Five

ISOLDE POV

“Who are you,” he said slowly, his voice low and dangerous, “and why are you asking for Blackthorn Lane?”

I just stared at him, swallowing hard. I couldn’t let him see how much I hated him. How much fear and anger churned in me.

I forced myself to stand, forcing a smile that felt unnatural. My hand stretched out, tentative.

“My name is… Isolde Callen,” I said, my voice steady even if my hands trembled. “I… uh.. thought we could.. ” I trailed off, swallowing again.

He didn’t even flinch. Didn’t even acknowledge my hand. Just stared at me with those cold, piercing eyes.

“I asked,” he repeated, voice sharp as a blade, “who are you, what do you want in Ravenmoor, and why are you looking for Blackthorn Lane?”

I swallowed hard, fumbling in my bag. My fingers found my business card, and I shoved it toward him. “I’m… an investor,” I said, trying to sound confident.

He took the card, studied it, and raised a brow. “Novotek?”

“Yeah… Novotek,” I said quickly.

“Why would a tech company come to a small town like this?” His eyes narrowed, scanning me like he was trying to see through every lie.

I rumbled through my brain, searching for an excuse solid enough to hold up under that intensity. My throat was dry, and my hands felt clammy.

Before I could answer… he leaned slightly closer, and his gaze sharpened, almost predatory.

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” he said, his voice low, deliberate. “I’ll know..”

I swallowed hard

“Like love small town so.. I’m here to.. invest,” I said, my voice firm despite the nerves crawling up my spine.

He stared at me like I’d completely lost my mind.. the same look the older barista had given me. Then… he laughed. Rich, sharp, almost cruel. And just as suddenly, he stopped.

“Get out!” he barked, grabbing my hands and dragging me toward the door.

“Hey! Hey… wait! Wait!” I yelled, struggling to pull my hand free. “Did… did I do something wrong?”

“You came to Ravenmoor… to invest?” he asked, his eyes narrowing as he looked me up and down.

I nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah…”

“That’s impossible,” he said, stepping closer. “You can’t see Ravenmoor if you’re not… and from what I sensed last night…” He sniffed slightly, his gaze sharp. “…you’re human.”

Human?

Of course, I was human. What the hell was he talking about?

“And humans can’t come into Ravenmoor unless they have spirit eyes, are blessed by the moon, or are invited by someone. In your case…” His lips twisted in a smirk. “…it’s unexplainable. So get out.”

I froze. Invited?

“What… what are you talking about?” I demanded.

His hand gripped me again, tight, and I couldn’t pull away. I wasn’t leaving… not yet. Not when I could find the answers I needed here

“Alara!” I yelled suddenly.

He paused, his intense gaze flicking to me, shocked and confused.

“Alara… she invited me here,” I said, my voice trembling but firm. “She told me about Blackthorn, and I’m here to see her.”

“Did you just say… Alara?” The barista stepped closer, eyes wide, fixed on me with a mix of shock and disbelief… just like Cairos.

“Alara Page… invited you?” he asked again, his voice sharp but quieter now, curiosity threading through the usual cold edge.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

For a heartbeat, his eyes changed. Gone was the icy, unreadable glare. Instead, there was… something else. Something I couldn’t place.

“Welcome to Ravenmoor,” he said finally, his tone neutral but strangely calm. “I will take you to Blackthorn Lane.”

I froze. Shock washed over me.

Just like that… no argument, no suspicion, no warning. Seconds ago, he had been dragging me out of the café.. like I was some lunatic. And now… he was agreeing to help me.

“Get your bag and meet me outside,” he added, turning as if this were routine, as if the whole dramatic scene had never happened.

I stood there for a moment, still processing, before hurriedly gathering my things. My heart raced.

I stepped outside, the morning air crisp against my skin. Cairos was already waiting by my truck, hands casually in his pockets, but his presence alone made the space around him feel smaller, heavier.

“Let’s take your truck,” he said, nodding toward it. His tone was flat, almost casual, but there was no mistaking the command behind it.

I fumbled with the keys and unlocked the door for him, hands shaking slightly.

I was about to slip into the driver’s seat when he spoke again.

“I’m driving.”

I froze. His eyes, sharp and unwavering, left no room for argument. The way he said it… It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order.

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening on the keys. “Uh… okay,” I muttered, stepping back.

He opened the door and climbed in smoothly, his presence filling the cab. I got in beside him, trying to ignore the heat radiating off his body and the way his calm, controlled energy made my chest tighten.

The drive was quiet. Neither of us said a word. The air in the truck felt heavy, almost suffocating, as his eyes stayed fixed on the road… cold, unreadable.

Five minutes later, he slowed the truck and stopped in front of a massive wrought-iron gate. Behind it, a sprawling mansion rose, dark and imposing, ivy creeping along its walls, windows glinting in the morning light.

“That’s Blackthorn Lane,” he said simply.

I froze.

Alara… stayed in a mansion?

I would never have imagined it. Never. Questions flooded my mind all at once. How did she end up here? How did she have such a big house and still live like she was drenched poor?

My thoughts raced, wild and scattered..

“You can’t get in there without saying the password,” he said, stepping out of the truck. His eyes locked on mine as I followed, sharp and piercing.

“The… password?” I repeated, trying to sound calm.

“Yes. The password,” he said, his gaze narrowing.

“Oh… okay… where do I… put it in?” I asked, glancing around, utterly confused.

He gave me that look again… the one that screamed what a crazy lady.

“Say it there,” he said, pointing toward a small statue by the side of the gate.

I turned to it. A little wolf figure, carved with sharp detail, almost lifelike, was by the gate.

“LunarGate_13,” I said confidently.

Nothing. The massive iron gates didn’t budge.

“It’s not working… why isn’t it working?” I muttered, frustration creeping into my voice.

He folded his arms, still staring at me with that unreadable intensity. “In Spanish,” he said finally.

I blinked. “What?”

“Say the password again,” he repeated slowly, his voice low, commanding. “In Spanish.”