All Chapters of His Rejected Luna Remembers Nothing: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Cole’s POVHe called me on a Thursday morning from the road.Not from the city. From somewhere between the city and the estate, which meant he had already been driving for two hours before he decided to call, which meant he had made the decision the night before and had been carrying it alone through the early morning.“I figured out what useful looks like,” he said.I was in the war room with coffee and I sat back in my chair and gave him the silence to continue.“The subsidiary territory,” he said. “The people there. I know them. I know their concerns and their history and the specific ways that Brennan’s leadership damaged the trust structures that were there before him. The Council absorbed the territory but they cannot govern it well from the outside because they do not know what is inside it and I do.”“You want to go back,” I said.“I want to propose something to Selene,” he said. “A formal role. Council-sanctioned. Accountable to this pack and to Maren’s office. I want to go i

Lena’s POVThey came at two in the afternoon.Thirty eight people into the main hall and the specific quality of the air that happened when a room was full of people who had been talking to each other before they arrived and had come in with positions already forming.Ria had spent two days talking to people individually.I had watched her do it without making it visible. The way she moved through the estate and the grounds. A conversation in the kitchen here. A walk along the east boundary there. Nothing that looked like campaigning. Everything that was.I stood at the front of the hall with Damien.Rowan was not there.I had not invited him this time either. The same principle as before. This was a pack conversation and it needed to be that before it was anything else.I looked at the room.“You know why we are here,” I said. “I am not going to manage this conversation. I am going to tell you what is being proposed and then I am going to listen to what you think and the outcome is g

Lena’s POVI read it after midnight.Damien was asleep beside me and the house was quiet and I had been lying there for an hour knowing the box was on the dresser and that I was not going to sleep without opening it.I got up carefully.Took the box to the window seat.The grounds were dark and still outside and the east wall had its light the way it always did.I untied the ribbon.Set it on the cushion beside me.The letters were in order. Dates on the outside of each envelope in handwriting that was steady in the early ones and slightly less steady as the years went on and the hands that had been writing for decades had begun to feel their age.The first one was dated four months after I was sent away.I opened it.My darling Selene, she had written.I do not know where you are. Your father will not tell me the address and the elder council has sealed the arrangement documents and I have written to three different Council offices this month and received three different versions of

Lena’s POVThe phone rang at two fourteen in the morning.I was awake.I had been reading the second letter from my grandmother, the one dated nine months after my placement, in which she described the garden in November and the specific silence of a house where a small person had been and was no longer and the way that silence had a different quality to ordinary silence because you could hear the shape of who was missing in it.I had been sitting with that when the phone rang.I looked at the screen.Rowan.Damien was already awake beside me.He read the name on the screen.“Answer,” he said.I answered.“It is two in the morning,” I said.“I know,” Rowan said. “I am sorry. I said I would call if something went wrong.”I sat up.Damien sat up.“Tell me,” I said.“Nothing is wrong with me,” he said quickly. “I want to say that first. I am fine. This is not a personal emergency.”“Then what is it?” I said.He was quiet for a moment.“I found something in the northeast quarter,” he said

Damien’s POV I found her in the library at eleven at night. She had the notepad in front of her and three separate documents spread across the desk and the expression she wore when she was not writing but composing, when the thing on the page was still forming and she was not ready to commit it to words yet. I came in and sat in the chair across from her. She did not look up immediately. I waited. After a moment she said “I am trying to write a letter to Vera Wren and I have started it four times.” “What is the problem?” I said. “Every version I write,” she said, “sounds like a Luna writing to a pack member. Official. Positioned. And that is not what this is.” I looked at her. “What is it?” I said. She put the pen down. “It is one person writing to another person who kept records for four years not knowing if they would ever matter,” she said. “That is what it is. And I want her to know that they mattered and that she is seen and I cannot find the version of that that does