The air smelled like toasted bread and melted cheese, a scent that clung to the edges of memory more than the room itself. Adam sat on the old living room couch, chewing a mouthful of the ham sandwich his mother had made him. The taste was exactly as he remembered; simple, salty, warm and it made something deep in his chest ache. He didn't realize how hungry he was until now.
Crumbs dotted his fingers. He brushed them off absently, eyeing the plate beside him where another sandwich waited. Clara sat across from him, legs tucked under her, her posture loose and comfortable, as if this were any other lazy afternoon and not whatever strange dream this was.
He took another bite and spoke around it. "If I eat here, does that mean I'll be full… out there?"
Clara smiled, a half-curved thing that made her eyes soften. "Yes and no."
"That's not an answer."
"I know," she said with a shrug, tilting her head. "It's one of those things that doesn't make much sense even to me."
He swallowed, grinning faintly. "You're dodging the question, Mom."
She laughed, a real, bright laugh that filled the quiet like sunlight. "Maybe I am."
He found himself laughing too. For a moment, the strange edges of this place faded away, and all that existed was the sound of their laughter mingling in the air. He could almost forget that this wasn't real, that she wasn't supposed to be here.
When the laughter died down, silence stretched between them again, softer this time. Adam set the sandwich down and leaned back. "I still don't get the part about me dying."
The smile faded from Clara's lips, though not completely. "That's what we need to talk about."
Adam straightened.
"You're not dead yet," she said carefully. "But you're close. The only way to survive is to accept what's happening to you. The change."
He frowned. "The transformation."
Clara nodded. "You've always had a strong will, sweetheart. It's one of the things I loved most about you. But that same strength is fighting against what's inside you right now. You're resisting it."
Adam blinked. "Resisting it? Why would I—" He stopped. He didn't have an answer. Something about her words stirred a deep unease.
He searched for the reason, the blockage inside him, and his thoughts drifted back, unbidden to that night. The night everything broke. The smell of smoke, the shouts, the flash of teeth and red eyes in the dark. His mother's scream... Atleast that's how he imagined it all played out, he was never there.
"I couldn't save you," he whispered, voice trembling. "If I'd been there, if I hadn't—"
"Adam," she said gently, cutting him off. Her voice was warm but firm. "I'm glad you weren't there."
He looked up, startled.
"They wanted you next," she said. "That night wasn't random. And they still want you."
He froze, her words sinking in like ice. "Why?"
Clara sighed softly, her gaze flicking toward the window as if she could see something beyond it. The faintest shimmer of moonlight touched her hair. "Because of what you are. Because of what we are."
She turned her eyes back to him, and they glowed faintly, not unnaturally, just enough to make the room feel charged. "There's a power in our bloodline. Something old. It lived in me once, and when I died, it passed to you."
Adam stared. His chest felt tight. "Power?"
She nodded, her expression grave. "You're the last in the line, Adam. The bearer of the Bloodright."
Before he could ask what that meant, she lifted her hand and pointed to his chest. His shirt shimmered for a moment, becoming translucent, and there it was—the intricate tattoo glowed faintly orange against his skin. It buzzed softly, alive, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
He stared down at it in disbelief.
"This is part of it," she said quietly. "It connects you to something greater than you can imagine. But it's also what makes you a target. You have to understand it, master it, if you want to survive. It's the only way you'll find the truth. The truth about me, about what happened to us, and about the people who did it."
Her voice trembled for just a second before steadying again. "And it's the only way to protect the ones you love. To avenge what we lost. To avenge me."
Adam looked up at her, throat tight. "How am I supposed to do that? I don't even know where to start."
Clara smiled again, soft and sad. "You'll figure it out. You always do."
"That's not an answer either."
"It's the best I've got," she said with a small laugh. Then her tone gentled. "The answers you need are closer than you think, Adam. They always were."
The edges of the room began to blur. The light dimmed.
Adam blinked rapidly. "Mom? What's happening?"
Clara looked around as the furniture started to dissolve into a haze of white. "Looks like my speech was more inspiring than I thought. You're accepting it. The change."
He stared at her in confusion. "That's what did it?"
