Chapter 161

ELENA

“Close your eyes.”

I turned toward Jacob, narrowing my eyes as the elevator hummed softly beneath our feet. We were somewhere past the tenth floor already, and he was grinning like a child with a secret.

“What?”

He tilted his head toward me, the gleam in his eyes unmistakable. “What I’m about to show you—it’s a surprise. And I want you to be surprised.”

I raised a brow. “You honestly want me to close my eyes? In an elevator?”

“More than that,” he said, the smile deepening. “I want you to cover your eyes.”

I blinked. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Dead serious.” He lifted one hand as if making an oath, placing the other over his heart like he was pledging allegiance to some ridiculous charm school. “On the Moon Goddess.”

“You,” I said dryly, “are the Moon Goddess’s worst-kept secret.”

He chuckled, unbothered. “She has good taste.”

“Debatable.”

Still, the corners of my mouth betrayed me. I felt the tug of a smile starting before I could stop it. The elevator continued its climb, smooth and silent, as Jacob stood beside me with that maddening twinkle in his eyes.

With a reluctant sigh, I lifted my hands and covered my eyes. “If you push me into a wall, I swear I’ll throw you off the roof.”

“No walls,” he said lightly. “No tricks. Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Scout.”

“I was too charming to be one,” he said. “They were intimidated.”

That earned him a snort from me.

The elevator slowed, the faint jolt of the brakes signaling our stop. A moment later, the doors slid open with a quiet chime, and a rush of cooler air whispered into the space between us. I felt Jacob shift closer, one hand brushing my shoulder as he reached past me to hold the doors.

Then I felt it: the gentle pressure of his palm, warm and steady, guiding me forward.

His voice came low, near my ear. “Okay. Now… open.”

I dropped my hands.

And the breath whooshed right out of me.

We were high—at least fifteen stories up, maybe more. The city sprawled below us, but what caught my eye wasn’t the skyline.

It was the sea of green stretching beyond the river. A lush forest—untouched, wild. It rolled out like a velvet carpet just beyond the edge of civilization. And between us and the trees, the river sparkled in the sunlight, winding like silver thread beneath a wide, arched bridge.

I stepped closer to the window, drawn by it like it had gravity.

“Jacob…” I breathed, the word barely leaving my lips.

“We’re on the packlands,” he said. “Just outside of the rogueland border,” he went on, coming up beside me. His tone was quieter now, more grounded, as if even he felt the weight of what lay outside.

“This area’s not considered the best part of town. Too close to the border. Too many wolves still afraid of what it means to look across that river and see what they’ve ignored. But that’s exactly why I chose it.”

I let my gaze travel across the wide expanse of land that unfolded past the bridge. The forest on the other side was wild and shadowed, tangled in history and pain. But from here, at this distance, it looked… peaceful. Like something untouched. Like something that could be reclaimed.

I turned slowly to take in the building around us. The space was raw—unfinished in a way that was more potential than flaw. Brick walls stood tall in hues of rust and deep clay, bearing the scuffs and soot of time, but still solid. The concrete floor beneath our feet had hairline cracks and stains from a life long before us, but it felt sturdy. Trustworthy.

Above, exposed beams crisscrossed the ceiling, adding a rhythm to the vast openness of the room. Pipes ran along the top, and soft shafts of dust danced in the light that streamed through the huge, south-facing windows.

It wasn’t beautiful.

Not yet.

But it could be.

“You bought this?” I asked, still trying to wrap my head around the scope of what I was seeing.

He nodded, hands in his pockets, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell. “Not just this building. The whole block.”

He gestured toward the outside.

“My plan was to gentrify it—convert the upper floors into loft apartments, bring in restaurants, gyms, maybe a few local boutiques. Draw some traffic back to this side of the river. It was a slow bleed for years—people moving away, businesses closing shop—but it’s still got a heartbeat. It just needs a little investment.”

I turned toward him fully, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “And… why am I here?”

He looked around the room again, his eyes scanning the walls like he could already see them painted, furnished, filled with purpose and people.

“Because,” he said, a touch of reverence in his voice, “this could be your office. Our office.”

My heart hiccupped in my chest.

The words caught me off guard—not just the offer, but the way he said our. Like it wasn’t just about partnership. Like it was something more.

Jacob walked forward, the sun pouring across his shoulders and the faint scuff of his shoes echoing slightly in the space. There was energy in his movement, excitement he wasn’t trying to hide.

“It’s got fifteen floors,” he said, turning back to face me, hands wide like he was framing the space. “Needs work—sure—but the bones are good. The foundation is solid. And with the right vision, this whole place could be extraordinary.”

He gestured toward the far end of the room and started walking, clearly expecting me to follow.

“Your office would go here,” he said, pointing to the corner with the best angle on the river.

“Full windows, sunlight all day. Then here,” he turned and walked a few paces, “we could put your staff—your admin team, support leads, maybe a small conference room. Over here,” he spun, still pointing, “we’ll do a common space for breaks, coffee, whatever you want.”

He kept going, describing walls and layouts and furniture, his voice painting in blueprints and vision. And I… I could actually see it. I could imagine walking through the door with a cup of coffee and a to-do list. I could imagine Aiden coloring in the corner on a snow day while I sat with a counselor about a case. I could see light. Warmth. Hope.

“This is beautiful,” I said quietly. “But… why here? Why not further into town? Something safer? Closer to the Moonstone district? My father would have a heart attack if he knew I was coming to work in this neighborhood. When you told me to meet you here, I half expected to be mugged in the parking lot. Despite the barbed wire fence.”

Jacob chuckled. “Because it has to be here. This whole building,” he said, turning slowly, arms outstretched, “is right across from the roguelands. Do you see it?”

I looked again at the trees. So close. A single bridge between us.

“They could cross at the checkpoint,” Jacob said, “and come straight here. No red tape. No long commutes. No barriers between the people we’re trying to help and the help we’re offering.”

I stared at him.

“And it’s not just this floor,” he continued. “I’ve already talked to a few architects. First floor could be a clinic. Second floor, a community center—safe space, resources, even transitional housing referrals.”

He was on a roll now.

“Third floor, mental health counseling. Fourth floor, Full Moon Security Rooms for any rogue struggling with shifts or impulse control. We can install reinforced doors, soundproofing, medical monitoring—whatever you want.”

I blinked, my chest tightening. “Jacob—”

“The rest of the floors can be flexible,” he said, excitement rushing through his words. “Independent living for aging rogues who want stability. Short-term shelter space. Offices for support staff. Training programs. Whatever we need. Whatever you dream up.”

He paused.

And I just stared.

It hit me all at once—the scope of it. The intentionality. The thought. The care.

I didn’t mean to do it.

But I stepped forward and threw my arms around him.

His body stiffened for half a second, surprised, and then his arms wrapped around me in return, strong and steady. I was crying—just a little—but it caught me off guard. I hadn’t expected to feel this much. To feel… seen.

“Jacob,” I whispered, pulling back just enough to look at him. His face was close—so close. His eyes weren’t teasing or smug or flirtatious in that moment. They were soft. Genuine.

“Thank you.”

He smiled. “You don’t need to thank me.”

“I do,” I said. “I really do. You didn’t just show up with a building. You… you saw the whole thing. You believed in it.”

“I believed in you,” he said simply.

And I believed him.

Which scared me more than anything else.