Sophia POV
The blank pages stare at me like they're judging.
I'm sitting on the floor of my room with my legs crossed, surrounded by paper I've stolen from my father's study. A pencil is gripped so tight in my hand that my fingers are turning white. I've been trying to write for the last hour and nothing is coming out right.
How do you document a murder you haven't stopped yet?
My stomach twists. I swallow hard and force the pencil to move across the paper.
Day One. Fifth day of the month. The poisoning happens in exactly four months, seventeen days.
I write the date in the corner even though I know I'll remember it forever. Some things get burned into your memory so deep that you can't forget them no matter how hard you try. The date they decided to kill me is one of those things.
I flip to a new page.
The poison tastes like bitter flowers and metal. It burns going down but the real damage starts in the chest. It spreads through the veins like fire. The victim dies in approximately eight minutes. Death appears natural. The healers will call it a rejection of the Luna bond. No one will suspect murder.
I stop writing and try to breathe.
This is real information from the real poison that killed me. I'm writing about my own death like I'm reporting the weather. The detachment feels safer than the truth. The truth is that I can still feel it burning through me. I can still taste the blood on my lips.
I turn to another page and start drawing a map.
The Ashford Estate is massive. I've been there a hundred times by the time the poison happens, so I know every hallway. Every room. Every locked door. The poison is kept in the basement in a room that only Victoria and the Alpha have keys to. It's stored in glass vials that look like medicine. To anyone passing by, it's just another potion in a collection of hundreds.
I draw the basement layout. I mark the locked room with an X. My hand doesn't shake this time.
By the second day, I have pages and pages of documentation. Names. Dates. Conversations I overheard. The meeting where Victoria told James that marrying me was a mistake because I don't come from a powerful enough family. The night James agreed to sign the execution order. The moment Elena was brought into the conspiracy.
That one hurts the most to write down.
Elena wasn't supposed to do it willingly. Victoria threatened her family. Said there would be consequences if Elena didn't participate. I remember Elena's mother was sick around that time. I remember Elena being worried about money. Victoria used all of it against her.
Elena was forced.
That changes things.
I add a new note at the bottom of the page: Elena is a victim. Save her if possible.
On the third day, I'm organizing everything into categories when my door opens without a knock.
Elena walks in like she owns the place, bouncing with that energy she always has. She's holding a basket of food that smells like warm bread. Her smile is so genuine and so innocent that I have to look away.
"You're being weird," she announces, sitting on the edge of my bed. "Your mom told my mom you've been in here for three days. My mom thinks you're depressed. I think you're just being dramatic."
I manage a smile even though my heart is breaking.
"I'm fine. Just needed rest."
She looks around my room like she's searching for proof of my lie. Her eyes land on the papers scattered across my floor and I freeze. But they're mostly blank or covered in my handwriting. Nothing makes sense if you don't know what you're looking for.
Elena doesn't see anything suspicious.
"You're coming to the party next week, right?" she asks, picking at the bread from the basket. "James said he might bring you to his family gathering. Victoria is apparently hosting something big."
There it is. The moment where Elena doesn't know yet that she's going to be part of something terrible. The moment where she's still innocent and happy and completely unaware.
"Of course I'll be there," I say.
She grins at me and I feel something crack inside my chest.
"Good. Because I have this feeling something big is going to happen. Like everything is about to change." She tilts her head like she's trying to figure something out. "Actually, that's why I came. I needed to ask you something."
My entire body goes rigid.
"What?" My voice sounds normal which feels impossible.
Elena hesitates like she's choosing her words carefully. "If something bad happened and I was part of it, but like, I didn't really want to be part of it, would you still love me?"
The question hits me like a physical blow.
She knows something is coming. Not the specifics. But she feels it. She's trying to warn me or prepare me or something. Maybe Victoria has already started planting seeds in her mind. Maybe she's already starting the manipulation.
I reach over and pull Elena into a hug. She's so warm and alive and completely ignorant of her own future. I hold her tight and try not to cry into her hair.
"I would always love you," I whisper. "No matter what."
She hugs me back, and I feel her relax. Like she got the reassurance she needed. Like everything is okay now.
Everything is not okay.
But I don't tell her that.
After Elena leaves, I spend the rest of the day organizing my research into my journal. I number the pages. I create a key. I write down every detail I can remember about the ritual magic that Victoria was performing. Something about blood magic. Something about needing a mate's soul to unlock ancient power.
The specifics are fuzzy. I was dying when I figured it out, which makes it hard to remember clearly. But I know it's important. I know it's part of why they needed me dead.
I'm not just a problem to be removed. I'm a sacrifice.
By evening, I have filled an entire journal with information that no one else in the world knows. Plans for how to gather evidence. Names of people I need to watch. Dates of important meetings. And most importantly, notes on how to keep Elena from making a choice that will destroy her.
I can't save everyone. But maybe I can save her.
I'm so focused on reviewing everything that I almost miss the knock on my door.
Except it's not a gentle knock.
It's hard. Angry. The sound of someone's fist hitting wood like they're trying to break it.
"Sophia." James's voice comes through the door, sharp and demanding. "Open this door right now."
I go very still.
James has never sounded like this before. Not at me. I've heard him use that tone with servants and subordinates, but never with me. We've been together for five years by the time he dies, and he's never used this voice on me.
But I know why he's using it now.
I've been hiding in my room. I've been avoiding him. I've been building something without his knowledge and he can feel it. He can sense that something is different about me.
And he doesn't like it.
"I'm resting," I call back, keeping my voice soft and apologetic. "I'll come down tomorrow."
There's silence.
Then the doorknob twists but the door doesn't open. I locked it from the inside.
"Unlock this door." James's voice is quiet now, which is somehow worse than the anger. "Right now, Sophia."
My hand moves to the journal under my pillow. Part of me wants to hide it. Part of me wants to shove it deeper where he can never find it. But I force myself to stay calm.
He doesn't know anything yet. He's just frustrated that I'm avoiding him.
"Give me a minute," I say, sliding the journal into the small space between my mattress and the wall. "I'm not decent."
It's a lie but it's a lie that works. I hear him sigh heavily on the other side of the door.
"You have five minutes," he says. "Then I'm coming in whether the door is locked or not."
I hear his footsteps move away from the door but not far. He's waiting in the hallway. Waiting for me to come out and explain myself.
I sit on the edge of my bed and realize something terrifying.
I'm not ready yet.
I don't have enough proof. I don't have enough allies. I don't have a plan that's actually going to work.
And James is already getting suspicious.
I stand up and smooth down my clothes, trying to look like someone who's been resting and not like someone who's been documenting a conspiracy. I unlock the door and open it to find James standing in the hallway with his arms crossed.
He looks at me like he's trying to figure out who I am.
And for the first time, I realize that maybe he's going to figure it out before I'm ready.
Maybe he's going to realize that the girl who left five years ago isn't the girl who came back.
And if he realizes that, everything falls apart.