"Well," she teased, "if I were still alive, I'd probably run for president after that one."
He laughed, even through the tears that started gathering in his eyes again. "Yeah. You'd win too."
"I know," she said with a wink. Then her tone softened. "It's time for you to go now."
"Wait," he said, panic flickering as her outline grew faint. "I don't want to leave yet."
"You're not leaving," she said gently. "You're waking up."
The colors around them faded into white, and her form grew translucent. She leaned forward, cupping his cheek with one fading hand. "I love you, Adam. More than you'll ever know."
"I love you too, Mom."
Her lips brushed his forehead, a kiss that felt both warm and weightless.
"You're a strong wolf," she whispered. "I have no doubt in the pup I raised."
Then she was gone.
The world around him melted into nothingness, leaving only the lingering warmth of her voice echoing in the silence.
***
Adam woke with a violent gasp, his body jerking upright like he'd been dragged from underwater. His eyes flicked up to the ceiling fan turning in lazy, tired circles. The faint creak of the blades filled the silence, the sound soft but steady, like an old lullaby that didn't quite soothe.
For a moment, he couldn't move. His head felt heavy, his limbs thick and distant. The room around him took shape slowly, emerging from the blur, the cracked poster on the wall, the worn curtains breathing gently with the breeze, the familiar smell of detergent and something faintly metallic that always clung to home.
Home?
That word took a second to register. But when it did, the realization hit hard enough to make his stomach twist.
He wasn't at school. He wasn't in the dorms. He was in his own room.
The old blue comforter was still half-tucked under his leg. The chipped desk by the window, the one he used to cram late into the night, sat buried under the same mess of old notebooks. Even the faint scratch on the headboard from when he'd tripped as a kid was there. It was all too exact, too right.
He swallowed, his mouth dry. "What the hell…"
His voice cracked slightly as he dragged a hand down his face. The dampness on his skin wasn't from tears, it was sweat. Cold and clinging. His undershirt was gone; he was in nothing but boxers, and the fabric stuck uncomfortably to his skin. He groaned, pushing himself upright and running his fingers through his hair, which felt just as matted as his thoughts.
He should've gone to shower. Maybe he would. But first, he needed to figure out what was happening.
The last thing he remembered was the car. The driver, and... Luna. She was giving him directions, directions he couldn't hear. Did she bring him here? How would she even know where "here" was? Had she met his dad? Was his dad downstairs right now?
Every new question just made his head pound harder.
He barely noticed how dark it was until he took a quick absent-minded glance at the window. The only light came from the moon, silver and quiet, spilling through the curtains. It gave the room a cold glow, like it was half-remembered, half-dreamed.
And then —
"I see you're finally awake."
The voice came from behind him.
Adam jumped, nearly stumbling as he spun around, heart hammering. His back and head hit the wall, his pulse sharp in his ears.
Sitting up on his bed, half-covered by the blanket, was Abigail.
She laughed lightly at his reaction, her voice low, smooth, a little playful. "You scare easy for someone your size."
Adam's brain went blank. Words, thoughts, logic, all of it vanished. He blinked as he rubbed his head where it had connected with the wall.
"Abigail?" he managed.
She tilted her head, amused. "Last I checked."
Adam's mouth opened, as he began. "What… are you doing—" He paused blinked at her like she was an illusion that hadn't finished forming.
His gaze steadied on all of her as his eyesight adapted. His eyes landing on the bed, on the rumpled sheets, and the form nestled within them.
She lay propped up on one elbow, a loose sheet barely covering her hips, her dark hair fanning out around her head like a midnight halo against the white pillow. A faint, almost imperceptible curve played on her lips, a hint of amusement in her dark eyes. She watched him, an eyebrow arching in a silent question.
But Adam stood frozen, his breath caught in his lungs, his mind reeling. Abigail. In his bed. Naked. His eyes, accustomed now to the dim light, drifted over her. Her skin, a warm, inviting tan, glowed subtly in the moonlight, a stark contrast to the pale, almost ethereal complexion that Luna had.
