Chapter Eighteen

One Week Later

The week passed in a blur of split shifts, sleepless nights, and carefully bottled panic.

Victoria had returned to the diner just three days after the attack—not because she had to, but because she needed to. The scent of coffee and syrup, the scratch of the chairs against tile, the buzz of the old neon sign—those were her anchors. Familiar. Human. Normal.

She scrubbed the counter with more force than necessary. She made jokes that didn’t always land. She laughed too loud, moved too fast, and pretended like everything was fine when customers asked why the diner had been closed.

“Plumbing,” she always said with a smile. “Total mess. Pipes exploded. I almost died.”

She never said how close to dying she’d actually come.

How she'd been thrown like a rag doll.

How she’d bit a man’s ear off to protect someone who’d become her everything.

She didn’t say how she still flinched at the sound of the bell above the door.

In the afternoons, she’d take a car across the city to her brother’s building, one of the tallest in the skyline, a structure of sleek steel and secrets. She no longer knocked when she entered. She just walked into his office and dropped herself onto the couch like she owned the place.

Some days, he humored her. Other days, he put her to work, sifting through rogue reports, helping cross-check names and sightings, even sitting in on interrogations when he thought she could catch something he missed. She didn’t mind.

It kept her from thinking about the bedroom just a few floors up.

About the silver-haired girl who still hadn’t woken up.

Celeste.

Victoria brought flowers to the room every morning before work. Sometimes she’d talk to her—little things, updates, mundane gossip. “I saw a guy order pancakes with no syrup today. Like—dry. Just... dry cakes. I almost called the cops.”

Other times, she just sat in silence, watching the way Celeste’s chest rose and fell with each slow breath. The medic said she was healing. That her body had endured too much for too long, and now her wolf was sleeping—recovering.

But it felt like waiting for someone to resurface from the depths of an ocean you couldn’t see the bottom of.

At night, Victoria barely slept. Her dreams were twisted things—teeth and screaming and moonlight turned to blood. She often found herself standing in the hallway outside Celeste’s door, just... checking. Listening.

She hated how scared she still was.

She hated how helpless she felt.

But most of all, she hated how quiet her brother had become.

He didn’t talk about Celeste. Not unless she brought her up. And even then, his answers were short, clipped, always shifting the subject back to the rogues.

And the rogues?

They weren’t talking.

Not in any way that made sense. They rambled. They smirked. They alluded to things but gave no names. No locations. Just vague threats and cryptic lines like: “She was meant to be found.” Or “You can’t cage what was never yours.”

Victoria hated them. Every last one of them. But what scared her more than the rogues themselves was the look in her brother’s eyes after each interrogation.

Like he was trying to solve a riddle that had no beginning.

Or end.

**

The door groaned as it opened, heavy hinges echoing in the dim space. Cold concrete walls boxed in the silence, the air sharp with the scent of blood and rust.

The rogue didn’t stand. He lounged against the wall like it was a throne, lip split, wrists chained, and still smirking like he had the upper hand.

“I said I don’t know anything!” the rogue spat, blood pooling at the corner of his mouth.

Victoria watched from behind the bars. Her arms were crossed; her mouth pressed into a line so sharp it could cut.

“You’re quiet,” the rogue said. “Usually, you alphas open with teeth and thunder.”

The Alpha King leaned forward. His voice was too low to hear, but whatever he said made the rogue go still.

Dead still.

Then—

 “She’s important.”

 “She?” The Alpha King said.

“White hair. Blue eyes. You know who I mean.”

“Important to who?”

The rogue tilted his head. “People with coin. People who ask the right questions. That’s all I know.”

“You came into my city. Broke the treaty. Attacked my people.”

“We weren’t here for your people,” he said, grinning. “She was the mark.”

The Alpha King didn’t flinch, but Victoria saw the shift in his shoulders. Saw the tightening of his jaw.

He was holding himself back.

His jaw tightened. “Why her?”

Another shrug. “I don’t ask for backstories. I just follow instructions.”

“Who gave the instructions?”

“Anonymous contracts are a thing, your majesty. You’d be surprised how easy it is to make someone vanish… and how much people are willing to pay for it.”

The Alpha King stepped closer, voice low. “She’s not just someone.”

“No,” the rogue admitted, smiling again. “She’s not. And you knew that the moment you smelled her.”

His wolf stirred. Ace’s voice pressed against his thoughts.

He’s taunting us. He knows nothing. Or he’s been told not to speak.

He didn’t move.

“She matters,” the rogue said, calmer now. “That’s all I know. More than you probably realize.”

The Alpha King clenched his jaw, his gaze dark. “She’s under my protection now.”

The rogue didn’t flinch. “Then I hope you’re ready to bleed for her. Because this? This was just the start.”

The Alpha King turned without another word.

Victoria didn’t wait. She stepped out from behind the bars and followed her brother as he moved into the corridor.

“You okay?” she asked.

He didn’t answer.

They walked together in silence for a moment.

“How’s Celeste?” he asked quietly.

“Still sleeping,” Victoria said. “The doctor says her vitals are improving… but her wolf’s still buried. Locked away.”

He didn’t respond. He just stared ahead, jaw tight.

Victoria looked up at him.

“Do you think she’ll come back?”

His answer was immediate, certain.

“She has to.”

Victoria looked down at her hands.

“She’s not the only one with questions when she wakes up,” she said. “And she’s not the only one who deserves answers.”

His eyes flicked to hers.

She wasn’t wrong.