Chapter 17
Zoe
I was a ghost haunting my own life.
It had been four days since Rory left. Four days of silence. Four days of waking up and reaching for a phone that would never buzz with his name.
I moved through the world, but I didn't touch it. I went to class. I took notes. I ate protein bars because Mia forced them into my hand. I stared at textbooks until the words swam, but I didn't retain anything.
The only place I felt real was on the ice.
But even the ice had changed. It wasn't a sanctuary anymore. It was a battlefield.
It was Wednesday. Nationals.
The arena in Minneapolis was massive. The lights were brighter than Northridge. The crowd was louder. But to me, it was just cold air and hard water.
I stood in the tunnel, waiting for my name. I was wearing the midnight blue dress. My hair was pulled back so tight it gave me a headache. My makeup was flawless—a mask painted on to hide the dark circles and the hollowness of my cheeks.
"Zoe," Sergei said, gripping my shoulders. "Listen to me."
I looked up at him. He looked nervous. Sergei never looked nervous.
"You are ready," he said. "Your practice scores are perfect. Your technique is sharp. Just… feel the music. Do not think. Just feel."
"I don't feel anything, Sergei," I said flatly.
He frowned. "Then use the numbness. Be the ice."
"Now skating," the announcer’s voice boomed through the arena, "representing Northridge University… Zoe Carmichael."
The crowd cheered. I heard my father’s friends in the VIP box. I heard Mia screaming somewhere in the upper deck.
I stepped onto the ice.
The cold hit my legs. Usually, this was the moment I felt alive. Today, I just felt cold.
I skated to center ice. I struck my opening pose. Head down. Arms crossed over my chest. The broken doll.
The music started. Swan Lake. The haunting, mournful strings filled the silence.
I moved.
It wasn't conscious. My body knew what to do. Muscle memory took over.
Push. Glide. Edge.
I floated across the ice. I didn't smile. I didn't act. I just let the music carry me.
First jump. Triple Lutz.
I launched. I rotated. I landed.
Perfect.
The crowd gasped.
Second jump. Triple Flip.
Perfect.
I went through the step sequence. My edges were deep, cutting violent scars into the ice. I skated with a fury I hadn't known I possessed. I wasn't the Dying Swan. I was the Swan fighting for its life.
Then, the big one. The Triple Axel.
I skated into the corner. I gathered speed.
In my head, I heard his voice.
“Small to be dangerous.”
I saw his face in the gym, sweating, spotting me. I felt his hands on my waist.
“I’ve got you.”
I launched.
I pulled in tighter than I ever had. I spun faster than physics should allow.
One. Two. Three. And a half.
I hit the ice.
I didn't wobble. I didn't check. I stuck the landing like a dart hitting a board.
The crowd erupted. It was a roar. A physical wave of sound.
I finished the program. A blur of spins and spirals.
When the music stopped, I was center ice, chest heaving, arms raised to the rafters.
The noise was deafening. People were standing. Flowers were raining down onto the ice.
I looked up at the VIP box.
My father was standing. He was clapping. He was smiling. He looked proud.
I looked at the stands. Strangers were cheering. Mia was crying.
I looked at the tunnel.
I expected to see him.
I expected to see Rory standing there in his hoodie, leaning against the wall, giving me that crooked, devastating smile. I expected to see his golden eyes glowing with pride.
But the tunnel was empty. Just a security guard and Sergei jumping up and down.
The emptiness hit me harder than any fall.
I bowed. I smiled the fake smile I had been taught since I was five.
I skated off the ice.
Sergei grabbed me in a hug that smelled of coffee and victory.
"Brilliant!" he shouted. "Unbelievable! That Axel! It was huge! You flew, Zoe! You flew!"
"Thanks," I whispered.
I sat in the Kiss and Cry booth. I held the stuffed bear someone had thrown. I waited for the scores.
58.9 Technical.
62.4 Presentation.
Total: 121.3.
A new personal best. A new collegiate record.
First place.
I had won.
I had done everything I was supposed to do. I had sacrificed everything. I had cut the anchor.
So why did I feel like I was sinking?
The banquet that night was a nightmare of crystal glasses and polite conversation.
I was the guest of honor. I wore a silver dress that cost more than my car. I shook hands with judges. I smiled for photos.
My father was in his element. He held court, introducing me as "The National Champion." He accepted congratulations as if he had been the one on the ice.
"She’s always had the talent," he told a sponsor, resting a hand on my shoulder. "She just needed to focus. Get rid of the… distractions."
I stiffened. I pulled away from his touch.
"Excuse me," I murmured. "I need air."
I walked out onto the balcony of the hotel ballroom.
It was freezing. Minneapolis in November was unforgiving.