Her body, a symphony of curves and angles, was a living sculpture. Her hips flared generously, a lush, undeniable curve that tapered inward to a narrow, toned waist. Her thighs, thick and powerful, hinted at strength beneath the soft skin. He swallowed, a dry, rasping sound in his throat. He had always admired her, seen her as a close friend, but this… this was a revelation.
Every inch of her was a testament to raw, untamed beauty. Her full, round breasts, the nipples dark and inviting, peaked just above the sheet, beckoning his gaze. He could not tear his eyes away. His mouth worked, but no sound emerged. His thoughts, usually a torrent, had congealed into a thick, unmoving syrup.
"What?" Abigail asked, tilting her head playfully, "Cat got your tongue, Adam?" Her voice, a low, playful murmur, broke the spell.
A knowing glint danced in her eyes, a mixture of mischief and something deeper, something ancient and alluring. She shifted, the sheet sliding lower, revealing more of the lush curve of her stomach, the dark triangle of hair at her core. A slow, tantalizing smile spread across her lips.
"Come back to bed." She patted the empty space beside her, the soft rustle of the sheets a siren's call.
He found his voice, a raw, shaky whisper. "Did… did we…?"
She tilted her head, her smile widening. "No." The single word hung in the air, a teasing promise. "Not yet, at least."
She pulled the sheet back further, exposing more of her body, a breathtaking expanse of sun-kissed skin. The soft light of the moon painted her in shades of silver and shadow, highlighting the subtle rise and fall of her chest with each breath. She gestured again, a silent invitation. "Come here."
Adam hesitated, his internal compass spinning wildly. His mind screamed a cacophony of warnings, a frantic chorus of confusion and apprehension. Yet, a primal pull, a magnetic force, drew him towards her. He stood rooted, caught between the rational and the instinctive.
"I'll explain everything," she offered, her voice a soothing balm, a promise of clarity in the swirling chaos. "Just… come here."
The assurance, coupled with the undeniable allure of her presence, finally swayed him. He moved, slowly, deliberately, his bare feet sinking into the plush carpet with each step. He climbed back onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He lay beside her, the warmth of her skin radiating against his own, a comforting heat that chased away the lingering chill of his shock.
"What happened, Abi?" His voice was still a whisper, laced with a desperate need for understanding. "How am I even here?"
Her eyes, dark and fathomless, met his. "Luna wanted to kill you." The words were delivered with a chilling matter-of-factness, devoid of emotion, yet they struck Adam like a physical blow. "She's working with the nurse." A shiver traced its way down his spine. "I saved you. Brought you back here. Felt it was safest place, and the most comfortable."
The words should have calmed him, but instead they sent a shiver down his spine. "Why would Luna—"
"I'm not sure, but I'll explain later," she said. "You need to rest. You've been through hell."
He leaned back against the wall, trying to process it, and trying to focus amidst the view. "I… guess that makes sense." He hesitated. "But it still doesn't explain how I'm here."
Abigail's eyes softened, though her voice stayed even. "You don't need every answer tonight."
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was heavy, charged.
Adam tried to focus on anything else, but she drew all his attention to her like gravity. The way she moved, the way she spoke... And the fact that she was naked on his bed. Everything that was her seemed to draw him in. Her tone was dry, detached even, but her presence was warm. And even more so seductive.
She leaned closer to Adam; her breasts now spread comfortably on his dark-complexioned chest. Adam jolted a bit, trying his best to maintain his composure. Meanwhile, her expression unreadable. "Tell me what happened before you blacked out."
Adam hesitated, taking a deep breath, then rubbed his temple. "I got scratched yesterday. By a werewolf. And now I think I'm… changing. Or supposed to. But it's not going right... Well, it wasn't. But I'm okay now."
Abigail's expression turned serious, even though her body language spoke a different language, her fingers exploring Adam's toned stomach. "That explains the mess I saw today just off school grounds. The police are investigating it. But don't worry, i made sure non of it can ever come back to you."
He glanced at her. "Guess I owe you one."
"You owe me a lot more than one," she said lightly, her tone hovering between teasing and something else. "You can start with a thank you though."
He chuckled under his breath, gently turning towards her. "Thank you, then."
