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Time seemed to stop. The world went still around me. I could hear nothing but the thunderous beat of my heart.

No. Oh gods, no. It couldn’t be true.

A broken sob tore from my lips, and I covered my mouth with trembling hands. My voice cracked as a strangled sound burst from me. Hot tears streamed down my face, and I shook my head.

The Wolven Mage who had endured Elvira’s experiments for two decades—the one I’d watched rupture before my very eyes⁠—

He couldn’t be…

It’s not true. It’s not true.

My chest cleaved in two, my insides twisting so violently I thought I would be sick again.

Darkness clouded my sight, and for a moment, I was transported to that midnight forest, the vision I hadn’t seen in days now. My hands were covered in blood. Howls echoed through the woods. From between the trees, I caught sight of a white wolf, its gleaming gold eyes beckoning me closer.

Not just any white wolf.

My father.

Thirty-One

THE WITCH

Iwas curled up on the floor, knees drawn up to my chest when a knock sounded at the door. My tear-stained face was pressed to the massive glass window as I stared emptily at the moon hanging in the sky.

“Cerise?” Alaric called through the door when I didn’t answer.

I wordlessly pressed my hand to the floor and withdrew my magic. Instantly, the warmth in the room dissipated as the wards deactivated.

The door swung open, and I felt Alaric enter the room, his presence causing something otherworldly to hum within me. As if I was tuned in to his every movement.

Mine, my soul seemed to say. Mine.

I didn’t move or speak, but I sensed him enter the room, his powerful frame taking up the space behind me.

“Cerise?” His voice was more urgent now, and I realized what he must think, with me lying on the floor like this.

“I’m not hurt,” I croaked, my voice worn from so much crying. Storms, how the hell could I tell him what I’d discovered? I’d transcribed everything that was illegible in the journals, so he could easily read them and see for himself.

But no. I needed him to understand the most important thing, right now.

Slowly, I lifted my head to fix my gaze on him. My eyes were puffy, and I knew I looked a mess. Alaric watched me, his arms rigid at his sides, expression taut with concern. He had changed out of his ceremonial attire and now wore a simple button-up shirt and loose trousers. But every muscle in his body was poised for action, as if he were prepared to do battle.

After clearing my throat, I said, “The Rogue—the white wolf—” My throat closed up, and fresh tears spilled from my eyes.

Alaric put a hand on my shoulder, and the gentle touch gave me the strength to utter the words. I met his gaze and whispered, “He was my father.”

Alaric’s eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. His arms went slack, and he glanced at the stack of journals, then back at me. “Are—are you certain?”

“He killed my mother,” I said in a hollow voice. “He was a Rogue, so it was likely an accident. As punishment, Elvira trapped and imprisoned him.”

I probably should have despised my father for killing my mother, but I couldn’t bring myself to. All I’d felt when I’d seen him rupture was sorrow and grief.

He had endured so much suffering at the hands of Elvira—for more than two decades. It was certainly punishment enough.

The Rogue—Silas—hadn’t been able to control himself. But Elvira had. All those years of raising me, and she hadn’t said a word. He’d been alive this whole time. I could have seen him. Met him. Understood him.

But she’d taken that from me. Just like she’d taken everything.