Chapter 10: Coming Home

SARA'S POV

“Forty-three minutes,” Killian said as soon as I walked out.

“I promised an hour,” I replied, grabbing my bag. “You’re lucky I packed fast.”

He took his jacket, nodded toward the exit. “Car’s outside.”

Claude waited in the lobby. He glanced at my bag, then at Killian, then back at me with that calculating look—like he didn’t like where the math landed.

“Ms. Miller,” he said.

“Claude,” I answered with a smile.

He fell in behind us without another word.

We drove in convoy. Killian and I up front, Claude behind us in the second car. Killian drove. I sat in the passenger seat with my bag between my feet, watching the city fade into highway. Nobody talked for a while.

Then Killian broke the silence. “You don’t have to say anything tonight—about the pendant, about whatever you know.” He kept his eyes on the road. “But I’ll find out eventually.”

I looked at him sideways, just his profile in the dark. “I know.”

He nodded and kept driving.

The road shrank. Trees thickened. Turns came, and weirdly, my hands remembered them even before my brain caught up—left at the second junction, right through the forest, same curve as always. I’d run through this forest once, bleeding, clutching only the money he’d tossed at me.

I made myself keep my eyes forward.

Pack gates appeared through the trees. They swung open as soon as the guards saw Killian’s car. The pack house loomed ahead—lit bright against the dark, bigger than I remembered and exactly the same, all at once.

The mate bond buzzed in my chest.

Greta pressed against my ribs.

I locked her down, and she went quiet.

We parked at the main entrance. I got out, picked up my bag, stood in the cool air, and just looked up at the building. The last time I’d stood here, I was eighteen and running.

A figure stepped into the entrance.

Tall, easy smile, broader shoulders than six years ago, but the same stance—the kind of confidence that said every room was already his.

Darian.

He came over, hand out. “Ms. Miller.” His gaze lingered on my face just a beat too long. “Welcome to Crescent Moon Pack.”

I shook his hand, smiled with all the muscles I’d trained for this. “Thanks. Good to be here.”

“You must be tired from the drive.” He was already leading the way. “Let me show you your quarters.”

I followed him inside while keeping my face forward and stuck close behind Darian down the corridor. Left at the second junction, right past the old storage rooms, up the stairs to the guest quarters on the third floor.

He opened a door and stepped aside.

I walked in and there was a large bed and yes I loved the position of the window because it was overlooking the pack grounds. Three floors above where the servants used to sleep.

“Breakfast is at seven,” Darian called from the doorway. “Alpha wants the briefing at eight.” He smiled. “Rest up, Ms. Miller.”

He closed the door.

I stood alone, listening to his footsteps fade.

I crossed to the window, stared out at the pack grounds—the tree line, the training field, the east wing. I’d scrubbed every inch of that east wing. I’d learned every corner of this building on my hands and knees.

My phone buzzed. It was Maya. ‘Both asleep. Stop worrying.’

I texted back: ‘Tell Leo I’ll call tomorrow.’

I set my phone down, unzipped my bag, and started laying out my equipment on the desk. Laptop first. Hard drives next. Three files I’d grabbed before leaving—attack pattern analysis, patrol route data, preliminary intelligence assessment I’d spent three days working on before Killian even showed up.

I’d started preparing for this job before I accepted it.

I hadn't settled down fully before I heard a knock at the door.

I crossed and opened it, expecting staff.

Killian stood there, seems like he’d changed shirts. His eyes flicked from me to the gear on the desk behind me and something flickered in his expression.

“You set up fast,” he said.

“I warned you I don’t pack light,” I replied. “Didn’t say I planned on sleeping.”

He looked at the desk, then at me. “Briefing’s at eight.”

“I’ll be ready at seven.”

He held my gaze, searching—like he was trying to read me, and I really couldn’t let him get any further. “Settling in alright?” he asked.

“Perfectly.”

He nodded. Turned to go, then paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Lock your door. Pack knows we’ve got an outsider. Not everyone’s comfortable with it.”

“I’ve worked in worse places,” I said.

His mouth twitched, almost a grin. “I don’t doubt it.”

He walked away, and I watched until he disappeared, then closed the door and pressed my back against it for exactly three seconds.

Then I went back to the desk.

Four days. That’s all.

I opened the first file and got to work.

About twenty minutes in, another knock. Much lighter this time, almost uncertain. I opened the door.

An older woman stood outside. Short, broad, kitchen cloth folded over one arm, cup of tea in hand, eyes fixed on my face.

Marta.

She looked exactly the same, with more grey at her temples, same round face, same steady hands—the ones that used to slip bread under the door when the kitchen was locked and Sara went to bed hungry. The only person in this place who had ever been quietly, reliably kind to her.

To me.

She stared.

Not that half-recognition Darian had managed. More complete. Her eyes studied my face, slowly, matching memory to reality and finding an exact fit.

I met her gaze, kept my expression perfectly still.

“I thought you might want tea,” Marta said. Her voice trembled just a bit. “After the drive.”

“That’s very kind.” I took the cup. “Thank you.”

She didn’t move.

Her gaze still fixed.

“Is there anything else?” I asked, trying for pleasant.

Marta opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her hands gripped the cloth tight enough to blanch her knuckles. She watched me for another moment, and I recognized that look—the pressure of someone holding back with everything they’ve got.

“Sleep well, Ms. Miller,” she finally said.

She turned and walked away.

I watched her go from the doorway.

Then stepped inside, closed the door, looked at the cup of tea in my hands.

Marta knew.

She’d seen me and she knew. She hadn’t said a word. She brought me tea then she left without asking any questions…

I set the cup on the desk, real carefully even though my hands were trembling.

Then sat down and stared at the wall for a bit.

“Get it together,” I whispered.

And opened the file, got back to work.