The corners of her mouth lifted, but her eyes stayed fixed on him. The air between them shifted; softer, quieter, and yet somehow heavier.
Adam wasn't sure when the conversation stopped being about survival and started being something else. But at some point, it did.
The silence stretched, almost comfortable. Then Abigail moved slightly closer. Not much, but enough that it was almost a naked cuddl. He could smell her faint lavender and rain.
"You're staring," she murmured.
He looked away quickly. "Sorry."
"Don't be." Her voice was low, like a secret she wasn't sure she should share. "I want you to stare at me as much as you want." She added
Adam's throat tightened. He didn't trust what his body was doing, didn't trust the way her nearness was scrambling his thoughts.
Her hand, which had now been resting lightly on his arm, began to trace slow, deliberate patterns on his skin, her touch light as a feather, yet undeniably provocative. Adam hadn't even noticed that the conversation had shifted, morphing into a playful banter, a delicate one-sided dance of words and innuendo.
Abigail's touch grew bolder, her fingers venturing further, brushing against the sensitive skin of his inner arm, then his chest. Each contact sent a jolt of electricity through him, a delicious tingle that awakened dormant senses. He found himself flustered, his cheeks growing warm, yet he couldn't bring himself to pull away.
His own hands, almost instinctively, found their way to her waist, his fingers brushing against the smooth, warm skin just above the sheet. Her lips, full and inviting, parted slightly as she spoke, her breath warm against his face. The scent of her, a heady mix of something floral and musky, filled his nostrils, intoxicating him.
"You're really something else, Adam," she purred, her voice a low thrum that vibrated through his chest.
Her eyes, dark and sparkling, held his gaze, a silent challenge, a blatant invitation. His kernel urges, long suppressed, began to stir, a powerful, insistent thrumming deep within him. His moral compass, usually so steadfast, wavered, caught in the intoxicating current of her presence.
He leaned in, drawn by an invisible thread, his lips seeking hers. Their mouths met, a gentle exploration at first, a soft press of lips. Then, the kiss deepened, a slow burn that ignited a fire within him. Her lips were soft, yielding, tasting of something sweet and wild. He groaned, a guttural sound that echoed in the quiet room. She responded in kind, a soft moan escaping her as she shifted, pushing herself up, straddling his hips.
The soft fabric of his boxers pressed against his throbbing erection, a thrilling friction that sent a jolt of pure pleasure through him. Her weight, warm and substantial, settled on him, her hips grinding gently against his.
She broke the kiss, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Her eyes, dark and dilated, looked down at him, a raw hunger reflected in their depths. Her chest heaved, her full breasts rising and falling with each breath. He could feel the hard ridge of his cock, straining against the fabric, pressing into her soft, yielding flesh.
"You want this, don't you?" Her voice was a husky whisper, a question that was also a statement.
He couldn't speak, could only nod, his eyes locked on hers. Her hands, quick and decisive, tore at the elastic band of his boxers. The soft cotton ripped, then peeled away, exposing him fully. The cool air brushed against his heated skin, a sharp contrast that made him shiver. He watched, mesmerized, as her eyes, now glowing with a faint, amber light, drifted down, taking in his erection. A small gasp escaped her lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated desire.
He noticed it then, in the dim light, the subtle glint of fangs, just barely visible, peeking out from behind her lips. They were sharp, delicate points that hinted at something wild, something untamed beneath her soft exterior. Sexual urges, he realized, were indeed animalistic. And she was embracing every primal instinct.
His gaze swept over her, taking in every inch of her revealed form. Her small, perfectly formed breasts, the dark nipples taut and erect, beckoned to his touch. The delicate curve of her ribs, the subtle indentation of her navel, the lush, dark triangle of hair at her core, all of it was exquisite. Her large thighs, powerful and shapely, cradled his hips, and her toned waist, with its faint hint of abdominal muscles, rippled with each breath.
She leaned in, her warm breath caressing his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. "I want you inside me, Adam." Her voice, a low, seductive whisper, was like honey, thick and intoxicating.
