4: No Zoren

CASSIE

The first day after my parents’ death disappears in a blur of police statements, endless phone calls, and strangers offering condolences I can barely hear. On the second day, I wake up to the persistent ringing of my phone.

My eyes are swollen from crying. I stare at the screen, struggling to gather enough strength to answer it until I spot the caller ID.

Zoren. The sight of his name makes my chest tighten. I swipe across the screen and hold the phone to my ear, but neither of us speaks immediately. The silence stretches between us until Zoren finally lets out a shaky breath.

“Cassie… I’m sorry.” He sounds exhausted, and the guilt in his voice makes my eyes sting again. “I only found out this morning. Dad kept everything from me because of the pack emergency we were handling. He didn’t want me distracted until it was over. But the moment I found out, I called you.”

What emergency? But I don’t ask. I close my eyes as fresh tears roll down my cheeks. Part of me wants to blame him for not being there, for leaving the party, for not calling sooner. But I know him well enough to know that if he had known, nothing in the world could have kept him away.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he says. His voice breaks. I tighten my grip on the phone and wipe away my tears with the back of my free hand. “I should be there with you.”

“Hey. I know,” I whisper. “I know you would have.”

Neither of us speaks after that. I don’t know how long we stay like that until Emilia walks into my room with a tray. Her parents must be worried. Maybe they know already. I can’t recall the faces of those who have already visited.

The rest of the day is a blur. By the next morning, I stop keeping track of the hours altogether.

Morning and night have become meaningless. The curtains in my bedroom remain drawn, and the only reason I know another day has passed is because someone always knocks gently on my door with food I never finish.

It’s probably Emilia. The mansion no longer feels like home. But a museum filled with memories I’m not ready to revisit.

Dad’s reading glasses still rest on the coffee table beside the armchair where he spent every evening reviewing company reports. Mom’s favorite lavender candle remains untouched in the fireplace, its faint scent lingering in the air as if she stepped out for a moment and will return any second.

I catch myself listening for their voices more times than I care to admit. Dad calling Mom his Silver Moon. Mom laughing, before reminding him he is impossible. The silence that answers me every time is almost unbearable.

A soft knock sounds on my bedroom door. “Cassie?” Emilia’s gentle voice filters in. “Can I come in?”

I look up from the photograph resting in my lap and manage a small nod before remembering she can’t see me.

“The door’s open,” I say.

She steps inside carrying a tray with a bowl of soup, toast, and a cup of tea. She wrinkles her nose the moment she notices yesterday’s untouched tray still sitting on the bedside table. “You skipped breakfast again.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You also weren’t hungry yesterday.” She places the fresh tray beside me and removes the old one. “You can’t keep doing this.”

I force a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “I’m trying.”

“Yes, I know.”

She sits beside me on the edge of the bed and wraps an arm around my shoulders without saying another word. Emilia has always been loud, but she must realize I don’t need words now. Her presence is enough. For the past three days she has hardly left my side. Neither has Austin.

The realization makes me glance toward the window overlooking the driveway. His car is parked exactly where it has been since the night of the accident. He is still here.

I frown. “Emilia…”

“Hmm?”

“Has Austin really stayed here this whole time?”

She smiles knowingly. “He has.”

“But why?”

She shrugs. “You’d have to ask him yourself.”

I push the blanket aside and slowly climb out of bed. My legs protest from lack of movement, but I ignore them and head downstairs.

The living room is unusually quiet. Austin sits at the dining table surrounded by neatly arranged documents. Several folders lie open before him while his laptop displays what looks like financial reports.

A cup of coffee rests near his elbow, long forgotten and completely cold. He looks up once he hears my footsteps.

“Morning,” he greets.

“It’s afternoon.”

He checks his watch before laughing softly. “So it is.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “You’ve been here for three days. Aren’t you going home?”

He closes the file in front of him. “Eventually.”

“Austin…”

We’re from rival packs. This can cause issues.

“My parents must be furious,” he admits with a small grin. “Actually… furious is probably an understatement.”

“But I told you to leave two days ago.”

“And I told you I wasn’t leaving.”

“You’ve done enough.”

Austin holds my gaze for a long moment. When he finally speaks, there is a firmness in his voice that leaves no room for argument. “Not enough, Cassie. You’re trying so hard to convince everyone that you’re alright. But you’re not.”

The words settle heavily between us. I hate how right he is.

“You’re surviving,” he adds. “Those aren’t the same thing. Sure, we aren’t from the same pack, but you’re my friend.”

Soft footsteps cut through the moment, saving me from having to reply. Emilia appears from the kitchen, carrying a bowl of freshly cut fruit. When did she come downstairs?

She looks between us before her smile turns mischievous. “Austin argued with his father again this morning.”

Austin sighs dramatically. “It was only a phone call.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Eight times.”

“You counted?” I whisper. That’s the sort of thing she can do.

“I had to,” Emilia replies. “They’ve been arguing for days.”

For the first time since the accident, a tiny laugh escapes me. It surprises all three of us. Austin smiles.

“There she is,” Emilia says, pulling me into a tight hug. I let myself relax into it. “The Cassie who actually laughs.”

“Don’t get used to it,” I protest.

She snorts. “I’ll take whatever I can get.”

Our laughter fills the room, but the peace is short-lived. A sharp engine breaks the quiet. We hurry to the window, spotting the line of black luxury SUVs entering the gates.

Austin sighs. “We have visitors.”

My heart skips without warning. Only one family would arrive with a convoy like that. The Marlowes.

Zoren. He must have come for me.

I race outside as the first vehicle comes to a smooth stop. When the door opens, Mr. Marlowe emerges, dressed in a black tailored suit that fails to hide the exhaustion written across his face. Mrs. Marlowe follows close behind, her usually warm smile replaced by sorrow.

Katherine steps out next, her eyes swollen and red, as if she hasn’t stopped crying since hearing the news. Once our eyes meet, tears well in hers again. On instinct, I search behind them. But Zoren is nowhere to be found.

Another car door opens. An older man steps out carrying a leather briefcase. Not Zoren. The last SUV empties. Security personnel, house staff. Still… no Zoren.