Seraphina’s POV
After another sleepless night spent tossing in his bed, I was eager to keep my hands and mind busy with sothing productive. Caleb and I set out to find anyone who might rember my family.
"There are a few elderly pack mbers who chose to stay in the area," Caleb explained as we walked down a tree-lined street that felt both foreign and familiar. "Most of them live alone now, but they might rember details about your parents or the attack that never made it into the official reports."
The first two houses we visited yielded nothing useful. One was empty, its windows dark and garden overgrown with weeds. At the second, a frail woman answered the door but beca confused the mont I introduced myself, insisting I looked exactly like soone nad Dorothy who’d died thirty years ago.
It wasn’t until we reached a small cottage at the end of a dead-end street that we found soone who might actually help.
"That’s Mr. Garrison," Caleb said quietly as we approached the front porch. "He lived about a quarter mile from our neighborhood."
The man who answered our knock was ancient, with wisps of white hair and clouded eyes that seed to look through us rather than at us. His clothes hung loose on his thin fra, and his hands shook as he gripped the doorfra for support.
"Mr. Garrison?" I said gently, trying to keep my voice calm and non-threatening. "My na is Seraphina. I was hoping you might rember my parents, Alpha and Luna from the Northern Ridge Pack?"
The old man’s eyes sharpened suddenly, focusing on my face with an intensity that made step back. Then his expression crumbled, and he began muttering under his breath in a voice too low for to understand.
"The little wolf," he said suddenly, his voice cracking. "The little wolf with green eyes. They said you were dead."
My heart leaped with hope. "Mr. Garrison, do you rember what happened? The night of the attack?"
But his mont of clarity was already fading. He began shaking his head violently, backing away from the door as if I were sothing to be feared.
"Too many secrets," he muttered. "Can’t trust anyone. Can’t trust..."
He slamd the door in our faces.
"I’m sorry," Caleb said, his hand finding my shoulder as disappointnt crashed over . "The attack really ssed him up. He’s never been the sa since."
I stared at the closed door, feeling the weight of all the lost mories, all the answers that might never co.
We walked in silence for several minutes, the morning air growing warr as the sun climbed higher. The neighborhood around us told the story of a community slowly dying—half the houses were empty, yards overgrown, "For Sale" signs faded by weather and ti.
"Most people moved south after the attack," Caleb explained when he noticed my attention drifting to the abandoned hos. "They were too scared to stay, even with the rogues supposedly cleared out. The ones who remained either couldn’t afford to leave or were too stubborn to abandon their hos."
We were cutting through a small patch of woods that served as a shortcut back to his neighborhood when I heard it—the soft rustle of movent in the undergrowth ahead.
Every instinct I’d developed over the past few days scread danger. My wolf rose to attention, alert and ready. The mory of being chased through these sa northern territories just forty-eight hours ago ca flooding back, making my heart race with sudden fear.
Caleb must have sensed my tension because he imdiately stepped closer, his entire body coiling like a spring ready to strike. Without hesitation, he positioned himself directly in front of , one arm sweeping back to keep behind his protective shield. A low, nacing growl rumbled from deep in his chest.
I found myself instinctively pressing against Caleb’s back, my hands fisting in his shirt as my heart hamred against my ribs.
Then two figures burst from the undergrowth like they’d been shot from a cannon—a young couple, maybe college-aged, their clothes completely disheveled and both wearing expressions of absolute mortification.
"Oh God, sorry!" the girl shrieked, frantically trying to button her shirt while hopping on one foot as she attempted to put her shoe back on. "We didn’t think anyone else was out here!"
Her boyfriend, red-faced and struggling with his inside-out t-shirt, nearly tripped over a fallen log in his haste to escape. "So sorry! Really, really sorry! We’ll just—we’re going now!"
They practically stampeded past us like startled deer, the boy’s shoes still untied and the girl clutching what appeared to be her bra in one hand, disappearing back into the woods with a chorus of mortified squeaks and nervous laughter.
The silence that followed was deafening.
I beca acutely aware that I was still pressed against Caleb’s back, my hands still fisted in his shirt, my cheek actually resting between his shoulder blades. I could feel the rapid thump of his heartbeat, could sll the clean scent of his soap mixed with sothing distinctly masculine and comforting.
At the exact sa mont, we both seed to realize our position. I jerked backward like I’d been electrocuted, while he spun around so quickly he nearly lost his balance. We stood there staring at each other, both breathing hard from adrenaline and sothing else entirely.
"Well," Caleb said, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat and tried again. "That was... educational."
I couldn’t help it—I burst into laughter. Not delicate, ladylike giggles, but full-blown, snorting laughter that made my sides ache.
Caleb smiled, his own lips twitching despite his obvious embarrassnt. "I think that guy put it on backwards and inside-out."
We dissolved into laughter again, the tension of the mont breaking like a snapped wire. But as our amusent faded, I beca aware of how close we were still standing, how his warm eyes were studying my face with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"Sera," he said softly, and sothing in his tone made my heart skip. "We should..."
"We should definitely... keep walking.” I replied, though neither of us moved.
"Right. Walking. Good idea."
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