Fake Dating The Lycan's Heir의 모든 챕터: 챕터 11 - 챕터 20

Cole Vanessa was terrible at pretending nothing was wrong. She could fake a relationship in front of half the school without blinking, but the second something actually bothered her, she became too careful. Her answers got shorter. She stopped arguing over things she would normally turn into a ten-minute debate. Even the way she closed her locker was quieter than usual, which should not have been enough for me to notice. I found her outside English after the last bell, staring toward the far end of the hallway. “Are you waiting for someone?” She turned to me. “No.” “That sounded convincing.” “I wasn’t trying to convince you.” “Even worse.” She adjusted the strap of her bag and started walking. I fell into step beside her. Usually, that earned me some complaint about following her everywhere. Today she said nothing. I gave it another few seconds. “What happened?” “Nothing happened.” “Vanessa.” She looked at me. “Why do you say my name like that?” “Like wh

ColeI had already learned that searching for anything useful in the Grayson archives required patience, three different access codes, and a willingness to read documents written by men who apparently believed punctuation was a sign of weakness.By the time I found anything relevant, I had been sitting in the private study for almost an hour.Delayed shifting had produced nothing useful.Late manifestation gave me twelve records involving adolescents, none older than seventeen.Dormant senses gave me a handful of cases tied to illness, injury, or severe malnutrition.Vanessa was nineteen and she had spent her entire life believing she was wolfless.And yet she had heard things recently that she should not have been able to hear.I opened another file.The title read: MAGICALLY RESTRAINED LYCANTHROPIC EXPRESSION — HISTORICAL CASES.Better.I leaned closer to the screen.Most of the records were old enough that the language sounded more like superstition than medicine. Several referred

Cole“You’re staring again.” Vanessa kept her eyes on the history notes spread between us, though the accusation was aimed squarely at me.“I’m reading.”“You have been on the same paragraph for three minutes.”“That paragraph deserves attention.”“It has four sentences.”“Quality over quantity.”She finally looked up.There were days when pretending this relationship was fake required effort.Then there were afternoons like this, when Vanessa sat across from me in the library with a pencil tucked behind one ear and an expression that suggested my continued existence was personally inconvenient, and I forgot there was supposed to be anything artificial about wanting to stay.“You’re thinking about the sign,” she said.I leaned back in my chair. “You brought it up.”“Because you keep looking at me like you’re waiting for me to do something strange.”“I’m always waiting for you to do something strange.”“That is rich coming from the boy who lied about being bad at Spanish for almost a y

Vanessa “What happened when I was four?” I asked as the second Mom walked into the kitchen. She stopped beside the counter with her handbag still over one shoulder. Dad looked up from the dining table. Neither of them answered. “Dr. Rose asked me what I remember from that age.” I kept my voice steady because raising it would only give them something else to focus on. “She asked about fevers, nightmares, lost time, hospital visits, and whether I ever heard voices.” Mom removed her bag and placed it on the counter. “What brought that up during therapy?” she asked. “My hearing.” Dad’s hand paused over the envelope he had been opening. “My hearing and the thing that happened in the library,” I continued. “I caught something before I even realized I had moved.” Mom looked at Dad, and he looked back at her. It lasted only a moment, yet I had lived with them long enough to know when an entire conversation passed without words. “I’m standing right here,” I said. “Vanessa, nobody

Vanessa I stopped pretending it was a coincidence. My phone was already in my hand, Mom’s name open on the screen, when the man called after me. “Vanessa.” I kept walking. He knew my name; that changed everything. “Vanessa James.” His voice came closer as I reached the next corner. I pressed Mom’s number, but before the call connected, the man spoke again. “I only need a minute.” I turned because I wanted to know how close he was. He had crossed most of the distance between us and stood several yards away now. He was older than I had first guessed, somewhere around my parents’ age, with graying hair near his temples and the kind of face I would have forgotten immediately if he had not spent two days appearing wherever I happened to be. “Why are you following me?” I asked, keeping the phone visible in my hand. “I’ve been trying to speak to you.” “You could have started by not following me.” “You would have walked away.” “I still can.” His attention moved ov