Kaelen POV
I found her at dawn on the rooftop.
Elara stood at the edge. Not dangerously close. Just staring out at the mountains. Her arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold something in.
Or keep something out.
I knew the moment I saw her face. Something had changed. Something was wrong.
The way she held herself. The tension in her shoulders. The emptiness in her eyes.
"You had another dream," I said.
She didn't turn. "Yes."
"What did he show you this time?"
"The truth." Her voice was flat. Empty. "About my parents. About you."
My stomach dropped. I'd known this moment would come eventually. Known Theron would use it against me. But I'd hoped for more time. More chances to explain.
"Elara—"
"Did you know?" She finally turned to face me. Her eyes were red. She'd been crying. "When your father hunted them. When he ordered them killed. Did you know?"
I wanted to lie. Wanted to tell her I was innocent. That I'd tried to stop it. That I was just a kid who didn't understand.
But she'd know. Through the bond. Through the way my heart was racing right now. Through the guilt I'd carried for years.
"Yes," I said. "I knew."
She flinched like I'd hit her.
"I was young," I continued. The words felt weak even as I said them. "Barely into my twenties. My father was Alpha King. His word was law. Absolute. When he said your parents were a threat—when he said their research would start a war that would destroy us all—I believed him."
"So you let them die."
"I didn't kill them—"
"You let them die." She stepped closer. Anger blazing in her eyes now. Real anger. Hot and sharp.
"You stood by. Watched. Did nothing while they ran for their lives. While they begged for help. While they died terrified and alone."
"I didn't know they had a daughter." Even to me, the excuse sounded pathetic. "I didn't know about you. If I had—"
"What?" She laughed. Bitter. Broken. "You would have saved them? Or would you have killed me too? Eliminated the threat before I was even born? Made sure the dangerous half-breed never existed?"
The words cut deep. Because I didn't know. I honestly didn't know what I would have done back then.
Back when I was weaker. More afraid. More willing to follow orders instead of thinking for myself.
"I'm not that person anymore," I said quietly.
"Aren't you?" She crossed her arms. "You locked me up. Put guards on my door. Made decisions about my life without asking me. Just like your father did to my parents."
"That's not fair—"
"Isn't it?" Her voice rose. "You say you're different. You say you've changed. But you're still trying to control me. Still trying to decide what's best for me without giving me a choice."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to defend myself. But she was right.
I had been controlling her. Caging her. Making choices for her.
All in the name of protection. All while telling myself it was different.
"Theron showed me the memory," she said. Her voice shook now. "My mother. Pregnant with me. Begging him for help. Begging him to protect me from people who would use me. And he refused. He let them run. Let them die. But at least..." She stopped. Swallowed hard. "At least he was honest about it. At least he didn't pretend to be something he wasn't."
Those words hurt worse than anything.
Because Theron was a monster. A manipulator. A four-hundred-year-old vampire who'd built an entire slavery system.
And somehow, she was comparing me to him. And finding me lacking.
"Is that what you think?" I asked. My voice came out rougher than I intended. "That I've been pretending?"
"I don't know what to think anymore." She turned away. Looked back at the mountains. "Theron invited me to meet him. Three days from now. At the Thornwall. Where everything started. He says he'll show me proof. Evidence of everything. What I am. What the bonds really mean. What's coming."
"And you're going to go."
"Yes."
The word was simple. Final. No room for argument.
"Then I'm coming with you."
"I know." She looked back at me. "He's expecting you. He said neutral ground. No armies. No guards. Just the three of us."
"It's a trap."
"Maybe." She shrugged. Like it didn't matter. Like she was past caring about danger. "Or maybe he's telling the truth. Maybe he really does want to show me something. Either way, I need to know. I can't keep living in ignorance while everyone else decides my fate."
I moved closer. Slowly. Giving her time to pull away. Time to tell me to stop.
She didn't.
"I'm not my father," I said. Each word deliberate. Careful. "I know I failed your parents. Failed to be brave enough. Strong enough. Failed to stand up when it mattered. But I'm trying to be better. Trying to do right by you."
"By locking me in a cage?"
"By keeping you alive." I reached out. Cupped her face. Gentle. Like she was something precious I might break.
"The council wants you dead. Theron wants to use you. The Anchor Law is killing you slowly. I'm trying to find a path where you survive all of it. Where you get to live."
"But at what cost?" She leaned into my touch. Just a little. Just enough to give me hope. "How long before keeping me alive means killing who I am? How long before the person you're protecting isn't me anymore?"
I didn't have an answer.
Because she was asking the right question. The one I'd been avoiding. The one that kept me awake at night.
How long before protection became prison? How long before safety became slavery? How long before I became exactly like my father?
"I don't know," I admitted. Honest. Raw. "I don't know where that line is. Don't know when I cross it. But I'm trying. God, Elara, I'm trying so hard not to be him."
"I know." Her voice softened. "I know you're trying. But trying isn't enough. Not when people's lives are at stake. Not when my freedom is on the line."
She pulled away from my touch. Stepped back. Put distance between us.
"Come with me," I said. "To the parley. Let me be there. Let me watch Theron. Make sure he doesn't hurt you. Make sure he keeps his promises."
"And if what he shows me changes everything? If what I learn makes me choose differently than you want?"
"Then we figure it out. Together." I moved closer again. Desperate now. "I can't promise you freedom. Can't promise you a normal life. Can't even promise you safety. But I can promise you this: I will fight for you. I will die for you. And I will never, ever stop trying to do right by you. Even when I fail. Even when I don't know how."
She was quiet for a long moment. The sun rising behind her. Casting her in gold and shadow.
"That's not enough," she said finally.
The words broke something in me. Something I didn't know could break.
"I know," I whispered. "But it's all I have."
She looked at me with those eyes that saw too much. That saw through every lie. Every excuse. Every good intention that paved the road to hell.
"Three days," she said. "Three days until the parley. After that, I'm making my choice. Anchor Law or no. Council or no. Your approval or no. I'm choosing. And you need to be ready for whatever that choice is."
"Even if you don't choose me?"
"Even then."
We stood there. On the rooftop. As dawn broke fully over the mountains. Both of us knowing that everything was about to change.
That in three days, one way or another, this fragile thing between us would either strengthen or shatter completely.
I took her hand. Brought it to my lips. Kissed her knuckles. Not possessive. Not claiming. Not trying to own her.
Just saying goodbye to whatever we'd been before. Before the truth. Before the choices. Before everything got complicated.
"Whatever you choose," I said. My voice rough with emotion. "I'll respect it. Even if it kills me. Even if it destroys me. I'll respect your choice."
"I know." She nodded. "That's why I haven't given up on you completely."
The words gave me a sliver of hope. Small. Fragile. But there.
Then she walked away. Back into the summit. Back to her cage that I'd helped build with good intentions and fear.
And I stood alone. Watching the sun climb higher.
Wondering if I'd just lost her forever.
Twenty days left on the Anchor countdown. Three days until the parley.
I had seventy-two hours to prepare for war. Or peace. Or something in between.
Seventy-two hours to figure out how to let her go while still protecting her.
Seventy-two hours until everything changed.
The bond between us pulsed. Weak. Strained. But still there.
Still connecting us even when trust frayed.
I just hoped it was enough.