Chapter 159

The chapel was colder than I remembered. The old stone walls held the night air like grief; damp, heavy, and quietly unforgiving. My boots echoed on the marble floor as I followed the Elder through the corridor, passing locked rooms and dormant altars, surrounded by air that smelled like ash, candle wax, and something ancient buried deep.

I didn’t ask questions or speak. I followed because some part of me had known for days that something like this was coming, that the weight behind every glance from Simon, Liora, and Richard had been leading me here.

The ledger was kept behind the inner gate, stored in a reinforced cabinet beneath the floorboards in the eastern chamber. It was the same room we once used for overflow relics during the post-war relief effort.

The Elder, Marion, knelt with slow, deliberate care. Her joints cracked audibly as she bent, and she took a breath like she was steadying herself for more than just the physical effort. Her hands shook as she unlocked the case. I could smell the salt of her sweat and the cortisol spike just beneath her skin. This wasn't routine; she was scared.

“This was filed under Mooncut legacy,” she said quietly. “Sealed before the last war. We didn’t realize what we had until Liora ran a match on the handwriting. It lined up with a work order from the apothecary wing. That’s how it started, with one line, a misfiled entry, and Serena’s name.”

She lifted the file and offered it to me with both hands. The envelope was thick, aged vellum, the kind that resisted folding. Its edges were softened with time, and the seal was deep red wax, almost black in this light, cracked but intact. There was no label, no title, no trace of identity on the exterior, just a crescent symbol, neatly bisected. It wasn’t a family crest or a border mark. It felt like a warning.

I broke the seal. The crack of wax split the silence. Inside, there was one letter, handwritten, brittle from age, but legible. I read the salutation, then read it again.

“To the sanctuary of Willow Valley, I submit this petition in the event of my death. My name is Serena of House Vonn, once of the Court of Avenel, now exiled. I write to declare that I have given birth to a child, conceived outside treaty law. This child is a hybrid, born of vampire and wolf, and her life must be protected. Her lineage holds the only path to sustainable peace.”

The words bled through my vision. My heart thudded hard enough to hurt. I swallowed twice before I realized I wasn’t breathing. I read the entire thing again. Then a third time. It didn’t change.

“I want it authenticated,” I said. My voice cracked but held.

Marion nodded. “Already done. Liora has the full report. She’s in the sanctum.”

I took the file and left without waiting. The path to the sanctum passed the cloister garden, now dormant for winter, and the gallery hall, where wax drippings from last month’s vigil still marked the stone like tear stains. Stained glass filtered moonlight in cool shades of blue and purple, making everything look sacred and far away. It didn’t feel like the same building I’d walked through as a child. It felt like walking through someone else's memory.

Liora stood at the end of the hall, gloves on, sleeves rolled, posture tight. She didn’t speak at first, just gestured toward the parchment under the authentication lamp.

“It’s real,” she said finally.

“You’re sure?”

“Confirmed by every test we have. Ink composition, handwriting, parchment age, and the seal. All consistent with Serena. It dates to within two weeks of her final temple records. It was left here intentionally.”

I stared at the text. I didn’t reach for it. I couldn’t.

“She wasn’t just a nurse.”

“She was a royal,” Liora said. “High-born vampire. House Vonn. She was exiled for consorting with a werewolf. Not just consorting, bonding. And not just any werewolf.”

My eyes met hers. “An Alpha.”

Liora didn’t nod, but her silence confirmed it.

“Do we know who?”

“There are three unsealed Alpha registrations from that year, but all records of their identities were erased. Council archives show forced deletions. Somebody wanted the bloodline buried.”

I turned away from the table. My arms felt numb. I folded the letter again with stiff hands and barely managed to tuck it back into its envelope before the fire alarm screamed through the stone.

We ran together through the twisting corridor. Smoke choked the eastern wing, already pouring down the stairwell. Alarm bells echoed from the walls, the frequency just high enough to needle behind my eyes. The smell hit next, sharp, metallic, and chemical. It wasn’t random or accidental. This was a targeted burn.

Two guards dragged out a clerk. He was coughing, bloodied, and soot-covered. He looked like he’d tried to stop it and had nearly died for it.

Deeper in, flames had already reached the ceiling. Paper turned to ash midair, floating and curling like burnt petals. I caught a figure in motion. He was too fast, trying to flee. A man in a black coat, eyes wild and full of desperation.

I caught him mid-sprint and slammed him against the marble hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He tried to twist and fight, but I was faster, stronger, and angrier. I dragged him down to the floor and wrenched his arm behind his back until he hissed.

That was when I saw the ring.

It was obsidian and steel with a jagged crescent carved into the center. Darius’s order. The Lower Courts.

“You’re one of his,” I said.

He spat, lips split. “We’ve been watching your kind for decades. Serena wasn’t the first. You weren’t supposed to survive.”

“Who gave the order?”

“It came from above. From before even Darius. Hybrids were a liability, too strong, too unstable, and too hard to track. They’ve always tried to breed peace, and peace ruins business.”

The guards yanked him up. He laughed as they took him, blood staining his teeth.

“You think you’re new?” he called. “We’ve buried girls like you since the first war.”

I stood alone in the smoke. It took me longer than it should have to breathe again.

They didn’t just kill her. They erased her. They’ve been doing it over and over again, sweeping hybrid children off the board before they could grow old enough to speak their name.

I returned to the pack house in silence. I didn’t stop at Richard’s suite or go near the war chamber. I climbed to the far end of the guest wing and chose a room with no history, no warmth, and no memories. I set the envelope on the dresser and didn’t touch it again. I stood at the window and watched the lights flicker across the city, waiting for the sun to rise.

He found me at dawn. The door was cracked. He didn’t knock.

“You knew,” I said, not turning. “About the letter and the ring.”

“I didn’t know about the fire,” he said. “Not until the alarm.”

“But you knew what she was. And you knew what I am.”

“I started to suspect before Mooncut. I didn’t want to tell you until we were sure, and I didn’t want you to carry the weight of it alone if it turned out to be wrong.”

“You didn’t want to lose control of the story.”

His silence confirmed it.

“I’m not leaving,” I said. “This is still my place and my people.”

His voice was rough. “I didn’t think you would.”

“But I’m not ready to forgive you.”