They Found Me
Gabrielle POV
I come back in pieces.
Sound first. A low hum. The gentle beep of machinery. Someone close. A faint clink of glass.
Footsteps somewhere beyond the room.
Then pain.
It blooms slowly, deep and insistent, dragging a breath from my chest before I’m fully awake. For one awful second, I don’t know where I am – or if I’m safe.
I gasp.
“Easy.”
The voice is calm. Female.
My eyes fly open.
"Good," she says when she sees them, "I was starting to think you'd sleep through the afternoon."
My eyes dart around the room.
I note white ceiling tiles. Too clean. The air smells sharp with antiseptic, herbs, and something metallic underneath.
I try to move. My ankle screams. My throat is dry. My head aches.
“Don’t,” she says, firmer now, though still gentle. “You’re not healed yet.”
I turn to look at her.
The crinkles round her eyes speak of years of experience. Older, but not fragile. Composed. Her dark hair is threaded with silver and tied back neatly. Her presence quiet, but unmistakable.
She's sits by the window, hands folded around a mug that's long gone cold. Something tells me not much escapes her notice.
She must have been waiting for me to wake.
“Where– Where am I?”
“The infirmary,” she says. “Evergreen.”
I shake my head, panic flaring. “No. I was– I was at camp.”
“You were,” she agrees. “You aren’t now.”
I frown. “Why am I here?”
She studies me for a moment before answering. Not my face exactly. Something behind it, deeper.
"Because," she says at last, "Things have a way of circling back when you pretend they don't exist."
I push myself up on my elbows. "That's not an answer."
A corner of her mouth lifts. Not quite a smile.
Her chair scrapes back softly. She stands, and steps into my line of sight. Her cardigan hangs open, hair pulled back loosely. Her eyes sharp and worried all at once.
She adjusts the blanket with the ease of someone who's done this many times before.
"Evergreen isn't a punishment," she says. "And it isn't coincidence you're here."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"No," she agrees gently. "You don't. And that's rather the point."
She reaches for her mug, realises it's empty and sets it aside without comment.
“You’re here because running didn’t work,” she continues. “Because pretending didn’t work. And because Evergreen has a… talent for bringing the truth to the surface. Whether you’re ready for it or not.”
Silence stretches between us.
“You can leave,” she adds. “No one’s keeping you here.”
Her eyes meet mine. Steady. Unflinching.
“But if you do,” she says, “The questions will follow you anyway. They always do.”
I swallow, my pulse thudding in my ears.
"I'm Amara by the way," She says, "Luca's aunt."
Luca.
I don't know who he is, but the name alone sends a shiver down my spine.
Her quiet smile tells me my reaction didn't go unnoticed.
"He's the alpha of the pack– "
She keeps talking, but I've tuned out at the word alpha. My pulse quickens.
Could it be him?
I'm not sure if the thought thrills me – or terrifies me.
A gentle knock at the door startles us both.
Rowan.
He looks different up close. Less distant. More real. There’s blood on his shirt – not his – and his jaw is tight like he’s been holding something back.
Memories surge, fear follows close behind.
“Connor–” I stutter.
“He’s not here.”
Relief hits so fast it makes me dizzy.
“Good,” I whisper.
“You crossed the border,” he says quietly.
I frown. “I didn’t– I was running.”
“I know.”
“How did I get here?”
“I brought you.”
Rowan’s gaze flicks to the foot of the bed. Wrapped. Bandaged. Immobilised.
“You’re healing well,” he says, then adds, quieter, “For a human.”
Not said with malice but my stomach twists.
Then, softly he continues, “You shouldn’t have been able to reach the border.”
“What does that mean?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
When he does, his voice is careful. Measured.
“It means the land responded to you.”
Cold slides down my spine.
“I didn’t do anything,” I say. “I just ran.”
His eyes don’t leave my face.
“That’s what worries me.”
The door opens again.
This time it isn’t Rowan.
The air changes. My lungs forget to work.
It's him.