He shuddered, a tremor running through his entire body. He was lost, caught between two opposing forces. One side of him, the rational part, screamed a desperate warning. This was wrong. His heart, he believed, belonged to Luna. Or did it? The thought sent a pang of confusion through him. Even he wasn't sure anymore. And even if it didn't belong to Luna, it certainly didn't belong to Abigail, not in this way. It wasn't fair to her. If she was to experience this, it should be with someone who burned with the same fierce passion, the same romantic intensity.
But the other side, the primal, instinctive part, had taken over with an equal, if not greater, force. His body thrummed with a raw, undeniable desire, a desperate need that overshadowed all rational thought. He couldn't move. Couldn't stop it. His moral compass was not merely wavering, it was being flung violently into the background, lost in the swirling vortex of sensation.
Her hand, small and delicate, reached down, her fingers closing around his cock, her touch feather-light, yet firm. She weighed him in her palm, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Then, slowly, deliberately, she guided him, the head of his cock pressing against her slick, wet entrance. He felt the soft, yielding resistance, the warm, moist embrace as she began to slide down, taking him in.
A soft gasp tore from her throat as he filled her, a deep, guttural moan escaping her lips as she engulfed him completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a rush of pure, unadulterated pleasure that stole his breath. Her voice, a soft, ecstatic murmur, was like honey, dripping into his ears, further blurring the lines of his moral compass, pushing it deeper into the recesses of his mind.
She began to ride him, a slow, deliberate rhythm at first, her hips swaying, grinding against his. Each movement sent a jolt of exquisite sensation through him, a primal dance that awakened every nerve ending. Then, she picked up speed, her movements becoming more urgent, more frantic.
A wet, rhythmic splosh filled the air, the sound of skin against skin, of liquid friction, a primal symphony of desire. Adam was lost, utterly consumed by the ecstasy, by the sheer, unbridled pleasure. Her eyes, glowing brighter now with that amber light, met his, reflecting the raw, untamed hunger that consumed them both.
Her fangs, more exposed now, gleamed in the dim light, a beautiful, savage testament to her awakening instincts. Their bodies intertwined, a tangle of limbs and heated skin. He felt her nails, sharp and delicate, pressing into his back, then lengthening, becoming claws as she arched her back, a soft growl rumbling in her chest. It was beautiful and savage. Wrong but right. The forbidden fruit, sweet and intoxicating.
He reached up, his hands finding her waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He pulled her closer, a desperate, primal urge to be even more connected. A yelp of pleasure escaped her lips, a high-pitched sound that thrilled him. Her claws, now fully extended, dug into the soft fabric of the bedsheet, then into the mattress itself, tearing at the material. He watched, mesmerized, as her full, round breasts recoiled with every powerful bounce, their soft flesh jiggling with each thrust.
Then, from a distance, a faint sound, almost imperceptible at first, drifted through the open window. The distinct rumble of a car engine, then the soft crunch of tires on gravel as it pulled into the driveway. He hesitated, his movements faltering. "Ignore it," she whispered, her voice husky, her hips still grinding against his, albeit with less urgency. "It doesn't matter."
But then, the sound of the front door opening, a soft click, then the distinct thud of footsteps on the wooden floor downstairs. And then, a voice, deep and familiar, calling out his name.
"Adam?" The sound pierced through the haze of pleasure, a sharp, unwelcome intrusion that yanked him back to reality. His moral compass, battered and bruised, snapped back into place with a jarring force. He grasped Abigail's hips, stopping her mid-thrust. Their eyes locked, hers wide and still glowing with that amber light, a mixture of confusion and hurt clouding their depths.
"We have to stop," he managed, his voice hoarse, barely a whisper. "This is… this is wrong." He wanted to explain, to articulate the whirlwind of emotions, the sudden resurgence of guilt and uncertainty, but the words caught in his throat, a jumbled mess. He was overwhelmed, a tidal wave of conflicting feelings washing over him.
Abigail's expression shifted, the confusion deepening, tinged with a raw, undeniable hurt. Something else flickered in her eyes, a shadow of disappointment, perhaps even anger. The footsteps grew closer, ascending the stairs. Adam, with a desperate surge of adrenaline, pulled himself out of her, the wet, squelching sound echoing in the silence. He scrambled off the bed, stumbling slightly, and rushed towards the door, reaching it just as the doorknob began to turn.
