ADALINE POV:
Blain's presence lingered in the doorway, a silent, chilling authority that had successfully caged Brennen's physical rage. For now. His gaze swept over me, a quick, dismissive inventory. His eyes had flickered to Bristol first, a silent check. The way a farmer might assess livestock. I was a commodity, and he was checking for damage.
"Father is not a patient man," he said, his voice flat. "Don't waste his time."
Brennen, halfway down the hall, yelled back, his voice muffled, "I was just teaching the worthless bitch a lesson!"
Blain didn't even turn. "If she shows up at the Caldwell's doorstep covered in bruises, it's the Mathews family name that looks weak. Do you want Father to deal with the consequences of your stupidity?"
That hit its mark. Brennen's defining traits were his temper and his fear of our father. He muttered a curse, and his footsteps receded down the hall, Bristol's lighter steps pattering after him.
Finally, Blain's cold eyes met mine one last time. It wasn't a look of concern. It was a warning. "His study. Thirty minutes. Make yourself presentable."
Then he was gone, leaving me in the wreckage of my room.
My body protested as I pushed myself to my feet. Each breath was a sharp stab in my side. I shuffled to the small, cracked mirror above my dresser.
The girl staring back was a stranger. Her lip was split, a dark bruise already purpling on her cheekbone. But it was her eyes that held me. They were dark, hollowed out by fear, but deep inside, a new, hard light was kindling.
I thought I was alone. I was wrong.
"Adaline, are you alright? Brennen can be so... impulsive."
I didn't have to turn. I could see Bristol's reflection in the mirror, her face once again a mask of worried innocence. She had circled back.
I said nothing, just held her gaze in the glass.
For a second, she seemed unsettled by the coldness she saw there. A flicker of uncertainty crossed her features.
But she recovered quickly. She moved closer, holding out a small ceramic pot. "I brought you some healing salve. For your face. Father will be angry if he sees."
Her concern wasn't for me. It was for the trouble my appearance might cause.
My voice came out as a dry rasp. "I don't need your help."
Her hand froze mid-air. The sweet smile on her face tightened.
"Don't be a fool, Adaline," she hissed, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Do you really think you're in any position to have an attitude with me?"
She moved to stand in front of me, blocking my reflection. Her eyes were hard, glittering with malice. "You're the one being shipped off to marry that crippled monster, not me. You should be thanking me. I'm giving you the chance to be a Luna."
Every word was a carefully aimed dart, designed to inflict maximum pain. A week ago, it would have shattered me.
Now, it fueled the cold fire inside.
I felt a ghost of a smile touch my own bruised lips. It was a bitter, unfamiliar feeling.
Her face twisted in fury. "What are you smiling at? You wolfless freak! You will never be better than me!"
"I'm smiling at how naive you are," I said, my voice quiet but steady. "You think you've escaped Kaleb Caldwell and won the grand prize?"
A new vision, hazy and indistinct, flickered at the edge of my mind. Bristol, older, in a lavish room, her face bruised far worse than mine, cowering before a handsome, smiling Alpha.
The words came to me, a prophecy I didn't know I had. "You've just traded one cage for a prettier one. You'll run from the monster you know, right into the arms of a monster you don't."
The color drained from her face. My words had struck a nerve, a hidden fear she must have harbored. Then, her shock morphed into pure rage.
She raised her hand to slap me.
This time, I was ready. My hand shot out, my grip clumsy and weak, but I caught her wrist.
It wasn't my strength that stopped her. It was my eyes. The look in them. The absolute absence of fear. Instead, there was terrifying calm and cold.
"From this moment on," I said, "we are done. You and I. The bond of sisters is broken. You can walk your own path to hell."
I released her wrist, shoving her hand away.
I turned my back on her, a final act of dismissal. I walked to my small wardrobe and began pulling out the plainest, most severe dress I owned. I would face my father, but I would do it on my own terms.
Behind me, Bristol stood frozen, her face a mask of confusion and fury.
