Chapter 164
ELENA
I had really looked forward to tonight.
I’d picked out my dress earlier in the week—something soft, not too formal. Light blue, with flutter sleeves and a cinched waist. I even dabbed on perfume, something floral and subtle—nothing I would’ve dared wear back when I was a rogue, when every scent had to be masked, not noticed.
It felt good to have something to celebrate, something personal. Something that wasn’t a crisis or a press event or another late-night strategy meeting. And after everything with the Foundation finally coming together, after weeks of feeling like I was drowning in logistics and scrutiny, this felt… different. A break. A breath.
I’d also let go of some of my resentment.
Not all of it—but enough.
Derek had said things that cut deeply when I was with Silverclaw. About rogues. About what they were and what they weren’t. But I understood where it came from now.
He was raised in a pack that taught him rogues were monsters, and he’d been attacked by them when he was still a boy. He hadn’t lived among them the way I had. Hadn’t seen what I saw.
But maybe now… maybe with the work I was doing, he’d begin to understand.
Maybe I could help shift the story. Help people see that most rogues weren’t feral or violent. They were just wolves—like the rest of us—trying to survive in a world that had cast them out.
And Derek… I knew his heart, even if his words sometimes failed him.
Tonight, I wanted to believe we could find each other again. Not the version of us from before—too much had happened for that—but something new. Something real.
Something worth trying for.
Derek met me just outside the Moonstone gates, freshly shaved and dressed in a dark shirt that brought out the storm-gray of his eyes. He looked handsome, even nervous. His eyes lit up when he saw me, and when he reached for my hand, I let him take it.
I wanted to be here.
I wanted this to work.
Dinner was at a little candlelit place on the edge of town. A stone patio. Twinkling lights. Quiet enough for conversation, but busy enough not to feel exposed.
It was nice.
For the first twenty minutes.
We ordered wine. Talked about Aiden. He told me about his mother’s garden finally blooming, and I told him about the latest city council delay with the Foundation permits. It was easy, surface-level conversation. I laughed a few times. He smiled more than he had in weeks.
And for a while, I thought: Maybe we’re okay.
But then the waiter brought out our food, and Derek asked, “So. Are you and Jacob celebrating your building launch next week?”
His tone was casual. Too casual.
I set my fork down. “I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“Seems like the kind of thing he’d plan.”
I studied him across the table. “You’ve got something to say, Derek. Just say it.”
He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I just didn’t realize you two were spending that much time together.”
“It’s a joint project. Of course we’re spending time together.”
“You said his position with the foundation would just be advisory.”
“No, you assumed that. I never said that.”
He looked away, jaw tight.
I let the silence stretch, swallowing the hurt that flared in my chest. “You know,” I said softly, “I was excited about tonight.”
His eyes came back to mine.
“I wanted this. A night with you. No pack drama. No press. No politics. Just us. But if you’re going to sit across from me all night feeling threatened by a man I work with, then maybe we’re not as okay as I thought.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
He shook his head slowly, expression unreadable. “I’m trying, Elena.”
I nodded. “So am I.”
But the rest of dinner dragged like an anchor. Our conversation never quite recovered. I couldn’t decide if I was more frustrated with him or with myself—for hoping things might go back to the way they were before everything changed.
When he walked me back to my car, he kissed my cheek. Not my lips. And I didn’t stop him.
I drove home in silence, the ache between my ribs growing tighter with every mile.
Two days later, I sat in the familiar softness of Dr. Voss’s office, eyes closed and fingers curled around a warm cup of chamomile tea.
He sat across from me, quiet but alert. Waiting.
And I let it all out. Told him about Logan and Dr. Emmerich had been doing to me. That they’d been keeping my memories from me.
When I finished, Dr. Voss was silent for a long time.
Then he sat forward, hands clasped loosely between his knees. “I’m horrified,” he said plainly. “No healer—no matter how specialized—has the right to manipulate a mind that way. To block memories? That’s a violation of the most sacred trust.”
I nodded, blinking hard. “I thought I was crazy. For a long time.”
“You weren’t.”
We sat in silence for a while longer. I sipped my tea and tried to breathe.
“I want to help,” he said finally. “Truly. And now that I know someone’s been suppressing your memories, I believe we can go further. Faster. We’ll use the old ways and the new—together.”
I looked up at him. “What does that mean?”
He smiled gently. “It means memory is more than just chemistry. It’s spirit. Rhythm. The body remembers what the mind forgets.”
That afternoon, I lay back on the soft couch with the scent of wild rosemary and moonflower in the air. A warm compress across my forehead. His voice in the background, guiding me softly through breathwork, anchoring me in images from childhood.
And suddenly, the floodgates opened.
Laughter. Mason’s voice shouting as we tore through the woods behind the estate, our feet pounding over roots and dry leaves.
The warm glow of a campfire, Dawn beside me, our knees pulled to our chests as we passed stories back and forth beneath the stars.
My mother braiding my hair on the porch while we listened to wolves singing in the distance. My father bringing me a slice of apple tart when I had a fever.
Snowball fights. Moonlit runs. Midnight snacks. Laughter over ruined s’mores. Training sessions in the old arena with my cousin Nora barking corrections. My uncle teasing me about being too fast for my own good.
They came faster now. Full memories—sights, smells, feelings—crashing through my chest like waves. I gasped and clutched the blanket tighter.
When I finally sat up, my cheeks were damp with tears.
Dr. Voss handed me a cloth and waited until I’d caught my breath.
“I remember so much more,” I whispered. “I forgot how much I had.”
“You’re reconnecting,” he said, voice steady. “You’re healing.”
I stood slowly, legs shaky beneath me. He walked me to the door and paused there, fingers briefly brushing mine as I reached for the handle.
“There’s more,” he said, his tone shifting. Lower. Calmer. “Memories you haven’t touched yet.”
I looked up at him.
His expression was serious now—intense.
“You need to see them, Elena. All of them. They’re waiting.”
He didn’t say more. Just held my gaze.
I nodded, throat thick.
“I will.”
As I stepped out into the afternoon sun, I wondered what truths still lingered in the corners of my mind. What else had been buried?
And who might not want me to remember.
