Chapter 106

ELENA

The soft hum of Dr. Voss’s voice was like a current running under my skin—steady, focused, grounding. I let myself sink into it, the earthy scent of burning herbs drifting from the brass bowl on the table beside me. My hands were clenched in my lap, but my breathing had evened out, and my mind was open.

This wasn’t like the other sessions.

With Dr. Emmerich, I always felt like I was being pulled—dug into, as if someone was poking around my memories with a scalpel. But this…this was like following breadcrumbs left by my own heart. Dr. Voss spoke of memory as something sacred, something living and breathing.

Something that wanted to come back, if only I would stop trying to wrestle it into submission.

“I want you to picture the scent of the woods,” he said gently. “The moment just after the rain.”

And I did.

My hands relaxed in my lap as the scent filled my imagination—wet pine needles, rich soil, the faint tang of ozone. And suddenly, I was there.

Sixteen, barefoot, hair clinging to my neck, and soaked to the bone as I raced through the trees behind the Moonstone estate. Mason was ahead of me, laughing as he splashed through puddles, his voice echoing through the trees.

“Come on, slowpoke!”

“I’m not slow,” I shouted back, breathless and grinning.

He let me catch up—he always did—and we collapsed beneath the old cedar, the one with roots like crooked fingers. I flopped onto the damp earth beside him, both of us gasping, blinking up at the gray sky breaking open above the canopy.

“I don’t ever want to leave this place,” I whispered.

Mason turned his head toward me, a rare softness in his expression. “Then don’t.”

That was the moment. A simple, quiet promise sealed between siblings. The kind of moment that only made sense in the hush between raindrops and memory.

I gasped, eyes flying open. My heart stuttered, and tears welled up before I could stop them. I clutched the edge of the table, trembling.

Dr. Voss simply nodded. “That one was ready to come back.”

By the time I left his office, the sky was a rich indigo and I felt…whole. Not complete, not yet—I had so many memories left to recover—but elated. The kind of elation that made my skin buzz and my legs feel like dancing.

The memories were coming back. And with them, I was starting to remember who I’d been. Who I still was.

I practically floated into the house, still lost in the memory of raindrops on my cheek, of my own laughter echoing through the trees. I didn’t even notice Logan in the sitting room until he cleared his throat.

I paused, startled. “Hey.”

He was leaning against the back of a leather chair, arms folded, face unreadable. “You had a good memory session?”

“I had a great memory session,” I said, practically beaming.

His brows lifted slowly. “Really.”

“Yes, why?”

He tilted his head. “I spoke to Dr. Emmerich earlier. He said you didn’t have an appointment today.”

The air in the room seemed to shift.

I blinked. “That’s because I didn’t see Dr. Emmerich. I had a session with Dr. Voss.”

Logan straightened. “Who’s Dr. Voss?”

“He’s a world-renowned memory specialist,” I said. “He uses the old ways. Derek set it up.”

Something in Logan’s expression faltered. Just for a second. “Derek set it up,” he repeated.

I frowned. “Why do you sound like that?”

“No reason.” But his voice was tight, and he didn’t say anything else. Just nodded slowly, then walked past me toward the stairs.

I stood in the quiet, confused and a little hollowed out. Was he…checking up on me? Or was this just Logan being overprotective?

He and Dr. Emmerich were friends. That was probably it.

Still, it felt like the warmth I’d carried home from the session was leaking out through my skin.

---

The warmth returned that evening, though, when Mason arrived with Erin on his arm.

She looked beautiful. Nervous, but beautiful—her shoulders square, her chin high. She wore a deep green dress that set off her blonde hair and made her eyes glow in the soft candlelight. Mason looked like he was bracing for battle, but she…she looked like a queen.

My parents had pulled out all the stops. White-gloved servers, silver candelabras, a string quartet in the corner playing soft music. It was the kind of dinner that only happened when my mother was trying to impress—or intimidate.

I spotted the way Erin's eyes flicked over the crystal glasses, the way she checked her posture and brushed a wrinkle from her dress as they stepped in. I crossed the room quickly.

“Hey,” I said, touching her arm. “You look incredible.”

Erin smiled, just a little. “Thanks. I feel like I’m walking into an ambush.”

“You’re not,” I promised. “You’re walking into a test. But it’s one I know you’re going to pass.”

She looked at me then, really looked, and I saw the gratitude in her eyes. “Thank you. For everything.”

I squeezed her hand.

Cocktail hour passed with strained pleasantries. My father offered Mason a scotch and asked about land boundaries near the southern ridge, but his eyes kept flicking to Erin. My mother asked polite questions about how Erin and Mason met, and Erin answered graciously—though I could see how tightly she held her wineglass.

Dinner was announced, and we took our seats at the long table.

The first course was served in silence. The second began with questions.

“So,” my mother said, smiling tightly, “Erin. What is it that you do?”

Erin set down her soup spoon. “At the moment, I’m between roles.”

“Ah,” my mother replied.

“And your pack?” my father asked.

Erin hesitated. “I’m currently unattached.”

Silence. The kind that crackles with unspoken judgment.

“I see,” my mother finally said. “Well, I must say, your manners are quite refined for someone without formal pack structure.”

Mason’s fork clattered onto his plate.

“Mother—”

But Erin touched his arm and smiled, graceful. “Thank you. I take that as a compliment.”

I could see Mason vibrating with barely contained frustration.

I decided to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Erin, tell me about your childhood. I know you said you were raised in a structured household.”

Her eyes met mine—grateful, again. “Yes. I was raised the daughter of an Alpha. A small pack, but well-respected. I had Luna training from a very young age.”

My father sat up straighter. “Which pack?”

Erin dabbed her mouth with her napkin, her voice calm and even. “Briarwood.”

The entire room stilled.

My mother’s hand flew to the pearls at her neck. My father went white.

“Briarwood?” he echoed.

I looked between them. “What? What’s wrong?”

Mason leaned forward. “Briarwood was attacked about fifteen years ago. Another pack tried to seize their territory—valuable land, far from the main Alliance borders. It happened during a leadership upheaval in the Council, and no one honored the treaties. No one came to help them.”

I sat back slowly. “Another memory hole.”

My mother looked at me, eyes softening. “You were young when it happened. And…it was considered one of the greatest failures of our generation. A well-respected, peaceful pack left to burn while the Council squabbled over elections.”

My father’s voice was low. “The attacking pack sold Briarwood land to human developers. That land’s gone now. Paved over. There’s no way to get it back.”

There was a silence so deep it felt reverent.

Then my mother reached across the table and took Erin’s hand in hers.

“It was a shameful thing,” she whispered. “What happened to Briarwood. You are welcome here, Erin. You have our blessing to be with our son.”

Erin’s breath caught. Her eyes shimmered.

Mason looked like he might cry.

I turned away so I wouldn’t start crying too.

That night, after everyone had gone to bed, I stood in the moonlit hallway outside my bedroom, staring out at the trees. The weight of the evening pressed against my chest.

I thought about Briarwood. About the way memory can vanish, and with it, our sense of justice. How easy it was to forget stories like Erin’s. Until someone made you remember.

And now I would.

Not just for her. But for me.

I would remember all of it. Every piece.

Because I was done living in the dark.