Chapter Three: Suitable

My old room had not changed.

That was almost worse.

The narrow bed still sat beneath the window. The pale curtains were tied back with faded ribbons. The dresser still had the tiny scratch near the handle from the day I dropped one of Vivian’s music boxes and she cried for an hour, even though it had not broken.

My shelves were empty.

That was the only difference.

The books were gone.

I stood in the doorway longer than I should have, my hand still wrapped around the knob, my heart sinking in a way that felt childish.

Of course they had packed my books away.

Of course no one had thought I would want them when I came home.

Maybe no one had thought I would come home at all.

Behind me, Luca’s footsteps faded down the hall, leaving me alone with the room and his words.

Black Moon Ridge has a way of making people feel smaller than they are. Don’t let it.

I wanted to believe him.

I really did.

But this room remembered the girl I had been when Victor sent me away. Small. Quiet. Apologetic. Always trying to take up less space.

And now that I was standing inside it again, I could feel her crawling back under my skin.

I dragged my suitcase inside and shut the door.

On the bed lay a dress.

Not one of mine.

Soft blue fabric, long sleeves, high neckline, simple waist. Pretty in a careful, modest way. The kind of pretty that was meant to disappear beside someone like Vivian.

A folded note sat on top.

I already knew her handwriting before I picked it up.

Aurora,

Wear this tonight.

Father does not want unnecessary attention.

Vivian

I stared at the words until they blurred.

Unnecessary attention.

I had been back in Black Moon Ridge for less than an hour, and they were already reminding me of my place.

Quiet.

Grateful.

Small.

My fingers tightened around the note.

For one wild second, I wanted to tear it in half.

Instead, I placed it neatly on the dresser.

That was the problem with me.

Even my anger had manners.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror.

Travel-tired eyes. Loose braid. Pale cheeks. A cardigan wrinkled from hours of flying. I did not look like a threat to anyone.

Not to Vivian.

Not to Victor.

Certainly not to Ezra Blackthorn.

My chest tightened at the thought of him.

Ezra.

The way he had stopped in the entrance hall.

The way his eyes had darkened.

The way his scent had wrapped around me like something I should have known but didn’t.

Cedar smoke.

Storm rain.

Dark earth after midnight.

I pressed a hand to my ribs.

My wolf stirred again.

It was faint, but sharper than before. Like claws brushing the inside of my skin.

“Stop,” I whispered.

She did not stop.

Of course she didn’t.

For years, I had begged her to wake. I had lain awake in dormitory beds overseas while other girls whispered about first shifts and full moons and the rush of finally running beneath their own skin. I had smiled when they asked about mine. I had lied and told them I was a late bloomer.

Late bloomer sounded softer than defective.

Now, three weeks before my eighteenth birthday, my wolf had chosen tonight to make herself known.

All because Ezra Blackthorn had walked through a door.

A bell rang somewhere downstairs.

Dinner.

I looked back at the dress on the bed.

Suitable.

Fine.

If they wanted quiet, I could be quiet.

For now.

I washed my face in the small adjoining bathroom, then changed into the blue dress. It fit perfectly, which somehow made it worse. Vivian had either guessed my size or asked someone.

Either way, she had thought about exactly how I should look tonight.

Not too plain.

Not too pretty.

Not enough.

I pulled my hair loose from its braid and brushed it until it fell over my shoulders in soft waves. For a moment, I reached for the pins on the dresser, ready to twist it back, ready to make myself neat.

Then I stopped.

No.

I left it down.

A tiny rebellion.

Pathetic, maybe.

But mine.

When I opened the bedroom door, the hallway was empty.

The house had changed while I dressed. Music drifted up from below, low and elegant. Voices rose and fell. The scent of roasted meat, wine, candle smoke and too many wolves curled through the air.

My stomach twisted.

I started toward the stairs, then paused.

At the end of the hall, near the old east window, two women stood with their backs partly turned.

Servants, maybe. Or lower-ranking pack members. I recognised one from childhood but could not remember her name.

“I thought she wasn’t coming back,” one whispered.

“Hush.”

“I’m serious. After all this time? And tonight of all nights?”

Tonight of all nights.

I held my breath.

The second woman glanced around before answering.

“Victor should have left her away until after the presentation.”

My hand tightened on the banister.

“Does Vivian know?”

“Vivian knows everything.”

A chill moved through me.

The first woman lowered her voice further. “What if the old stories are true?”

The second woman went still.

“Do not talk about that here.”

“What stories?” I asked.

Both women spun around.

Their faces drained of colour.

For one heartbeat, no one moved.

Then they dipped their heads.

“Miss Vale,” one said quickly.

I stepped closer. “What stories?”

The older woman swallowed. “Nothing. Old pack nonsense.”

“If it’s nonsense, then tell me.”

She looked past me.

Fear flashed across her face.

I turned.

Victor stood at the top of the stairs.

His expression was calm.

Too calm.

“Aurora,” he said. “You are late.”

The women scattered without another word.

I looked at him, my pulse thudding.

“What stories?”

His eyes hardened. “You will not embarrass me tonight by chasing servant gossip.”

“They were talking about me.”

“They were talking nonsense.”

“Then why are you angry?”

For a second, something almost like surprise crossed his face.

Maybe because I had never asked him that before.

Maybe because I had never dared.

Then it vanished.

“Dinner,” he said coldly. “Now.”

He turned and descended the stairs, expecting me to follow.

I should have.

Instead, I looked once more toward the empty hall.

Tonight of all nights.

The old stories.

Vivian knows everything.

My wolf pressed against my skin.

Not afraid this time.

Listening.

And as I followed Victor down toward the dining hall, I realised something that made my stomach drop.

Black Moon Ridge had not forgotten me.

It had been waiting.