He braced himself against the wood, blocking it. "Wait a second!" His voice was louder than he intended, a frantic plea. "I'm… I'm naked. Just about to shower."
He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "I'll be down in a minute."
A pause from the other side of the door. "Adam? Are you okay?" His dad's voice, laced with concern, filtered through the wood. "The school called. Said you were sick."
"I'm okay, Dad. Really." Adam leaned his forehead against the cool wood, trying to steady his racing heart. "I'll explain everything in a minute. Just… give me a minute." "Aight, son."
The footsteps retreated, moving back down the stairs. Adam let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping. He heard the distant click of his father's door open and close. He turned, slowly, his eyes drifting back to the bed. It was empty.
The sheets were still rumpled, a silent testament to what had almost been, but Abigail was gone. The window stood open, a faint breeze rustling the curtains, carrying with it the faint scent of night-blooming jasmine and a hint of something wild, something untamed.
Adam stood there, the silence pressing against his chest. The room suddenly felt colder.
He didn't know whether to feel relieved or abandoned.
***
A while had passed when Adam finally got out of the shower. Steam still clung to Adam's skin as he stepped out of the bathroom, a towel hanging loosely from his neck. The mirror was fogged over, showing only a hazy reflection of someone who didn't feel quite real yet. He wiped at it with his hand and looked at himself for a long moment.
The eyes that stared back were tired. Not just from exhaustion, but from the kind of fatigue that lived deep, beyond the body. The dreams, or whatever that had been, still felt too vivid, too close. His chest still tingled faintly, where his mother's mark had pulsed. And then there was Abigail, and everything that happened in his room
He needed to breathe. To anchor himself in something simple.
The smell of mint tea drifted faintly down the hall.
By the time he walked into the living room, his father was already there, slouched on the couch, one arm draped lazily along the backrest, a steaming mug in hand. The TV was on mute, flickering dull blue light across the room.
"'Bout time you came out," Austin said without looking up. His voice carried that familiar mix of fatigue and warmth, the kind that made a room feel smaller in a good way. "Figured I'd have to come drag you."
Adam dropped into the armchair opposite him, tugging his hoodie tighter. "Yeah, I—uh—needed a minute."
Austin nodded, sipping his tea. "They called me from Moonstone. Said you fell sick, got treated, and they sent you home to rest. That true?"
Adam hesitated, watching the steam curl from his cup. The lie rolled easier than it should have. "Yeah. Guess it was just exhaustion or something."
His dad hummed low, unconvinced but not pressing. "You push yourself too damn hard sometimes."
They fell quiet. The only sound was the faint tick of the wall clock and the whisper of wind outside.
Adam stared at the tea in his hands, his thoughts circling back to the dream, his mother's voice, her smile, her warmth. It felt wrong that she was gone. It always did.
"Dad," he said suddenly, breaking the silence. "What was Mom like?"
Austin blinked, caught off guard. For a moment, he didn't speak. Then he set his mug down and leaned back, exhaling through his nose. "You askin' that now?"
"Yeah. Just… felt like I should."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his father's mouth. "Man. Clara. That woman was somethin' else."
Adam looked up.
"She was beautiful," Austin said, voice softening. "Not just, you know, looks-wise. Though, yeah, she could stop traffic if she wanted. But she had this kinda energy, you feel me? Like, walk in a room and everybody just… shifted. She was loud, confident, always movin'. Big ol' jock in high school. Ran track, did boxing for a bit. Could knock a man on his ass without breakin' a sweat."
Adam chuckled quietly. "Sounds about right."
"Oh, and stubborn," Austin added, smirking. "God, she'd argue with me for sport. I used to tell her, 'Woman, one day you gon' start a fight you can't finish.' And she'd look me dead in the eye and go, 'Then I'll just finish you instead.'"
They both laughed.
For a while, it was easy. They traded small stories. The time she burned pancakes on purpose just to make him laugh. The way she'd hum off-key while cleaning. Austin talked with his hands when he got carried away, and Adam found himself smiling more than he expected. Really smiling.
