my test results, and the way he gripped the papers told everything I needed to know before he even spoke.
"The blood work ca back," he said quietly, settling into his chair across from . "Along with the results from your cardiac stress test and the echocardiogram we did last week."
I waited, my stomach clenching with dread.
"Rhett, your heart is failing." The words fell between us like stones. "The prolonged stress from mate bond withdrawal, combined with the severe weight loss and nutritional deficiencies, has caused significant damage to your cardiac muscle. You’re experiencing what we call stress-induced cardiomyopathy."
The room tilted around . "What does that an, exactly?"
Dr. Maxwell leaned forward with a grave expression. "It ans your heart can’t pump blood effectively anymore. The damage appears to be extensive, and while so cases of stress cardiomyopathy can be reversible, yours has progressed too far." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "Without imdiate intervention—a heart transplant—you’re looking at complete cardiac failure within three to six months."
The silence that followed was deafening. I stared at him, processing the implications of what he’d just told . Three to six months, or less than a year, to live.
"A transplant," I repeated numbly.
"You’re already on the donor list, and we’ve been able to move you to the first candidate on the list, given your overall health aside from the cardiac issues, but the problem is still the sa: getting soone who is a match for soone like you is so hard. Your blood type makes it difficult, and given your current condition, I’m not sure you have that long to wait."
I nodded chanically, my mind still struggling to accept this new reality. I’d known I was sick, had felt my body growing weaker over the months since Charis’s supposed death. But I’d assud that it would improve with ti and proper self-care.
"There are dications we can start you on to help manage the symptoms," Dr. Maxwell continued. "And lifestyle modifications that might slow the progression. But Rhett, I need you to understand how serious this is. This isn’t sothing you can fight through with willpower. Your heart is a machine, and it’s breaking down."
"Yeah," I nodded. "Still shocked I made it until now."
He exhaled. "There is one more thing."
"Of course there is."
"The compatibility profile from last ti—" his voice thinned, "—still holds. If the... donor were willing, and if we could get the Board to approve the protocol, we could attempt a more permanent integration. It’s experintal and risky."
"Donor," I repeated, mouth dry. "You an Eamon."
His eyes widened in surprise that I knew.
"I an the tissue match," he said carefully. "But I won’t push that. Your father has already made his position clear."
"My father as well as I," I said.
Maxwell dropped his eyes. "I am telling you this because I will never lie to you: if a crisis hits, we may not be able to save you. I want you to understand that."
I left the hospital in a daze, the prescription bottles rattling in my jacket pocket like a funeral dirge.
Charis had co back from the dead just in ti to watch die for real.
When I arrived back at the dorm room, I opened the door to find Charis and Kael sitting in the common area, deep in conversation. They looked up when I entered, and I found myself stopping just inside the doorway, staring at her.
How had I missed it? How had any of us missed it?
Now that I knew who she really was, I could see it so clearly. Her eyes were the sa—those dark, expressive eyes that had captivated from the first day I’d seen Eamon in that hall.
The delicate bone structure of her face, the graceful way she moved her hands when she spoke, even the little crease that appeared between her eyebrows when she was thinking hard about sothing.
Everything was the sa, just... more. More feminine, more elegant, more herself than she’d ever been able to be as Eamon.
I closed the door behind and entered the room correctly, nodding to Kael in greeting. "Hey."
"How did the appointnt go?" Kael asked, and I could hear concern in his voice despite the tension that still existed between us.
"Fine," I lied, heading toward my bedroom. I needed ti to process what Dr. Maxwell had told , and I needed to figure out how even to begin dealing with a death sentence that ca with an expiration date.
"Rhett," Kael called when I was halfway across the room.
I stopped, my hand on my doorknob.
"Co sit down," Kael said quietly. "I think we should all talk."
I looked from him to Charis, taking in the way she sat perched on the edge of the couch like she was ready to flee at any mont. The reality of the situation hit again—here I was, literally dying, and she was the one who looked like she might run away.
"Nah, I’m good," I said, forcing my voice to remain casual. "I just ca back from a checkup, and I need so rest."
"It won’t take long," Charis interjected.
I turned to look at her fully, noting the way her hands were clasped tightly in her lap.
"First," she continued, eting my gaze, "I want to apologize for how I acted the first day. Back then, I was still angry at all three of you, and I acted based on my emotions rather than reason."
The honesty in her voice caught off guard. This wasn’t the cold, dismissive stranger who had pretended not to know us. This was soone who seed remorseful.
"If you’ll give an audience," she went on, "I’d like to tell you what truly happened and how I ended up back here."
I stood there for a long mont, torn between my desperate need for answers and my equally desperate need to process my own mortality in private. The dication bottles felt heavy in my pocket, a reminder that my ti for getting answers was limited.
Finally, I walked over to the armchair across from the couch and sat down, noting how both Kael and Charis seed to relax slightly when I did.
"Alright," I said, leaning back and trying to project calmness, "I’m listening."
Charis took a deep breath, and I could see her gathering her courage. Whatever she was about to tell us, it wasn’t going to be easy for any of us to hear.
"The truth is," she began, "there’s nothing I can say to her, there is no amount of apology I can render that would make up for everything we’ve all been through. I was hurt, and I know I must have hurt you all in a way, but it wasn’t intentional.
She paused, looking between Kael and as if gauging our reactions.
"I know I have said it several tis, and I have told you all, while I ended up at Ravenshore. I never thought I would find my mates. Many of the things that have happened in the last few months were things that I’d never expected to experience."
She took a deep breath.
"Soone rescued on that day on the bridge. I didn’t even know I would make it alive, but I was rescued. Our transports were attacked by snow rogues. The van I was in sank into the river, and I was so sure I would die, but I was nursed back to life."
"By who? Isolde Knox?" I asked.
"That’s the one," she nodded, "and she’s adopted to be her daughter officially. So, I’m practically returning as Charis Greye Knox."
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