I step through the threshold of my front door, a chill breezing into the house with me.

It looks almost like I remember it. The hallway still has that ugly painting of a rose hanging on the beige-painted walls, but the coat hooks are empty. The shoe rack holds nothing but a lone pair of sneakers, left behind by me when I hopped out of my bedroom window what feels like a lifetime ago.

I crouch down, plucking the shoes and shoving them into my rucksack. They're scuffed at the toes and the laces have turned an ugly shade of gray over the years, but they're useable.

A low whistle echoes out behind me and Thomas waltzes in, his boots tracking mud onto the wooden floor.

"So, you were rich, huh?" he says.

I give him a wry smile. "Bianca was rich."

"Bianca is dead," Leyla remarks, stepping in beside Thomas. "You're rich now."

She puts it so bluntly, it makes a shiver ripple down my spine.

I pause, glancing around the empty hallway. I don't feel rich, but I guess, technically, she's right.

I continue walking, my footsteps creaking on the old floorboards. I pass the living room. Most of the furniture is gone. The old TV, the suede couches, the polished coffee table. Potted plants still sit against the wall, rotten leaves scattered across the floor. Bianca left the floor lamp too. No wonder. It was my mom's.

Stepping through my old house feels like walking through a daydream.

It seems like I've lived a million lives since I was living here. Cleaning these floors. Wiping down the windows. Clearing out the gutters.

I pause at the staircase, letting my fingers tap against the stair rail before I push forward.

In my mind, a voice flickers.

"Everything okay?" Blake asks, his voice coming down our mind link.

It's faint, like he's whispering to me from across the room. Even mates have their limits when it comes to distance.

We've taken it as an opportunity to experiment. Thomas and Leyla's connection went out miles ago, and the only reason I can still hear Blake now is because he's been moving with us—just close enough to reach me, and just far enough to still reach Lunam Silvam.

"We're fine," I reply through the mind link.

I can feel his frown. "We should have waited until tomorrow."

I roll my eyes. "You've been saying that for weeks now."

It's not his fault, but winter is approaching fast, and Lunam Silvam needs him right now. He can't shirk his Alpha duties for, what? A little road trip? To see my childhood bedroom?

"Blake?" I ask when he doesn't respond.

I wait a second, searching for our bond, but it's gone again. Ah. One step too far, then.

Shrugging it off, I continue up the staircase. I pass the first bedroom. The bed is still there, but the mattress is stripped bare. I've never seen Kitty's room so empty. Usually, her clothes are strewn all over the floor.

It was my room, once upon a time. Long before my dad married Bianca. I was the one who chose the pale pink walls. If I close my eyes, I can still conjure up an image of the view from my bedroom window.

I don't even pause, continuing down the hall as if in a trance.

The next bedroom is still full. Bursting of life. My heart thuds heavy in my chest.

Megan's things are still all over the place. Her old guitar. Her sparkling heels. Her pajamas wait on her bed for her to come home.

She never will.

The full moon must have been too soon. She never had a chance to move her things out. To start her new life in Richard's pack.

Behind me, Thomas' phone rings twice. He answers it with a curt "Hello", before calling out to me.

"It's for you!" he shouts, following me up the stairs. He pauses, following my line of sight. "Which room was yours?"

I purse my lips, glancing towards the peeling door at the end of the hall.

"That one."

"Oh."

I turn towards Thomas, holding my hand out for him to place his phone in it. I don't even have to guess who it is.

"I'm perfectly safe, Blake," I say into the phone.

"I don't like not being able to hear your voice," he replies.

"Bianca's dead," I tell him, the words I've repeated to myself over and over these past couple of months.

"I know," Blake says.

We both pause. The silence sits between us for a moment. We both know Bianca is dead, but there's the threat we refuse to discuss. Refuse to acknowledge.

Bianca's dead, but Richard is still out there, somewhere.

We haven't spoken about it. It's like we're denying the truth. Hoping for the best.

Besides, he hasn't done anything since we took Bianca down, and two full moons have already passed.

"Just come home quickly," Blake adds. "Please?"

I ignore him, continuing down the hallway.

"How are the meetings?" I ask as I walk.

I pass the bathroom that I only used when Bianca wasn't home, and then I reach their bedroom.

Bianca and my dad's.

The door is ajar and I nudge it with my foot to push it wide open.

Inside, the bed is stripped. Most of the furniture is still there. I step inside, glancing around.

For some reason, I feel on edge here. Goosebumps stand on my skin. It's like I'm being watched.

"Neverending," Blake replies. "I need to meet with Kira in a few minutes."

Kira's the old lady who looks after all of the food supply in Lunam Silvam. It's the meeting that Blake is most dreading, because we all know that food is running short. We don't have anywhere near enough supplies to last us the winter.

"That will be a fun conversation," I say.

I love Kira, but she's the type of woman who doesn't sugarcoat anything, even to her Alpha.

"Looking forward to it," Blake says. "Where are you now?"

"My dad's room," I say, stepping further into the room.

