I sit frozen, the air between us heavy and unmoving.

  Have they really never told you who you are? Who am I?

  The words repeat in my mind, slow and deliberate, as if waiting for me to catch up. My thoughts spiral, reaching for answers that refuse to form. Curses. Secrets. Things buried so deeply they were never meant to surface. My pulse beats thick and slow in my ears as I search his face for something that will anchor me.

  “Azrael?”

  Saying his name pulls his attention fully to me.

  “That is your name,” I say, my voice quieter now. “Right?”

  He studies me, gaze sharp and unreadable, as if deciding how much of himself to reveal.

  “I assumed you were Azrael Black,” I add. “But you never actually told me.”

  “That’s the name I’m known by,” he says after a moment.

  The phrasing confuses me. I do not press it, though the question lodges itself like a splinter beneath my skin.

  “If you’re going to keep me here,” I say, forcing steadiness into my voice, “then at least tell me why.”

  He tilts his head slightly, that familiar challenge glinting in his eyes. “I thought you’d accepted that I can’t.”

  “That’s not true,” I snap. Heat flares in my chest. “You’re choosing not to.”

  His chest rises with a slow breath. “Lirian, I don’t think you’re ready to know…to understand.”

  “I know who I am,” I insist. “I know my parents. I know the Vale Pack. I know my life.”

  “Do you?”

  The question lands softly but hits deep.

  I frown. “Do I what?”

  “Do you know who your parents are?”

  A cold prickle slides down my spine. “Of course I do. They raised me.”

  “And you’re certain of that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever wondered why you look nothing like either of them?”

  My mouth opens, then closes. Images flash through my mind. My mother’s raven-dark hair. Her olive skin. My father’s steady brown eyes.

  And then there is me.

  Pale as moonlight. Fire-red hair that never tames. Eyes that shift like restless tides.

  “They always said I took after my great grandmother,” I say.

  “And you’ve seen her?”

  I hesitate. “No. But they described her to me once. Said I could have been her twin.”

  A faint sound escapes him. Not quite a laugh. Not quite sympathy.

  “Stop trying to confuse me,” I say, my voice tightening.

  “How could I,” he replies calmly, “if you’re so sure?”

  “Don’t patronize me.”

  “I’m not,” he says. “I’m trying to understand what you know and what you don’t.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Well then go on,” I challenge. “What else don’t I know?”

  He watches me carefully. “Did you notice how others reacted to you the night of your first shift?”

  My stomach twists. The memory surges back before I can stop it. The way the crowd parted as I walked. The way some of the males snarled when my scent reached them. The way others recoiled, disgust and hunger warring in their eyes.

  “Yes,” I admit. “But how would I know what’s normal? It was my first time.”

  “It’s not like that,” he says quietly.

  My fingers curl into the blanket. “Like what?”

  “Possessive. Aggressive. Unsettled.”

  Another image surfaces. Kellan’s hands gripping me too tightly. His breath heavy. The flash of something feral in his eyes before he pulled back, shaken and apologetic.

  “I told myself it was nerves,” I say. “The moon. The ceremony.”

  “Did you believe that?” Azrael asks.

  “I wanted to,” I whisper.

  “They were afraid,” he continues. “And they were hiding it from you.”

  “No,” I say quickly. “They wouldn’t.”

  Yet my mind betrays me. Luna Marienne’s tight smile. The way she whispered to Kellan, don’t take your eyes off her. The hushed voices that cut off the moment I stepped closer.

  “Yet you heard them,” Azrael says gently. “‘If she knew, she’d never agree.’” He pauses, waiting. “That is what she said, is it not?”

  My breath catches. “How do you know that?”

  “Because we are tied,” he says. “You and I.”

  “Tied how?”

  “Destiny.”

  “No.” I shake my head hard. “I refuse to believe that. I’m destined to be with Kellan.”

  Something flickers across his face. Dark. Wounded.

  “Since you brought him up,” he says quietly, “have you noticed anything… different about him lately?”

  I press my lips together. “He was overwhelmed.”

  “Was he?”

  The question lingers. I remember the growl he tried to hide. The way his parents restrained him. The fear etched into their faces.

  “How do you know all of this? It makes me feel very uncomfortable.” I mutter.

  “You asked,” he replies.

  “Then answer me,” I say softly. “Why am I here?”

  He steps closer. Not close enough to touch. Close enough that I feel him. His presence is heavy, grounding, dangerous.

  “Because you are meant for more than the life they planned for you.”

  The words settle into my chest, almost comforting.

  Until his next breath cuts through me.

  “And because they would have killed you.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “They were never prepared for what you are,” he says. “And fear makes monsters of even good men.”

  “No.”

  “If they couldn’t control you,” he continues, voice low and unwavering, “they would have destroyed you.”

  “Stop.”

  “If they couldn’t own you.”

  “Stop!”

  My knees buckle. I sink to the stone floor as the weight of it crushes me. Tears spill before I can stop them, hot and humiliating.

  And Azrael watches. Silent. As if this moment has always been inevitable.

  He does not move to comfort me.

  He watches as I struggle to breathe, as my hands curl against the stone, as my world fractures under the weight of his words.

  “You don’t understand,” he says quietly. “And that’s the most dangerous part.”

  He turns away before I can ask another question. Before I can beg for clarity. Before I can demand the truth.

  “No,” I protest. My voice breaks despite my effort to keep it steady. “You don’t get to just walk away.”

  He pauses mid-step.

  “Not after tearing my world down brick by brick,” I add, the words slipping out between shallow breaths and burning eyes.

  He turns back to me slowly. “What would you have me do?” he asks, and for the first time his voice sounds earnest.

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

  What I want is comfort. Reassurance. Arms around me. Familiar warmth. I want my parents, if they are even my parents. I want answers that do not unravel everything I thought I knew.

  And the most terrifying part is that some of what he said makes sense.

  If this is a battle of the mind, then he is winning.

  He steps closer and reaches out, his hand offered carefully, as if I might shatter beneath his touch.

  I recoil instantly. Revulsion flashes across my face before I can stop it.

  Pain flickers through his eyes, quick and sharp, before his expression hardens.

  “That’s what I thought,” he says quietly.

  He turns away, and this time he does not stop.

  The sound of his footsteps fades deeper into the cave.

  I am left alone with my tears, my wolf restless beneath my skin, and a single thought echoing through my mind.

  If I don’t know who I am…

  Then what have they been hiding me from?