I leaned against the railing, staring at the city lights.
My phone buzzed in my clutch.
I pulled it out. Messages from everyone. Mia. Teammates. Relatives I hadn't spoken to in years.
Congratulations!
You did it!
So proud!
I scrolled through them, feeling nothing.
Then, I opened my blocked contacts.
Rory Thorne.
I unblocked him.
I stared at the blinking cursor.
I wanted to type: I won. I flew. Where are you?
But I couldn't. He had left. He had chosen to leave. If I texted him, I was breaking the deal. I was putting him back in danger.
I put the phone away.
"Zoe?"
I turned.
It was Tyler.
Of course it was Tyler. He was everywhere, like a bad smell. He was wearing a suit that didn't fit right, holding a champagne flute.
"Congrats, Champ," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "Saw the routine. Impressive stuff."
"What do you want, Tyler?"
"Just came to say I was right," he smirked. "Look at you. Gold medal. Record score. The toast of the town. And where is the mutt? Gone. Forgotten."
He took a sip of champagne.
"You're better off, Z. He was dragging you down. You needed to cut the dead weight to fly."
Something inside me snapped.
It wasn't a loud snap. It was a quiet, cold fracture.
"He wasn't dead weight," I said softly.
"Please. He was a criminal. A psycho. You're lucky your dad stepped in."
"My dad didn't step in," I said, stepping closer to him. "You did. You blackmailed us."
"I did what had to be done." Tyler shrugged. "And look at the result. You won."
"I won," I repeated.
I looked at the gold medal hanging around my neck. It was heavy. Cold.
I took it off.
I held it in my hand. It felt like a shackle.
"You think this is winning?" I asked Tyler, holding up the medal.
"Uh, yeah. That’s literally the definition of winning."
"No," I said. "This is a piece of metal. Winning is… winning is having someone who looks at you like you hung the moon. Winning is having someone who would sacrifice everything just to see you smile. Winning is feeling safe in the dark."
I looked at the medal one last time.
Then I threw it.
I chucked it over the balcony railing.
Tyler gasped. "Are you insane? That’s gold!"
"I don't want it," I said. "Not if it cost me him."
I turned and walked back into the ballroom.
I walked straight to my father. He was talking to the Dean of Admissions from Harvard Law.
"Dad," I said.
He turned, smiling. "Ah, here she is. The star of the—where is your medal?"
"I lost it," I said.
"You… you lost it?" His smile faltered. "Zoe, that is not funny."
"I’m leaving, Dad."
"Leaving the party? We just started."
"No. I’m leaving Northridge."
The table went silent.
"Excuse us," my father said tightly to the Harvard Dean. He grabbed my arm and dragged me into a corner.
"What is wrong with you?" he hissed. "You just won Nationals. You have the world at your feet."
"I have your world at my feet," I corrected. "I don't want it."
"You are being hysterical. You are tired."
"I’m awake," I said. "For the first time in my life, I’m awake. You blackmailed Rory. You forced him to leave. You took the only thing that mattered to me."
"I saved you!" my father shouted, losing his composure. "I saved you from a monster!"
"He wasn't the monster, Dad," I said sadly. "You were."
My father recoiled.
"I’m dropping out," I said calmly. "I’m not going to law school. I’m not skating for you anymore."
"If you walk out that door," my father threatened, his face turning purple, "I cut you off. No money. No tuition. No car. Nothing."
"Keep it," I said. "I don't need your money. I know how to work. And I know how to fight."
"You will be nothing!" he yelled. "You will be a nobody!"
"I’d rather be a nobody with him than a somebody with you."
I turned and walked away.
I walked out of the ballroom. I walked out of the hotel.
I stood on the street in my silver dress and heels. It was ten degrees.
I didn't care.
I pulled out my phone.
I didn't call Rory. I called the one person who might know where he was.
"Jax," I said when he answered.
"Zoe?" Jax sounded surprised. "Congrats on the win. I saw the scores."
"Where is he, Jax?"
"I… I can't tell you. He made me promise."
"I threw the medal away, Jax," I said, my voice shaking. "I told my dad to go to hell. I’m standing on a street corner in Minneapolis in a cocktail dress. I have nothing left to lose. Tell me where he is."
Silence on the line.
"Please, Jax. I need him. I can't breathe without him."
Jax sighed. A heavy, resigned sound.
"He went to the cabin," Jax said. "The old one. Up near the border. Rainy Lake."
"The murder cabin?"
"Yeah. He thinks he deserves the ghosts."
"He’s wrong," I whispered. "He deserves the future."
"Zoe… the roads are bad up there. It’s a blizzard. And he… he’s not in a good place. He’s been dark for days."
