Against Devil

8 - Ever

It had been three days since the meeting with the governors. Three days since the car conversation. 

Three days since, Alex looked at me like he was carving his name into my soul—and then vanished from my life like it had never happened.

He hadn't looked at me. He hadn't spoken to me. Not once.

The sharp dismissal cut deeper than I'd expected. I told myself it was fine. That I was used to being overlooked, used to hiding my fire beneath charm and sarcasm. But his silence? It felt like frostbite.

And yet, I kept working.

The days blurred with tasks—patrol reports, inventory ledgers, dispute mediations. Nate had passed along more responsibilities, asking me to oversee inter-pack communications for the southeastern border packs. I buried myself in schedules, in numbers, in anything that kept me from thinking about the way Alex had pulled my chair closer that night like he couldn't stand anyone else breathing near me—and then acted like I was a ghost afterward.

But even the mountain of tasks couldn't dull my instincts.

Something was off.

It started with Jasmine.

I noticed it two days ago. I'd just wrapped up a call in the main hallway when I caught sight of her slipping through the east gate—alone. Her face was tense. Her movements too precise. She vanished into the trees, and when she returned nearly an hour later, her cheeks were flushed, her curls damp from sweat or rain, and she looked... haunted.

I didn't say anything. Not yet.

But I started watching.

Each time she disappeared, she returned more withdrawn. Her eyes darted when she thought no one noticed. She smiled too brightly. Laughed a second too long.

Something was happening. And I had no idea how to ask.

By the fourth night, the skies cracked open.

Rain pelted the pack house like it was trying to peel away the roof tile by tile. Lightning slashed across the sky in jagged, silver streaks. The storm screamed, wild and merciless, as thunder rolled like distant drums.

Sleep never came.

So I got out of bed.

The hallways were dark, lit only by flickering sconces and the occasional flash of lightning through arched windows. My bare feet were silent against the cold wood as I moved through corridors I didn't usually visit.

I didn't have a clear reason for going to his side of the house—just a feeling that twisted in my gut and wouldn't settle. Maybe it was the silence that had followed the meeting. The way Alex had looked at me like he would devour me one moment, and then ignored me completely the next. Days passed. No words. No glances. Nothing.

And it was driving me mad.

I wanted to understand him. The way he switched off. The way he made me feel like a secret he wasn't ready to admit to himself.

But most of all—I wanted to know what he was hiding.

I stopped in front of his door. It stood tall and dark at the end of the corridor, half-swallowed in shadow.

I knocked once.

No answer.

I waited.

Still nothing.

The silence was deep. Too deep. Like the air had forgotten how to breathe.

I hesitated, then pushed the door open slowly. It creaked like a protest.