Chapter Twenty-Four

Julian woke with a sharp inhale, every muscle taut as his eyes adjusted to the dim light spilling through the blinds of his office. For a fleeting, fractured second, he could still feel her — the warmth of her body pressed against his, the scent of her hair, the fading echo of a song that didn’t belong in his world.

A knock broke through the silence, abrupt as thunder. His head throbbed as he dragged a hand down his face, trying to steady his breathing. Another knock followed, firmer this time.

“Come in,” he said hoarsely, his voice rough with sleep.

The door creaked open. Jace stepped inside, his usual smirk replaced with mild concern. “You okay? I’ve been knocking for a while,” he said, hesitating near the threshold.

Julian pushed upright, the leather of the couch sighing beneath him. His shirt clung damply to his skin, a sheen of sweat catching at his collar. “Yeah,” he muttered, reaching for the water bottle on the side table. “Didn’t hear you.”

Jace nodded, though his eyes lingered on Julian’s face a beat too long, searching for whatever lay beneath the calm facade. “Yeah, you must’ve been out cold.”

Julian exhaled through his nose, scrubbing a hand along the back of his neck. Something itched at his senses. He frowned.

“Do you smell that?”

Jace blinked. “Smell what?”

“Smoke.” Julian’s gaze swept the room, sharp and unfocused all at once. The scent still clung to him—burnt sugar and something faintly sweet beneath it.

Jace’s brow furrowed. “Uh… no. Nothing’s burning.”

Julian’s hand closed around his phone on the end table, thumb brushing over the screen. He didn’t remember setting an alarm last night.

“Was there an alarm going off?” He asked after a beat, tone edged with something unreadable.

Jace gave him a long look, one brow quirking. “No alarms, Alpha. Just me.”

But Julian didn’t seem to hear him. His gaze had drifted toward the window, unfocused, his thoughts already miles away — somewhere that still smelled faintly of smoke and honey.

Jace shifted his weight, hands sliding into his pockets. “Since you’re up…” he started carefully, “I did some digging like you asked. About her.”

Julian’s attention snapped back to him at that single word.

Jace exhaled through his nose, the faintest hint of frustration edging his voice. “It’s a dead end, Julian. My contacts can’t find anything that explains why she isn’t registered in the Lycan database. There’s no birth record, no transfer logs, nothing. It’s like she was never officially born.”

Julian’s jaw flexed, the muscle ticking once. “You’re saying she doesn’t exist.”

“I’m saying she barely exists,” Jace countered. “The trail stops cold at the orphanage. Even the staff records there are partial—files purged, names missing. I could push harder, tap some less official channels, but…” He hesitated. “That kind of digging draws attention. The wrong kind. People start asking why you’re second-in-command is prying into an unregistered she-wolf. It gets back to her former Alpha? That’s a whole other problem.”

Julian’s eyes narrowed, the weight of his stare settling on the floor between them. “No. We can’t have that.” His tone left no room for argument, though the tension in his shoulders said otherwise.

Jace gave a curt nod, but his gaze lingered. “Didn’t think you’d want a trail leading back to you.”

Julian didn’t respond. His fingers drummed once against his thigh, restless, before going still. The silence stretched thin, heavy with everything left unsaid.

He couldn’t allow Jace to keep digging, but the unanswered questions gnawed at him all the same—why she wasn’t in the records, why her scent was unlike any he’d ever known, and why every instinct in him screamed that there was more to her story than she herself realized.

And despite himself, that lack of answers burned hotter than the smoke still ghosting his senses.

Julian’s jaw tightened. “Let it go,” he said finally, his voice low, stripped of any pretense of patience.

Jace tilted his head, studying him. “You sure?”

“It’s a dead trail,” Julian replied, eyes fixed on some invisible point across the room. “We chase it any further, we risk exposure. It’s not worth it.”

The words landed like stone—heavy, final—but they didn’t ring true. Jace heard what wasn’t said, saw it in the way Julian’s thumb dragged once across his palm, like he needed something to ground him.

A ghost of a smile touched Jace’s mouth, sad and knowing. “So that’s it? You’re calling it a cold case?”

Julian’s expression didn’t flicker. “That’s exactly what it is.”

Jace nodded slowly, but the look in his eyes softened, sympathy cutting through his usual sharp edges. He’s known Julian long enough to recognize that tone—the one that came before sleepless nights and too many empty whiskey glasses.

“You really think you can let it go?” he asked quietly. “Her, too?”

The question hung between them, fragile as glass.

Julian’s breath came out slow, deliberate. “I don’t have a choice,” he said.

But even as he said it, the lie tasted bitter on his tongue.

Jace’s eyes flicked up, sharp beneath the quiet. “You always have a choice, Julian.”

Julian let out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head once. “No, I don’t.” His gaze drifted to the window, the morning light cutting thin through the blinds. “Every choice I’ve ever made was made for me before I even knew it existed. My name, my position, my Luna, my future. None of it was mine to decide.”

Jace studied him for a long moment, the silence between them heavy and unflinching. “Maybe not,” he said at last, “but hers were.”

Julian’s brows drew together, eyes cutting back to him.

Jace went on, slower now, weighing each word. “That’s what I keep thinking, after everything I dug up. She’s had her life ripped apart, thrown away, stripped of everything she should’ve had… and somehow, she still walks around like the world doesn’t own her. Like she refuses to let anyone tell her who she’s supposed to be.”

His voice dropped lower, the admiration there subtle but clear. “She’s got a strength I don’t see much anymore, not even in Lycans. The kind that doesn’t roar—it endures. You can’t cage that, Julian.”

Something in Julian’s chest pulled tight. He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because that was exactly what had him unraveling—the realization that somewhere along the way, the hunter had started to envy his prey.

Jace lingered a moment longer, hands sliding into his pockets. “If you’re really going to let her go,” he said quietly, “then let her go. No more calls. No more visits. No more driving halfway across the damn territory just to stare at her from across a street.”

Julian’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t look up.

“You can’t keep her on a leash in your head,” Jace added.

The silence that followed was heavy, final. Jace gave a small nod, the kind soldiers make before leaving a battlefield, and turned toward the door.

The same door that he just now realized he had not closed behind him when he entered, leaving a sliver of hallway exposed to the sound of every word exchanged this morning.

It creaked open wider as he stepped out—then froze. His breath hitched when he saw her.

Jace’s throat went dry. “Elara—”

She didn’t even glance at him. Her gaze was locked past his shoulder, fixed on the man inside.

Her face was pale, almost ghostly under the hallway light, but her eyes… her eyes were molten. A storm of betrayal and rage barely contained.

Jace barely had time to step aside before she swept past him, slamming the door behind her so hard the walls shook.

The echo rang down the hall like the crack of a gunshot.

Jace stood there for a long second, staring at the closed door, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. Whatever was about to happen behind it… there’d be no coming back from it.