*~Hazel’s POV~*
Aurora tapped the spot beside her on the bed, her eyes pleading. I let out a long sigh before lowering myself down, arms folded, frustration still simring under my skin.
She turned toward slowly. "Hazel," she began, voice tentative, "yes, I wiped your mory. But only because of sothing... sothing I honestly don’t know how to explain. I don’t even think you’d believe it if I did."
She paused, struggling to look in the eye. "Caspian was right—I shouldn’t try to explain. I should just return your mories and let you see for yourself."
"You should," I said quietly. "And when you do... I don’t think we should be friends anymore."
I didn’t an it. Not entirely. But the betrayal was still fresh, and so part of wanted her to feel the ache she had put through. To know what it was like to be deceived by soone you trusted.
Aurora’s shoulders slumped. "Hazel... I love you. I don’t think I’ve ever had a real friend the way I have in you." Her voice cracked. "My mother. My sister. My father..." she trailed off, tears already forming.
Sothing inside shifted. I’d never asked about Aurora’s past—never wondered why she never ntioned her family. She’d always been so grounded, so present in the chaos of our lives. But as she spoke, her pain bled through every word.
"Back ho," she continued, "even though we were all witches, my parents... they did sothing unforgivable. One night, they took my sister from . Just... took her. And she never ca back. I was just a kid, and every ti I asked, they’d pretend she never existed."
My chest tightened.
"Then, one night, we were attacked. Two silhouettes ca through the house. They didn’t touch . They hurt my parents and left crying in my room. No one ca. No one ever ca."
Her voice wavered. "Dahlia found . She was still building her coven back then. She took in like a daughter. But I saw through her manipulation. I ran. I’ve been running ever since."
She gave a soft, broken laugh, and I managed a small one in return, though my heart was heavy.
I turned to her, quietly. "That’s enough, Aurora. I get it. You’ve been through hell. But you knew what I was going through with my mory. You knew I wasn’t crazy, and still... you said nothing."
"I’m sorry," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted to tell you. Every ti you looked at like I was your safe place, it killed . But I thought it would ruin everything if you knew."
I stared ahead, jaw clenched. I wanted to scream, cry, shake her—anything to make sense of it.
"But I will now," she added. "I’ll give it all back. Everything you lost."
My pulse quickened.
"But before I do... Hazel, I’m scared you won’t be able to handle the truth. Not all of it."
Her words froze in the air between us.
For the first ti since finding out, I hesitated. What could be so dark, so heavy, that the three people closest to —Caspian, Cayden, Aurora—chose to erase it instead of letting live with it?
Was it about my babies? The day I gave birth? My mother?
Had I t Lilith before and forgotten it all?
The weight in my chest deepened. I thought I wanted the truth—but now, I wasn’t so sure.
What if it shattered ?
What if knowing made it worse?
Still, the questions circled:
Where is the rest of my family?
Why can’t I rember the first ti I t my children?
What happened during those three missing weeks?
I instantly shivered, the thoughts creeping into my bones like ice. My chest grew tight, and a cold unease settled over . But Aurora reached out, gently wrapping her arm around my shoulder.
"You don’t have to worry," she said softly. "Whatever emotions co with those mories, whatever truth shakes you—I’ll be there. We’ll feel it together. We’ll go through it as nothing but sisters."
A small, grateful smile curved my lips. My heart ward just a little. I leaned into her and wrapped her in a tight hug. The tension loosened in my shoulders. We held each other in silence, a mont of fragile peace...
Until Heather started crying.
I instantly rushed to her crib. Aurora followed behind . "Soone’s hungry," she said with a small chuckle. "You’d better breastfeed them."
I nodded, adjusting myself as I sat down and pulled Heather into my arms. I gently placed my breast in her mouth, but... she didn’t take it. She turned her head slightly, the milk leaking but not being drawn in.
"She’s not... feeding," I murmured, eyes narrowing in confusion.
Aurora tilted her head. "Maybe she’s not actually hungry."
That’s when Christian began wailing too. His cry was loud—too loud. Panicked. I lifted him and tried the sa thing, but the mont I placed my breast near his mouth, he wailed even louder, red-faced and flailing.
My heart began pounding.
They weren’t crying like hungry babies. Their cries were frantic. Wild. Painful. Like sothing deeper was wrong.
"They’re not eating, Aurora." My voice quivered. "It’s not hunger. It’s sothing else. Sothing’s wrong."
Aurora’s expression shifted to concern. She looked around, suddenly alert.
And that’s when I noticed it too.
The High House, always buzzing with movent, with guards, witches, and footsteps—even the faint hum of wind against the windows—was dead silent.
Too silent.
Then the door burst open.
Caspian rushed in, breathless. "What’s going on? I could hear the crying from downstairs."
I stood up, baby still in my arms. "I don’t know!" I snapped, panic leaking into my tone. "Sothing’s wrong with them! They’re not taking milk—they’re screaming like they’re in pain. I’ve checked everything, Caspian! They’re not hungry!"
Caspian approached, taking Christian from my arms to examine him, but he too froze. "They’re... crying like sothing’s hurting them, but there’s nothing wrong."
Aurora and I exchanged a terrified look. The babies’ cries echoed off the walls, piercing and sharp.
"Sothing is definitely wrong," Caspian muttered. "This... this isn’t normal."
That was when Leon—one of the betas—burst into the room, his face pale, chest heaving.
"Beta Caspian!" he barked, eyes wide in terror. "The graveyards—"
"What about them?" Caspian demanded, stepping forward.
"They’ve been dug open. Every single one. The coffins are empty. The bodies are gone."
Caspian was already pacing. "Are you saying they’re... rising?"
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