Chapter 4

Grace stumbled back half a step, her eyes darting. But she still held her ground, voice sharp with denial.

"Thorne, stop with this nonsense! 'A world that didn't belong to you'—you're just some small-town kid who makes up wild stories for attention!"

"Fred's diagnosis is real. The doctors said it's critical. Why can't you just accept that?"

"And don't forget—I took you in. I fed you. I gave you a life."

Every word hit like a sledgehammer against whatever warmth I had left.

Ten years of devotion. Ten years of sacrifice. In her mouth, it was nothing but charity handed down from on high.

Fred tugged at Grace's sleeve, his voice dripping with manufactured tenderness. "Don't be mad, sweetheart. Thorne's just upset he's losing you. We'll talk it out when we get back from Hawaii."

His words were framed as comfort—but they cut deeper than any insult.

I stopped talking. I tucked the last piece of luggage in place, zipped the suitcase shut, and stepped back.

"There. All packed. You won't miss your flight."

Grace seemed surprised I'd backed down so quickly. She huffed, gave me a look that said finally, you're being reasonable, and guided Fred toward the door.

She didn't look back. Not once. Just tossed over her shoulder:

"I'm changing the locks. We'll deal with you when we get back."

The door slammed shut.

It closed on ten years of dreams. Ten years of blind hope. Ten years of chasing someone who never really saw me.

My pack's voice echoed in my head again:

It's time. Let's go, Thorne.

I walked to the window and looked down.

Grace helped Fred into the car with practiced care—then paused.

She turned. Looked up. Her eyes met mine through the glass.

For one fleeting second, I thought I saw something there. Something that might have been love.

Then she shouted up at me:

"Thorne! Pay the utilities before they cut them off! And don't forget to water the flowers on the balcony—Fred loves that gardenia pot best! If anything happens to it, you'll hear from me!"

I searched her face desperately for one sliver of affection.

But the car was already pulling away.

The woman I'd loved for ten years disappeared from sight.

And her last words to me weren't take care of yourself.

They were water the flowers.

Ridiculous. What the hell was I even hoping for?

I lifted my head and answered my pack in the old tongue—quiet, clear, final.

Ten years ago, I'd met Grace at the edge of our territory. I'd believed she was my Luna—the one I'd protect and cherish forever. So I'd left everything behind to follow her into her world.

Ten years later, she'd shoved me out with her own hands—in the cruelest way possible—and told me the dream was over.

Fine.

I took one last look at the place I'd called home for a decade. One last look at the road where her car had vanished.

No regret.

No longing.

Just lightness. And clarity.

"I'm ready to go back with you. Tell me where you are—I'll leave right now."

Thorne. Wake up.