"I like the dark," I said.
"Okay. I’ll text you the coordinates. Be careful, Z. Don't die."
"I won't die," I promised. "I’m going to get my wolf."
I hung up.
I hailed a cab.
"Where to?" the driver asked.
"The bus station," I said. "And then North."
Rory
The cabin was exactly as I remembered it.
Drafty. Dark. Smelling of mildew and old blood.
I hadn't turned on the generator. I liked the cold. It matched the ice in my chest.
I sat in the armchair facing the fireplace. There was no fire. Just ash.
It had been four days.
I hadn't eaten. I hadn't slept. I just sat here, listening to the wind, waiting for the madness to take me.
My phone was dead. I had let the battery drain on purpose.
I didn't want to know who won Nationals. I didn't want to know if she had flown.
If I knew she won, I might feel happy. And I didn't deserve to feel happy.
If I knew she lost… I would never forgive myself.
So I sat in the dark.
The Wolf was quiet now. Too quiet. He was weak. A wolf without a pack, without a mate, eventually just… fades.
I looked at the stain on the rug. It was old, dark brown, almost invisible against the pattern. But I knew it was there. My blood. My father’s blood.
"You won," I whispered to the ghost of Elias Thorne. "You were right. The blood always wins."
Thump.
A sound outside.
I stiffened.
A deer? A bear?
Thump. Thump.
Footsteps on the porch. Heavy. Clumsy.
I stood up. My legs were stiff. I grabbed the fireplace poker—the same weapon I had used twelve years ago.
The door handle rattled. Locked.
"Rory?"
The voice was faint. Carried by the wind.
I froze.
It was a hallucination. The madness had arrived. It was using her voice to torture me.
"Rory! Open the door! It’s freezing!"
It sounded real. It sounded angry.
I walked to the door. I unlocked it.
I pulled it open.
A blizzard swirled outside.
And standing in the center of it, looking like a snow angel who had fallen from grace, was Zoe.
She was wearing a massive parka that was clearly too big for her—probably bought at a gas station. She had snow in her eyelashes. Her lips were blue.
But her eyes were burning with violet fire.
"You are the hardest person to find in the entire hemisphere," she snapped, pushing past me into the cabin.
I stood there, holding the door open, staring at her.
She was here.
She was real.
She stomped the snow off her boots. She looked around the dark, freezing cabin. She saw the empty fireplace. She saw the poker in my hand.
She turned to me.
"You look like hell," she said.
I dropped the poker. It clattered on the floor.
"Zoe," I croaked. "What are you doing here?"
"I won," she said.
"What?"
"Nationals. I won. Gold medal. Record score."
"That’s… that’s good. That’s what we wanted."
"Is it?" She unzipped her parka. Underneath, she was wearing a silver cocktail dress that looked ridiculous in this cabin. She reached into her pocket.
She pulled out a piece of paper. The drawing. The wolf and the skater.
"I found this," she said, holding it up. "In the textbook."
I stared at the drawing.
"You said you were the anchor," she said, stepping closer. "You said you wouldn't let me float away."
"I had to cut the line," I whispered. "To save you."
"Well, I tied it back together," she said fiercely. "I quit, Rory."
"You… you what?"
"I quit. I told my dad to go to hell. I threw the medal off a balcony. I dropped out of school."
"Zoe, no. No. You can't. Your future—"
"My future is you!" she screamed.
She shoved me. Hard.
"You idiot! You noble, stupid, sacrificial idiot! Did you think I wanted a gold medal if it meant waking up without you? Did you think I wanted to be a lawyer if it meant you were alone in the dark?"
She hit my chest again.
"You don't get to decide for me! You don't get to save me from the things I want! I want the wolf, Rory! I want the cabin! I want the mess!"
She was crying now. Hysterical tears.
"I love you!" she sobbed. "And I hate you for leaving me! Don't you ever leave me again!"
I stared at her.
She had burned her life down. For me.
The ice in my chest cracked. Shattered.
I didn't say anything. I couldn't.
I grabbed her.
I pulled her into me, crushing her against my chest. I buried my face in her cold, wet hair.
"Zoe," I gasped. "Zoe. Zoe."
I held her like she was the only solid thing in the universe.
And as I held her, the Wolf woke up. He didn't howl in grief. He howled in triumph.
Mate found. Pack restored.
"I’m sorry," I wept into her hair. "I’m so sorry."
"Shut up," she cried, clinging to me. "Just hold me. Just warm me up."
"I will," I promised. "I’ll never let you be cold again."
I kicked the door shut.
We were in the dark. We were in the murder cabin. We had no money, no careers, and no plan.
But we had each other.
And for the first time in twelve years, the ghosts were silent.