Chapter 12

Chapter 12 – Shadows Kept Silent

Aria’s hands trembled as she bent to gather the fallen scrolls. They slipped from her fingers once, twice, as if the words inked into them had become suddenly too heavy for her to bear. Her heartbeat thundered against her ribs, drowning out the quiet of the archive.

Lucien’s scent still clung to the stones—iron and smoke, sharp as a blade pressed to skin. She wanted to believe she had imagined him, that the crimson fire in his eyes and the venom of his voice were nothing more than shadows twisting in her sleepless mind. But the lingering trace of him in the air was undeniable proof. He had been here. He had cornered her. And he had spoken truths—or lies sharp enough to masquerade as truths—that she could not forget.

Every instinct screamed for her to run to Kael. To throw herself into the Alpha’s arms, confess everything, let his strength swallow her fear. Kael could crush Lucien’s threat with a single command, silence the darkness that had coiled around her tonight.

But another voice whispered, soft as silk, poisonous as venom: If you tell him, he’ll look at you differently. He’ll see danger in your veins, just like Lucien said. And then what?

Her breath hitched. No. She couldn’t risk it. Not until she knew more.

By the time her footsteps carried her out of the archives, she had already crafted her mask. Chin high. Breathing steady. Secrets locked behind clenched teeth.

The packhouse was alive with restless energy. Warriors moved through the corridors in hushed clusters, their bodies still marked by wounds from the rogue attack. Bandages bled through. Limps dragged along polished stone. Even those who smiled carried shadows in their eyes.

And always, Aria felt their gazes on her. Measuring. Weighing. Judging. She could almost hear their thoughts: Why is she here? Why does the Alpha protect her? What makes her worth our blood?

Rowan’s glare burned hottest of them all. He stood at the far end of the hall, arms folded across his broad chest, his golden-brown eyes fixed on her like a brand. There was no attempt to hide the mistrust that flared there, no softening of suspicion. His stare was a blade honed for cutting, and it sliced through her mask with ease.

Aria forced herself not to flinch. She lifted her chin a little higher, her steps measured and calm, though inside her chest was a storm barely contained.

She nearly collided with Kael when he appeared at the corner of the corridor.

The Alpha’s presence filled the hall as effortlessly as Lucien’s had filled the archive—though Kael’s weight was not suffocating but commanding, steady, magnetic. His sharp eyes swept over her, cataloguing the tightness in her shoulders, the pallor in her cheeks, the scroll clutched too tightly against her chest.

“You’re pale,” he said, his voice low, edged with concern. His hand lifted, fingers brushing her arm with surprising gentleness for someone who carried so much raw power. “What happened?”

The question hit her like a blow. For one dizzying second, she thought he had seen through her mask, that he already knew. She prayed he could not hear the frantic thunder of her pulse, the lie forming on her tongue.

“I’m fine,” she forced out, her lips curling into a practiced smile. “Just tired. I couldn’t sleep after the attack.”

Kael’s eyes narrowed. The silence stretched, his gaze probing hers with unnerving precision. It was like standing before a storm that could break at any second, his stare peeling back the layers she had so carefully constructed. For a moment, she was certain he would rip the truth straight from her chest, no matter how tightly she clutched it.

But then his shoulders eased. The storm passed. He drew her into his arms, wrapping her in the solidity of his strength. His chest was warm against her cheek, his hand steady on the small of her back.

“You’re safe here,” Kael murmured into her hair. “No one will touch you.”

The words made her throat ache. She wanted to believe them, wanted to melt into the certainty he offered. But Lucien’s voice echoed in her skull like a curse: Run back to Kael, little dove. Ask him what your blood is worth.

Her arms tightened around Kael of their own accord, her fingers fisting in the fabric of his tunic as though she could anchor herself to him and banish the poison of Lucien’s words.

But clinging to him only deepened the ache in her chest. Because the truth was cruel. If Lucien was right, then Kael had not simply chosen her out of kindness or desire. He had chosen her because of something hidden in her blood.

And if that was true, then everything between them—every glance, every word, every moment she had treasured—was built on a lie.

Aria closed her eyes, willing the sting of tears to fade before they betrayed her. She pressed her face deeper into the solid warmth of his chest, hiding from his gaze, from his questions, from the doubts tearing her apart.

“I won’t break,” she whispered into the silence, so softly that even his sharp ears could not catch it. “Not yet.”

Later, when Kael finally pulled away to answer Rowan’s sharp call down the corridor, Aria remained still for a long moment, her mask cracking in the quiet.

Her hands trembled anew as she looked down at the scroll she still held, its parchment creased from her desperate grip. She hadn’t even realized she had carried it with her, a relic from the confrontation she wanted to forget.

But forgetting was impossible now.

Every word Lucien had spoken clung to her like a stain she could not wash away. And worse, every moment spent under Kael’s gaze only made those words fester deeper.

Secrets. Bloodlines. Weakness. Power.

She drew in a slow breath and straightened her spine. The time for pretending she was nothing more than human, nothing more than Kael’s fragile ward, was slipping away.

If she wanted answers, she would have to find them herself. And she would have to do it in silence.

Because if Kael discovered the storm in her veins before she understood it herself—she wasn’t sure whether he would shield her from it, or burn her for it.

And she wasn’t ready to find out.