CHAPTER SIX: THE FROZEN SMILE

CASSIAN POV 

"What really happened the night my parents died?"

Uncle Marcus's smile froze, his hand stopped mid-reach for his coffee cup.

"Why are you asking this now?"

The question came out too smooth, too practiced, like he'd been waiting for me to ask it someday.

I pulled the hospital bracelet from my pocket and dropped it on my desk between us.

Marcus stared at the plastic band like I'd thrown a live grenade.

"What is this?"

"You tell me."

He picked it up, his fingers trembling slightly as he read the words printed on the label.

Patient name, Elena Hartwood, date, five years ago, reason for visit, prenatal care, first trimester.

"This could be anyone's," he said finally, setting it down carefully, "where did you find it?"

I stayed silent, watched the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes darted to the door and back to me.

"Cassian, you look exhausted." Marcus moved closer, his voice shifting into that concerned uncle tone, "When was the last time you slept properly?"

"Don't."

"I'm worried about you," he continued, ignoring my warning, "the company failing, this curse, bringing the Hartwood girl back into your life, it's too much stress."

"Elena," I corrected.

"Yes, Elena," he nodded, "stirring up old memories, old wounds, you're not thinking clearly."

I stood up, needed distance from him, from that voice trying to soothe me like I was twelve years old again.

"The bracelet is real."

"Of course it's real, but someone is playing games with you," Marcus followed me to the window, put his hand on my shoulder, "leaving evidence that doesn't connect to anything."

My wolf snarled at his touch.

"What if it does connect?"

"To what?" he asked, "Elena's been living alone for five years; if she had a child, we would know."

I wanted to believe him, wanted to trust the man who raised me.

But something felt wrong.

"You're overworked," Marcus said, moving back to my desk, "hallucinating, seeing connections that aren't there."

"I'm not hallucinating."

"Then you're being manipulated," he picked up the teacup Victoria had left earlier, held it out to me, "drink this, it'll help you think more clearly."

The cup was white porcelain with gold trim, with the dark liquid inside.

I'd been drinking this blend every night for years.

But the way Marcus watched me, waiting, made my skin crawl.

"You need rest," he said, still offering the cup, "drink this, go to bed early, tomorrow everything will seem less confusing."

I took the cup from him.

"You're right," I said, lifting it toward my lips, "I'm probably just tired."

Marcus's shoulders relaxed, and that smile came back, warm and familiar.

"That's my boy, get some rest, we'll talk tomorrow when you're feeling better."

He walked to the door, paused with his hand on the handle.

"Oh, and Cassian," he said without turning, 

"Keep that bracelet somewhere safe, whoever left it clearly wants to cause trouble."

The door clicked shut.

I stood there alone, the teacup still raised halfway to my mouth.

My wolf was going insane, clawing and snarling inside my chest.

I walked to the potted plant in the corner, my mother's fig tree, one of the few things that survived after she died.

The tea poured out in a slow stream, soaking into the dark soil.

I set the empty cup on the windowsill and pulled out my phone, searched for private laboratories that could test substances, and found one that offered twenty-four-hour service.

Tomorrow I'll bring them a sample of Victoria's tea.

Tonight I needed to figure out what the hell was happening in my own house.

I picked up the hospital bracelet again, ran my thumb over Elena's name.

Five years ago, she'd been pregnant.

Three months after I rejected her.

Which meant when I destroyed her in front of everyone, when I called her bloodline poison, when I shattered our mate bond and left her bleeding on the altar steps, she was already carrying my child.

If the child were mine.

My wolf had no doubt; it recognized something in that drawing on my phone, in the blackouts that kept taking me north toward the mountains, in the way my body knew things my mind couldn't remember.

I slept off thinking about this and woke up late in the evening.

I pulled up the photo again, the child's crayon drawing of a black wolf and a little girl holding hands.

The girl had drawn herself with dark hair and a purple dress.

The wolf had yellow eyes, just like mine.

"I'm going to find out what you're hiding, Uncle," I whispered to the empty room.

And then I was going to find out if Elena Hartwood had been raising my daughter alone for five years while I believed the lies everyone fed me about her father, her family, her blood.

My phone buzzed with a text from my driver.

Car ready when you need it, sir. Usual route north?

I stared at the message.

Usual route north.

How many times had I made this drive without remembering it, how many nights had my wolf taken control and gone searching for something I couldn't name?

I typed back, Not tonight, but keep the car ready, I might need it tomorrow.

Tomorrow Elena will move into this house.

Tomorrow I will start looking for answers.

And if I found out she'd been hiding my child from me, if I discovered that everyone I trusted had been lying to my face while poisoning my tea and burying evidence and playing me like a puppet, then tomorrow everything was going to burn.

I looked down at the empty teacup on my windowsill.

Outside my window, the moon was rising, full and bright and calling to the wolf inside me that wanted to shift, wanted to run, wanted to find what had been stolen from us.

But not tonight.

Tonight I needed to stay human, stay sharp, stay ready.

Because something was very wrong in the Obsidian Pack, and for the first time in five years, I was finally starting to see it.