The wardrobe is gone, but the old dresser is still there. Probably too scuffed to Bianca to take or sell.

I pull open the top drawer. Empty.

The second drawer is empty too, but the bottom drawer is filled with scattered objects.

"Just be careful, okay?" Blake says.

"Stop worrying," I reply. "Don't you have a meeting to get to?"

"How am I supposed to go to a meeting when my mate is out in the open, vulnerable to any and all threats?"

"I thought you had this house checked."

"Still," Blake grumbles.

He was paranoid of hidden traps and sent Ethan, his second-in-command, to sweep the place. It all came back clear.

I start rifling through the drawer. Some of it is junk. I find one of Bianca's old phones from when touchscreens were a brand new concept. Lots of loose pens. Tangled earphones.

But then I find hidden treasures.

My dad's old wallet is the first. I recognize the cracked leather instantly and pull it open. His money is all gone, and his cards are all expired, but there are photos in there. Wallet-sized pictures of our family. Of my mother. Of me, as a child.

I close it, pocket it, and continue to sort through the objects.

Amongst all the junk, I fish out my dad's old watch—a cheap one from the local thrift shop, long before my dad made his fortune. I find a rusty ring that once belonged to my mom. A small, leatherbound notepad with blank pages.

"Clover, can I take this?"

I glance over my shoulder to find Thomas in the doorway, holding a thermos that he must have dug out from the kitchen.

Sighing, I shove all of my treasures into my rucksack and turn to him.

I know that they're not exactly useful finds, but I want them nonetheless.

"Is Tom stealing your things?" Blake asks through the phone.

"Is that even a question?" I mutter back. I reach Thomas and place my free hand on my hip. "What are you ever going to use that for?"

"Soup," he says, like it's obvious.

I roll my eyes. "Take it."

He grins widely, shoving the thermos into his backpack.

I hope none of my neighbors know we're here. We probably look like a gang of looters, with our empty backpacks and dark clothes.

"Tell him to stop stealing and start protecting," Blake says.

"I'm not going to say that."

"I heard him anyway," Thomas says. "If he's so concerned, maybe he should be here himself."

"Thomas!" I scold, holding the phone away from my mouth. "Don't make him feel guilty."

Tom just shrugs, turning around and running off to go loot some other room of the house, probably.

"Forget it," Blake says, clearly having heard everything Thomas said. "I have to go meet Kira before she brings out the wooden spoon."

I snort. "Send her my love."

"Yeah, yeah." Blake pauses. I can sense his hesitancy, even if our bond is too distant to connect us to each other. "Just, promise me you'll stay safe, okay? Be on your guard."

I almost roll my eyes again, but I know he can't help it. I can't either. Being this far from my soul bound mate... It's like an itch under my skin that just gets worse and worse with every passing minute.

I feel the urge to turn around, shift, and sprint all the way back to Lunam Silvam.

But I need to do this first.

"I promise," I say before quietly adding. "I love you."

"Love you more," Blake says. There's a pause. A hesitation. And then he hangs up.

I take a moment, staring at the blank phone screen. Right now, the urge is almost unbearable. I need to see Blake, make sure he's safe.

But then I count to five and stamp the feeling down.

I need this moment. I need this closure.

I step out of the room to find both Leyla and Thomas smirking at me.

"I love you," Leyla teases, making kissing faces.

"Promise you'll stay safe," Thomas joins in, giggling like a schoolgirl.

I brush past them, slapping Tom's phone into his hand and striding towards the last door—to my room.

"You're just jealous you haven't got a mate," I sing over my shoulder.

It's a sore spot for them. I know, secretly, that they were hoping to find their mate after officially joining the pack. Two months on, and they still haven't had that fateful moment.

"Damn, she really got us," Thomas whispers, clearly intending for me to hear.

The longer I spend amongst wolves, the more I start to catch onto their little nuances. Whispering, for example, is pointless with werewolf hearing, and a mind link.

Leyla elbows him and he grunts in pain.

I ignore them, pushing open my old bedroom door.

It's dark and cold up in here, the way I always remembered it. I think the original builders intended for this to be a storage room, but when Bianca took over our lives, suddenly it became my room.

At least Bianca left it untouched.

I start with my closet, pulling the doors open and shoving clothes into my rucksack. Once I grew out of the clothes my dad bought for me, it was mostly hand-me-downs from there. Whatever Kitty grew sick of or ripped, suddenly became my new wardrobe.

I became very good at stitching up holes.

At the bottom of my closet, I open my keepsakes box, releasing a tight breath when I see that, thankfully, Bianca hasn't touched this either.

Not that she'd care about any of the contents. It's all photographs. Family photos. My parents' wedding. My first day of kindergarten. My mom's funeral.

I slam the album shut and tuck it safely into my bag.

I don't have much else in my room, but I traipse over to my bed anyway. One last look at the springy old mattress I slept in for so many years of my life.

Except—

I pause, freezing in my spot beside the bed.

Someone's made the sheets, but that's not what surprises me.

There, lying on my pillow is a single sprig of a purple flower.

A message.

It's wolfsbane.