Fractures in the Dark

The room didn’t erupt in the expected excitement. Instead, silence swept through the space like a cold wind, snuffing out every bit of chatter. It was as though the world had paused—held its breath in anticipation. Even a chef crossing the hall froze mid-step, his gaze snagged on the newcomer at the door.

Lloyd.

If that name still belonged to him.

He stood beneath the archway like a statue carved from marble—stoic, cold, carved with precision. Older now. Calmer. Almost serene. His presence didn’t command the room through dominance, but through weight—like something ancient had just stepped into the light.

His eyes, colder than I remembered, scanned the pack hall. Not hungrily. Not arrogantly. But warily. Like he’d wandered into a lion’s den instead of his childhood home. When his gaze finally landed on Cole, it didn’t linger out of fondness—it landed like a stone dropped in still water.

“Have you lost your manners while I was gone?” Lloyd asked, his voice low, steady. A warning more than a question. No bite, but something buried beneath. Something sharp.

Cole’s hand curled into a fist so tight I could almost feel the crescent moons his nails carved into his skin. He forced a swallow, then a smile that looked more like it belonged to a predator about to strike.

“Hello,” he said evenly, though his tone carried venom. “You’re late.”

I shifted beside him, instinctively rubbing my arm. Wasn’t everyone else late? Cole had told me Lloyd was already here earlier in the day. Was that a lie? Did they still share a private connection—something twin-born and eerie?

“Traffic?” Lloyd offered, clearly unbothered. It wasn’t meant to be funny, but there was something in his expression that said he knew it wouldn’t land anyway.

No one laughed. Not a soul moved.

A low growl rumbled across the floorboards.

Alpha Jackson stepped between them, his voice a whip crack. “Enough. Family affairs are not for the public eye.”

Cole stepped back, his head bowed, though his eyes still burned. Lloyd, in contrast, simply straightened, regarding their father with a strange softness. Sadness. Maybe even reverence.

Then—almost playfully—he clapped Jackson’s back and smiled. “Very well, old man.”

Jackson blinked, then returned the smile and pulled Lloyd into a quick hug.

That moment broke the tension like glass. Conversations resumed. Music swelled. The pack surged forward to welcome the long-lost son. A few swooned over Lloyd’s looks and quiet charm. Cole, expression thunderous, turned sharply and stalked back to the head of the table.

I followed more slowly, glancing one last time over my shoulder at the man everyone had once feared.

Cole sat rigidly, a full glass of wine clutched so tightly I feared it would shatter. Just as the stem cracked faintly, I reached out and placed my hand over his. His skin was ice cold, rigid with tension. He didn’t even glance at me.

“He acts like he never left,” he muttered.

Lloyd drifted through the crowd effortlessly, his smile soft and unobtrusive. He didn’t dominate the room, but he was impossible to ignore. Like smoke in your lungs—delicate, but suffocating.

“He did live here once,” I said, gently prying Cole’s fingers from the glass. “This is still his home.”

Cole growled under his breath, his frown deepening. Lloyd didn’t even glance our way. Not once.

The longer I watched them, the more I saw the differences. Subtle, but there. Lloyd’s hair was neat, trimmed with intention—just like when we were young. Cole’s remained longer on top, carelessly styled, as if always halfway to a fight. They were both beautiful, but in different, jarring ways. Like mirrored blades—each dangerous, each distinct.

“Scarlett!” a gamma called from across the room, waving me over with urgency.

I turned to excuse myself, but Cole’s attention had already drifted. He didn’t notice me leave.

The gamma’s face was taut with stress as I approached. “Can you grab a case of wine from the cellar? The Alpha’s reserve. Third shelf, right side—wooden crate with the pack seal. Jackson wants it before the toast.”

I nodded. “Of course.”

His eyes softened. “Careful. It’s heavier than it looks.”

I turned down the hallway alone, the clamor of the party fading into the quiet heartbeat of the old house. When I reached the cellar door, the familiar creak of wood greeted me. I flipped the switch. Dim bulbs hummed to life, casting a golden glow on the stairs.

The cellar smelled of damp stone, old oak, and something older—like memory trapped in the walls.

I stepped lightly, each footfall echoing with a soft hush. The crate was exactly where the gamma had described. I crouched to lift it—but my hand slipped on the dusty wood, and the crate tumbled from my grip.

Before it could hit the ground, a hand caught it.

I gasped, spinning around—and nearly screamed.

Lloyd stood there, his face half-shadowed, the glint of his pale eyes cutting through the dark. He looks like a monster in the dark with his grey eyes. My heart hammers in my chest, biting my lip as I give a silent sigh of relief. I thought maybe...maybe it was a ghost!

“Still the clumsy omega, Scarlett?” he murmured, voice curling around me like a noose. It wasn’t cruel. But it wasn’t kind either.

I froze. That tone. That presence. My chest tightened, heart stammering in fear.

His gaze hardened—haunted, unreadable. He passed the bottle back to me. His fingers brushed mine. Cold.

“I want to forgive you,” I blurted, surprising even myself.

He stilled.

A beat of silence passed. Then a low laugh—dry, humorless—escaped him. He stepped closer.

“Do you think I want your forgiveness?” he asked, voice like ice cracking.

I trembled. He was too close now, and I suddenly saw the boy I remembered. The cruel one. The one who bared his fangs in the basement. The one who made me cry.

“You don’t remember it the way it happened, Scarlet? Do you not remeber my exhile? You think I was mad? Clearly you don't understand, I was enraged,” he growls, and I struggling to back up further. I knew he might still have some wounds.

Footsteps pounded on the stairs.

Cole.

He burst into the cellar like a storm, eyes immediately zeroing in on the two of us. He shoved between us, fury radiating from him.

“You never change, do you?” he snapped at Lloyd. Then he turned to me. “Are you hurt? Why are you down here with him?”

Before I could answer, he grabbed my wrists. His grip was rough. Possessive. I whimpered.

The crate clattered to the ground.

“She wanted to forgive me for  something,” Lloyd said smoothly, as if amused.

Cole’s eyes narrowed. “Is that so?” He turned to me. “Forgive him for what?”

Lloyd tilted his head. “Trying to orchestrate another hero moment, are you, brother? Did you get her dow here?”

Cole’s expression darkened, but his grip didn’t loosen. “Scarlett, what did you mean forgive?”

I stammered. “F-for the basement. For what he did to me… when we were kids.”

Lloyd’s face shifted. Something flickered across it—then vanished.

Cole turned away for a second—just enough. Lloyd moved like a whip. He ripped Cole’s hands off me and threw him to the floor. His eyes never left mine.

“Charade over,” Lloyd snorts. “I’m bored with you two already, don't fake wounds for little ole' me.” He turns to leave, looking at his brother one last time before climbing the stairs.

“Scarlett, I’m sorry,” Cole said quickly, reaching for me. “I just—got caught up—”

I backed away. His touch burned. Cole gets a look of shock and quickly tries to reach for me again. I could feel my heart is banging against my chest, tears finally dripping down my cheek.

And then I ran—up the stairs, out of the cellar, out of the suffocating tangle of memory and new fear.