The way the silence broke for a scream to slithe through led to the kind of noise a mother makes when the world collapses on her child. Lynn's grief didn't stay internal for long.
She jumped at me. Her manicured nails dug into the expensive silk of my sleeves, the fabric ripping with a sound that felt like a scream.
"Why?" Lynn shrieked, her face inches from mine, her spit hitting my cheek. "Why did you kill him? Why did you kill my son?"
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't even blink. Say something! Pia was howling in the back of my mind, scratching at the walls of my consciousness. Tell her we just got here! Tell her we don't even know how to open half the doors in this place!
But my tongue was a heavy, useless piece of lead. My eyes were locked on the blonde hair of the boy on the rug, and suddenly, the marble floors of the palace dissolved into the cold, wet asphalt of an Outer District road.
<16 Years Ago>
"Mama? Papa?"
The lights of the ambulance were too bright, pulsing like a heartbeat against the grey fog. I was three, my hands small and sticky with something red I didn't understand. A man in a uniform was holding me back, his grip tight around my waist.
"Let me go! They're sleeping!" I cried, kicking my small legs.
I saw the black bags. I saw the way the paramedics moved—no rush, no sirens needed. Even for wolves, there are accidents so violent, so final, that the healing factor just gives up. My father's scent of pine and my mother's sweetness were fading. The smell running my small brain wild was the smell of gasoline and rain.
"They're gone, kid," the man muttered, not unkindly, but the words were a death sentence. I watched the doors of the van click shut, and the last of my world was driven away into the dark.
___
A sharp crack snapped my head to the side.
Lynn had slapped me, her palm leaving a stinging heat on my cheek. "Answer me!" she screamed.
Sloane joined her, her hands curled into fists, hitting my shoulders, my chest, anywhere she could reach.
"You're a monster!" Sloane sobbed between strikes. "You came here to destroy us, didn't you? You're going to rot in a cell for what you did to Jake!"
I didn't fight back. I couldn't. I was in a trance. I was a hollow shell of a girl caught in a loop of history repeating itself. I just stood there, letting them beat me to a pulp, my mind whispering sorry over and over again to the ghosts of my parents.
The maids huddled in the doorway, whispering.
"She has the bloodlust in her eyes," one muttered. "I knew she wasn't a noble," another hissed.
—--
The next hour was a vivid nightmare. We were outside now, the cold air biting at my bruised skin. The ambulance doors were open—those same damn doors—and I watched as the black bags were loaded in.
Lynn and Sloane were draped over each other, wailing, as Pack Enforcers in dark uniforms took notes.
One Enforcer approached me with cold and suspicious eyes.
"Name?" he barked.
"I... I..." I looked at the ambulance. My vision tunneled. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…" I chanted continuously eyes fixed on my palms, expecting the bloodied vision from sixteen years ago.
"Sorry for what, you bitch?"
I jumped at the tone, recoiling as another fit of sobs was about to cramp my throat when a roar of reckless driving hit the air. Uncle Davis's car screeched to a halt, and he didn't even wait for it to stop before jumping out. He ran toward the bodies, but the Enforcers held him back. When his eyes landed on me, they turned into pits of hellfire.
He broke free, charging at me. Before I could even raise a hand, he knocked me to the ground. His boot caught me in the ribs, and I curled into a ball on the gravel.
"Why? What did Cora ever do to you? She was a future Luna! She was just a girl!" He screamed but the agony overtaking him cracked his voice.
"Sorry," I sobbed into the dirt, writhing in pain that I couldn't register. "I'm sorry."
"Stop questioning her!" Davis yelled at the Enforcers, his face purple with rage. "She's admitting it! Take her away! Throw her in the pits before I tear her throat out myself!"
The Enforcers didn't hesitate. They hauled me up by my arms, the zip-ties cutting into my wrists.
___
The Pack Station wasn't a place for justice; it was a cage for the unwanted.
As they dragged me through the booking area, the officers didn't even pretend to be professional.
"Look at this one," a burly man with a scarred lip taunted, leaning over his desk. "Killed the Prince's brother and the Davis heir. You're done for, sweetheart. The executioner is going to have a field day with those pretty neck-veins."
"At least she'll be useful for something before she swings," another whispered, his eyes traveling over the ripped silk of my dress with a disgusting, hungry greed. "We'll make sure you never have the strength to lift a finger against anyone again."
The reality of the damp, stone walls and the leering faces finally broke through the trance clouding my sense of reasoning. The fog lifted, and the raw instinct of the Outer District roared back to life.
"I didn't do it!" I screamed, struggling against the guards as they reached a heavy, rusted iron door. "I just found them! I swear on the Goddess, I didn't touch them!"
"Save it for the judge," the guard grunted. He opened the door and threw me inside.
The heavy thud of the iron door didn't just signal my imprisonment; it sounded like the lid of a coffin closing. I sat in the corner of the small, damp cell, the filth of the floor seeping into the expensive silk Rose had given me just hours ago.
"He'll come. Kaeren isn't like them. He'll believe us. He knows we don't have it in us to kill those people. He'll come for us, Wave." Pia soothed—or hoped even though our hearts were thudding so hard, they could burst out of our chests.
"Will he?" I thought bitterly, hugging my knees to my chest. "He's a Prince, Pia. His brother and cousin are dead. His family is screaming for my head on a pike. In their world, I'm just a convenient ending to a messy story."