Chapter 5 THREADS OF MEMORY

The rain came softly in the early hours of morning, drumming against the glass panes of the servant quarters like a lullaby. But Elara was already awake, sitting up in her cot, her knees drawn to her chest beneath the threadbare blanket.

She hadn't slept much since the greenhouse.

Seraphina's threats echoed in her mind, but it wasn't fear that kept her awake,it was the memory of Lucien's voice. The way he'd said her name like it belonged to him. Like it mattered.

Elara Vanora.

The name clung to her like a half-remembered dream.

She'd whispered it again and again to herself in the dark, hoping that if she repeated it enough, the rest would come back. But her past stayed locked away behind shadows and fire.

She ran her fingers along the scar that curled beneath her jaw.

What happened the night of the fire?

Who had saved her?

And why had no one come looking for her... until now?

Across the manor, Lucien dressed in silence, fastening the leather straps across his chest with deliberate precision. A traveling cloak lay folded across his bed, and beside it was wrapped tightly in oil cloth,itwas the sealed letter.

Markus entered, brushing water from his shoulders.

The storm's light,he said. You'll be able to ride out before the next one rolls in.

Lucien nodded. Did you get the route cleared?

Markus held up a small emblem. "Guard patrol's been shifted. The west trail will be open for at least an hour.

Lucien grabbed the letter. I won't be gone long. Keep an eye on her while I'm out.

"Elara?"

Lucien nodded once.

Markus smirked faintly. You're already talking like she's yours.

Lucien paused. "She is."

Then he left, boots echoing through the silent corridor.

Elara was wiping down the stables when she heard Bram call her name.

She turned, surprised? Bram rarely raised his voice.

Come,he said, gesturing her toward the toolshed behind the stable. I need your help with something.

She followed without question. Bram had always treated her fairly. He never smiled much, but his gruff kindness had been her only constant since arriving here a year ago.

Inside the shed, the scent of hay and rust lingered in the air.

Bram shut the door behind them.

Elara,he said, his voice low. Do you remember the man who brought you here?

Her breath caught.

She'd tried for months to remember that night. Faces blurred, voices echoed, but there had always been one figure cloaked, silent, strong.

She nodded slowly.

Bram sighed. I remember him. He never gave his name. Just told us you'd survived something terrible and needed protection. Said to keep you hidden, quiet.

He met her eyes.

He paid well. Told us you were important. Very important.

Elara's lips parted slightly.

After that night, I tried to find out more," Bram said. I checked records. Town logs. No one had your name. Not even among the refugee lists.

Elara clenched her fists.

But now,Bram continued, "things are changing. You're being noticed. And not just by the Alpha."

He hesitated, then handed her something-a delicate chain with a broken pendant.

Elara took it, frowning.

I found it in your things,Bram said. "Figured you should have it back.

Elara turned the pendant over in her palm.

It was cracked down the middle,but beneath the dirt and wear, a silver flame was etched into its surface.

Her breath hitched.

She knew this symbol.

She knew it.

A sudden flash burned behind her eyes,white-hot and fast.

A scream. A silver-haired woman shouting, Run, Elara!

Flames licking the walls. Wolves snarling. A blade flashing.

Elara stumbled back, gasping.

Bram reached for her, but she shook her head, pressing her hands to her temples.

She could see it-just for a second. Her old room. A blue ribbon on a bedpost. A man with red eyes dragging her mother away.

Then it was gone.

She looked up at Bram, tears in her eyes.

I remember,she whispered hoarsely. "Just a little.

He stared at her in stunned silence.

Then, gently, he nodded. Good girl.

Miles away, Lucien rode hard across the muddy forest trails, cloak soaked and eyes sharp. He didn't stop to rest. The weight of the letter felt heavier with each mile.

When the Leclair border came into view ,marked by a ring of white stones,he slowed. A pair of guards stood waiting, their spears lowered until Lucien raised the Blackwood crest.

They let him through without a word.

The Leclair Elder's lodge sat at the edge of a cliff, half-shrouded in mist. Lucien dismounted and climbed the stone steps, boots slick against the wet moss.

Inside, the air was warm and scented with pine and herbs.

Elder Thorne waited by the hearth, draped in a long gray cloak, eyes sharp as glass. He was one of the few elders who still held true neutrality among the packs.

Lucien bowed once. I need your help.

Thorne studied him for a long moment.

You bring secrets, Lucien Blackwood. I smell them on you.

Lucien stepped forward, offering the sealed letter. This was hidden. It bears the Vanora crest. I need to know what's inside before my father forces a binding with the D'Arcys.

Thorne took the letter with careful hands, eyes narrowing at the seal.

This is very old,he murmured. "Very dangerous.

He turned it slowly. You understand, if I open this... there's no going back.

Lucien nodded. "I'm ready."

Thorne broke the seal.

The wax cracked like bone.

As he unfolded the letter, silence wrapped the room in tension.

His eyes moved quickly over the page, then stopped.

When he looked up, his expression was grim.

This letter,he said quietly, is proof of betrayal. It names the one who led the massacre that destroyed the Vanora bloodline.

Lucien's heart pounded. Who?

Thorne looked him dead in the eye.

Lord Dorian Blackwood. Your father.