Austin noticed. "Well damn," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Look at you. Usually when I bring her up, you get all sad and quiet. Now you sittin' there grinnin' like you just won somethin'."
Adam shrugged, embarrassed but still smiling. "Guess I just… remembered her the way you do."
That earned a quiet nod from his father. "Good. She'd like that."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward this time. It was gentle. Like they were both thinking of her in their own ways, but somehow together.
After a few minutes, Austin's face grew more serious. He set his mug down again, his eyes darting toward the window before back to Adam. "Listen, son… there's somethin' I gotta tell you."
Adam sat up a little. "Okay?"
"I've been thinkin' about this for a while. About Moonstone. You don't gotta keep goin' there if you don't want to."
Adam blinked. "What? Why?"
Austin rubbed the back of his neck, clearly weighing his words. "Look… I've been hiding something. Part of my job—it ain't what I told you."
The air seemed to shift, the weight in his voice grounding the room.
"I'm not just some military consultant, alright?" he said finally. "The FSS hired me. But it wasn't just them. The Thorne family pulled some strings. They wanted someone inside. Somebody to keep tabs on Farren and make sure he wasn't doin' anything dangerous. And If he was…" He exhaled. "My job is to neutralize him."
Adam blinked, his chest tightening. "You were supposed to, kill him?"
Austin didn't flinch. "If it came to that."
Adam sat back, absorbing it. "And me? Where do I fit in this?"
"You don't. You weren't supposed to. But the Thornes, they wanted leverage. If I ever stepped outta line, they'd use you. Keep you close, just in case. Moonstone's basically theirs, so…" He trailed off, his voice low. "You see the problem."
Adam stared at him, his mind spinning. "So all this time, I was bait?"
"I ain't sayin' that." Austin's jaw tightened. "I'm saying they could use you. Which is why I'm tellin' you now, if you don't feel safe there, we're done. I'll pull out, find another gig. I'm not about to gamble my son's life."
For a long while, neither of them spoke.
Adam looked down at the tea between his hands, the surface trembling faintly. The weight of everything, the dream, the mark, his mother's words, pressed against his chest. He thought about her voice telling him to protect, to learn, to fight. About the power inside him that he barely understood.
Maybe Moonstone wasn't safe. Maybe none of this was. But it was where the truth waited. And truth was something he needed now more than anything.
He looked up slowly. "They pay you well, right?"
Austin blinked, caught off guard. "Uh… yeah. Pretty damn well, actually."
Adam's mouth twitched into a faint smile. "Then I say it's a win-win."
Austin narrowed his eyes. "Boy, you makin' jokes right now?"
"Maybe," Adam said, smirking. Then, quieter, "I wanna keep going there."
Austin leaned forward. "You sure? After what I just told you?"
Adam nodded. "Yeah. I think… there's something there I need to understand. About me. About my future. I can't figure that out sittin' here or anywhere else."
Austin studied him for a moment, the muscle in his jaw ticking. "You really think you can handle it?"
Adam met his gaze evenly. "You raised me, didn't you?"
A slow grin broke across Austin's face. "Aight, I'll give you that."
Adam chuckled. "I can fight, I can shoot, and I can take a hit. If they come for me, they'll regret it."
Austin laughed quietly, shaking his head. "Man, you sound just like your mama right now."
"Guess it runs in the blood," Adam said.
Austin's expression softened, pride flickering in his eyes. "Yeah, guess it does."
They sat there a while longer, talking about nothing and everything, their tea growing cold, the night settling quiet around the house. For once, the air didn't feel heavy with secrets. It just felt like family.
When Adam finally stood to go to bed, Austin called out softly, "Hey, son."
Adam turned.
"I'm proud of you, you know that? You got more fight in you than most men I ever met."
Adam smiled faintly. "You too, old man."
Austin grinned. "Boy, you better watch that mouth before I remind you who taught you to throw hands."
Adam laughed, shaking his head as he walked off down the hall. "Goodnight, Dad."
"Night, son."
The house fell silent again. But this time, it wasn't lonely. Or was it?