There was only one left.
The final shift. The last breath. The edge of the line.
Debbie’s voice slithered through the silence like smoke. “He’s done ninety-nine. That kind of survival? You can't breed that—it’s forged. Maybe if our pup had even half that spine…”
Trixie didn’t look at her. His eyes were on the fire, jaw clenched so tightly it could snap. “There’s a den near the lowlands,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “They don’t train halfbloods. They dismantle them. Tear out instincts and rewire the brain. Like machines.”
Debbie hummed, almost delighted. “Is that what makes them… obedient?”
He didn’t answer.
She tilted her head. “We could take him there.”
His voice dropped, edged with steel. “Not now.”
The stillness returned, but something about it felt wrong—like standing in the eye of a storm, knowing the rest is just waiting to hit.
Then she giggled, as if none of it mattered. “Do you think this peach is safe?” she asked brightly, lifting the fruit with an elegance that masked her cruelty.
I had just stepped in.
I froze.
She moved toward me like a predator cloaked in grace. “Selena, darling,” she purred, extending the peach, “be a dear and try it for me. Just one bite.”
I didn’t reach for it. Not yet.
Trixie’s eyes flicked toward me. Then the fruit. Then my lips.
He remembered.
He should’ve stopped her.
But he didn’t.
So I did what I always did. I took the poison.
My fingers curled around the velvet skin of the fruit. I bit down.
The sweetness was a lie. The taste was violence.
Juice spilled down my chin, sticky and warm. It clung to me like guilt. My body began to revolt, every nerve screaming—but I didn’t stop.
Let it be over.
Let me go.
Then he moved.
Faster than breath, Trixie crossed the room and seized me by the back of the neck. The pain made stars explode behind my eyes as the fruit fell from my lips.
His palm struck my face.
Hard.
The room tilted. My head rang.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he barked. His voice cracked—too loud, too human. “Do you want to die? Is that it?”
I didn’t speak.
I swallowed what was left.
His hand trembled against my skin.
Then something shifted. His grip loosened. His touch changed.
He cupped my face as though I might break. “Spit it out,” he whispered. “Please. Don’t make me watch this.”
But it was already happening.
My chest seized.
Air became knives.
I fell to the ground, fingers clawing at wood. My body convulsed. My vision blurred.
Behind me, Debbie made a gagging sound that was too practiced, too convenient.
Trixie spun. “She’s reacting again—Debbie!”
“I didn’t know it was that bad,” Debbie whimpered, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. “It just… smells off.”
The housekeeper rushed in, skidding to a halt at the doorway.
“Oh goddess—she’s seizing again!” he gasped. “Should I call the Pack Healer?”
Trixie hesitated.
That heartbeat of doubt cracked something in me.
Then he swept Debbie into his arms like she was the one dying.
“She can’t be around this. Take care of her first. Lock Selena in the washroom. I don’t want her scent in the nursery.”
He didn’t look at me when he said it.
“Do it,” he snapped at the housekeeper. “Now.”
But I didn’t wait.
I dragged myself upright. My legs were shaking. I staggered into the guest bath, locked the door, and collapsed against the wall.
Outside, the house fell into muffled murmurs and shifting feet.
“She just wants attention,” Trixie said eventually, his voice barely audible through the door. “She’s acting out.”
No. I wasn’t acting. I was vanishing.
When I came to, hours had passed. The quiet was thick enough to choke on.
I was still alive.
Of course I was.
The dose had been too light. Again.
I turned my head. The nightstand glowed under the lamplight. A pill bottle stood beside a folded note.
Take these when you wake. I’ll be back soon.
No name. But I knew that handwriting. It used to cover my walls, years ago.
You looked cold today. Stay inside.
Don't run during your cycle. Let me pace you.
You're strong. Don’t let them convince you otherwise.
The notes disappeared long before the person did.
I exhaled slowly, eyes burning.
And that was the sound he heard when he walked in.
“You mad it didn’t work?” Trixie asked, voice like frost.
I didn’t lift my head.
He moved closer, boots thudding against the floor like falling judgment. “Did you even take your meds?”
I gestured. The bottle was still full.
His jaw clenched.
He stared at me like I was some puzzle he once knew how to solve—but forgot the pieces to.
I picked up the bottle and dumped the contents into my palm.
Then I held them out to him.
“You want me quiet? Numb? Gone?” I said, my voice raw. “You can do it. You can finish what they started.”
His eyes locked with mine.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t move.
But I saw the flicker—the one thing he didn’t want me to see.
Fear.
Not for me.
Of me.
He took the pills from my hand. One by one.
Then he turned away again.
He always turned away.
And I—
I just kept waiting for someone to stay.
