The drive home is quiet, save for the steady hum of the engine and the occasional flick of my fingers against the leather armrest. The city blurs past in streaks of gold and steel, neon reflections rippling in the wet pavement from last night's rain.
I should be thinking about Kora. About Damon's cryptic warning. About Kade's growing aggression.
Instead, my mind drifts—against my better judgment—to Lily.
I tell myself it's simple responsibility. I took her in. She is mine to protect. But there's a weight beneath the thought, something restless curling at the edges of my resolve.
Dangerous.
The car pulls through the wrought-iron gates of my estate, past the manicured hedges and the looming stone façade of the mansion. The moment I step out, the crisp morning air brushes against my skin, bringing with it the faintest scent of rain-damp earth.
Cause, ever the efficient housekeeper, greets me at the entrance with a small nod. "She's in the parlor."
I nod in return, slipping past her into the cool, marbled halls. My heels click softly against the polished floors as I make my way through the house, past the grand staircase, until the sound of soft giggles and the quiet clatter of wooden pieces reaches my ears.
Lily.
I pause in the doorway, unseen, watching as she sits cross-legged on the carpet, eyes alight with concentration. Before her is an elaborate wooden board, carved with intricate lines and symbols, each space occupied by a different figurine—wolves, hunters, and a single crowned piece in the center.
Elara sits opposite her, fingers poised above the board. Her expression is focused, but there's an undeniable fondness in her eyes.
Lily's voice is light, triumphant. "Your move."
Elara exhales. "You've backed me into a corner, little one."
"I learned from the best," Lily quips, grinning.
Something in my chest tightens.
The game. I recognize it now. The Hunt. An old strategy game, once played among high-ranking wolves, its origins lost to time. The objective is simple—outmaneuver, corner, and claim the throne.
It is not a game for children.
And yet, here Lily is, playing it with the ease of someone born into power.
I should walk away. I should leave them to their game and go about my business.
Instead, I step forward. "Who's winning?"
Lily's head snaps up, her eyes bright. "Me."
Elara sits back with a sigh. "She's relentless."
A small smirk tugs at my lips as I lower myself onto the plush carpet, tucking one leg beneath me. "Let's see if you can hold the throne, then."
Lily beams, already shifting the pieces to include me in the game. The warmth of it, the simplicity of playing with her—it should feel insignificant. But it doesn't.
We play.
She is, as Elara said, relentless. Sharp, cunning in a way that is both natural and learned. I let her push me, let her trap me once, twice, watching the way she glows with each victory.
And then, in a final move, I tip her king.
Checkmate.
Lily gasps. "No fair! You were losing just a second ago!"
I arch a brow. "And?"
Her pout deepens. Then, with a dramatic sigh, she flops back onto the carpet. "Fine. But next time, I win."
"Next time," I concede.
Elara watches the exchange with quiet amusement before rising. "I'll prepare lunch."
Lily sits up immediately. "After I take my bath?"
She turns to me, expectant, and something about the way she asks—so sure that I will be the one to do it—makes something twist inside me.
I push the feeling down. "Come on, then."
She scrambles to her feet, her small hand instinctively reaching for mine. I hesitate, then let her take it.
I ignore the warmth that spreads from the touch.
Steam curls in the air as I pour warm water over Lily's hair, careful not to let it run into her eyes. She hums under her breath, kicking her feet slightly, the sound soft, content.
I focus on washing her hair, rinsing out the last of the bubbles, keeping my hands steady even as my mind churns.
This is temporary. A necessity. Nothing more.
Still, as she leans back against me, trusting, small, I find myself tucking a stray strand behind her ear with more gentleness than I intend.
"School was fun today," she says suddenly.
I hum in acknowledgment. "Learn anything useful?"
She grins. "I made a friend."
That gets my attention. "Oh?"
"Her name's Posie. She's really nice. And funny. She has braids like me, but hers are purple." Lily splashes the water slightly. "Can she come over?"
I blink. "Come over?"
"For a playdate."
I should say no. I should tell her that this house is no place for outsiders.
But then she tilts her head back, looking up at me with those too-bright, too-hopeful eyes.
Damn it.
"We'll arrange it," I say finally.
Lily cheers, nearly knocking water onto the floor.
I shake my head, feigning exasperation. "Rinse off, little menace."
She giggles.
I leave her in her room, wrapped in a soft towel, already chattering away about what game she and Posie might play.
By the time I reach my wing, the warmth of the moment has already begun to cool, replaced by something more familiar. A distance I tell myself is necessary.
And then my phone rings.
I frown. Only a handful of people have this number.
When I see the name flashing across the screen, my stomach knots.
Celeste.
I answer. "What—"
"Lilith."
Her voice is wrong. Unsteady. Frayed.
I straighten immediately. "What happened?"
A shuddering breath. "Can you come over?"
Celeste does not ask for help. She does not cry. But there is something raw in her voice, something barely holding together.
I don't hesitate. "I'm on my way."
Her house is quiet when I arrive, the air thick with something I can't name. Celeste is at the door before I can knock, her eyes red-rimmed, her hands gripping the fabric of her sweater too tightly.
Tell me," I say.
She swallows hard. "It's Robin."
My jaw tenses. "What about him?"
She looks away, voice small. "I think… I think he's cheating on me."
I exhale slowly. "Celeste—"
"I just— I need you to talk to him," she says desperately. "I don't know what to do, Lilith. I love him."
A quiet beat.
Then, against my better judgment, I nod. "Fine. I'll handle it."
Celeste's relief is instant. "Thank you."
I don't say you're welcome.
Because I don't know that she will thank me when this is over.
And because, despite the raw desperation in her voice, despite the genuine hurt in her eyes—
Something about this feels off.
But I don't see the trap.
Not yet.