Chapter 3

KAIA'S POV:

The knock at my bedroom door is soft, almost uncertain.

I sit up on the edge of the bed, where I’ve been pretending to unpack the same sweater for the last twenty minutes.

My palms are still clammy from the car ride over. I haven’t seen the brothers since last night in the living room. I haven’t been ready to face them again.

"Yes?" My voice comes out small. I hate it.

The door creaks open, and Rowan steps in. He looks taller in the daylight, even though his posture is stiff. Like he’s nervous. He’s dressed in a black Henley and jeans, simple but tidy, like someone who wants to make a good impression without trying too hard.

He clears his throat. "Dinner’s ready. If… you’re up for it. It's chicken and chips."

I nod, brushing imaginary lint off my leggings. “Okay.”

He waits a beat, maybe expecting me to say more. I don’t. I follow him out.

The hallway is warm and inviting, lined with soft lighting and thick carpet that muffles our steps. Framed photographs hang on the walls, photos of the three brothers, mostly. As kids, then teenagers. Laughing. Throwing snowballs. Sitting on a lake dock in matching flannel shirts. It feels like walking through a life I was supposed to be part of but wasn’t.

The smell hits me before we reach the dining room. Garlic, butter, something herby and rich. My stomach grumbles. It’s been growling all day, but I haven’t been able to eat. Too much adrenaline. Too much everything.

Rowan leads me into a large open dining room with a long, dark oak table. A crystal chandelier glows above it like a floating star.

Ezra’s already seated, leaning back in his chair like he owns the place, which I guess, in a way, he does. He grins the second he sees me. "Hey, little sis."

I blink. "Don’t call me that."

"Noted," he says, clearly not taking it seriously.

Lucien sits at the far end, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable. He doesn’t speak. Just watches me with eyes that flicker too sharply for comfort.

I choose the seat closest to Rowan. Safety in distance.

The food looks like something out of a magazine; roast chicken, mashed potatoes, glazed carrots, fresh rolls, a giant salad.

I thought this guy said it's just chicken and chips. What is this then?

I eye it warily, waiting for some catch. There’s always a catch.

Rowan clears his throat again. "Ezra cooked."

"I supervised," Ezra says, smug.

Rowan shoots him a look. "Microwaving the carrots doesn’t count as supervision."

Ezra feigns offense. "It does in my kitchen."

Lucien mutters, "God help us all."

The exchange is light, teasing, even funny. I don’t smile. I can’t. My insides are too tight, like they’re waiting for the moment the floor drops out again.

Rowan gestures to the food. "Please, eat."

I scoop some potatoes onto my plate. Then chicken. A roll. I don’t look at anyone as I eat.

The silence stretches, awkward and brittle.

Ezra tries first. "So, Kaia, do you remember anything? From before?"

I shake my head. "No. Just the family I had."

"You were taken when you were three," Rowan says gently. "Too young to remember much, I guess."

Taken? Wasn't I given up for adoption?

Lucien scoffs under his breath.

"What?" I snap before I can stop myself.

He meets my eyes. "You don’t find it a little convenient? Suddenly popping back into our lives after all these years?"

"Lucien," Rowan warns.

"I didn’t ask to come here," I say, heat flaring in my chest. "I didn’t even know I wasn’t theirs. I found out yesterday. Don’t act like I’m some spy planted to infiltrate your happy little family. You don't know half of the shit I've gone through in the 24 hours. If you don't believe I am your sister, meet with social services. Just leave me alone!"

That shuts him up.

Ezra leans forward, voice softer. "Lucien’s just... skeptical of everyone. Don’t take it personally."

Too late.

I finish eating in silence, each bite harder to swallow than the last. The food tastes incredible, but it sits heavy in my stomach. I don’t like being watched. Judged. Measured.

After dinner, Rowan walks me back to my room. "We’ll take you to the mall tomorrow," he says as we reach my door. "Get you anything you need. School starts Monday."

My stomach lurches. "Already?"

"We can’t delay it. The semester’s already halfway through. We’ll make sure you’re registered for classes and assigned a student guide."

I nod, trying not to panic.

He pauses, like he wants to say more, then just offers a tired smile and walks away.

Inside my room, I flop on the bed, curling into the purple comforter. The walls are lavender, the curtains plum. There’s a fuzzy violet rug under my feet, and the desk glows with a soft lilac lamp. Everything is warm, soft, inviting.

I hate how much I love it.

It feels like the kind of room a girl like me doesn’t deserve.

I think about Lucien’s expression. Suspicion. Distrust. It’s the look I’ve seen my whole life, just from a different set of eyes. My foster father’s when I’d speak up. My foster mother’s when I’d ask for seconds. The kids at school who could tell something about me didn’t quite add up.

I think about Ezra’s easy smile, the way he keeps calling me 'sis' like he wants it to be true. About Rowan’s quiet patience, how he seems like he’s trying, but also doesn’t know how.

I don’t know how either.

The weight of the last twenty-four hours presses on my chest like a cinderblock. The airport. The car. The guards. The estate. This room.

These brothers.

I stare at the ceiling, eyes burning.

I want to trust them. I want to feel like I belong somewhere for once.

But the years of bruises and silence whisper otherwise. The scars on my back, the ones no one sees, remind me what happens when I let people in.

Still, something deep inside me, some tiny, buried instinct, wants to believe this could be different.

That maybe, maybe, I’ve finally come home.

I close my eyes.

I don’t dream of Canada, or the estate, or my new life.

I dream of wolves howling in the dark.