Chapter 11
1383 Words
POV: Silas
I stared at the computer screen, my jaw tight. The cursor blinked on an empty search result. Again.
"Anything?" Caspian asked from across the office.
"Nothing." I leaned back in my chair, frustration coiling in my gut. "Iris Monroe doesn't exist before twenty-four years ago."
"What do you mean, doesn't exist?" Orion looked up from his own laptop.
"I mean exactly that." I pulled up the file on the main screen so they could all see. "No birth certificate. No school records. No employment history. No driver's license. No social security records before she was twenty-four. It's like she appeared out of thin air the year Lyra was born."
Rowan whistled low. "That's not normal."
"No s**t," I muttered, scrolling through the blank pages. We'd used every resource the pack had—private investigators, connections in government, hackers who owed us favors. All of them came back with the same answer. Nothing.
"People don't just appear," Caspian said, standing up and walking over. "She had to come from somewhere."
"Well, wherever she came from, she buried it deep." I clicked to another file. "The only records that exist start twenty-four years ago. A woman named Iris Monroe rents a cheap apartment in the city. Has a baby—Lyra. Gets low-level jobs. Moves around a lot. Always pays cash when she can. Minimal paper trail."
"Like someone running," Jeremy said quietly from the doorway.
We all turned to look at him. He'd been quieter than usual since Dad died. Since Lyra.
"Or hiding," I agreed.
"From what?" Orion asked.
"That's the question." I closed the laptop harder than necessary. "And I want answers."
Footsteps in the hallway made us all tense. But it was just Lyra, walking past the office toward the kitchen. She moved like a ghost these days—quiet, careful, always aware of where we were.
She stopped when she noticed us all staring. Her eyes went to the screen, then to our faces.
"What?" she asked, her voice defensive.
"Nothing that concerns you," I said coldly.
"Everything in this house concerns me now," she shot back. "You made sure of that when you locked me in here."
She had a point, but I wasn't about to admit it.
"We're investigating your mother," Caspian said bluntly. "Trying to figure out who she really is."
Lyra's face went carefully blank. "And?"
"And she doesn't exist," I said, watching her reaction closely. "Not before you were born. No history. No records. Nothing. It's like she appeared out of nowhere twenty-four years ago."
Lyra's jaw tightened. For a second, something flickered in her eyes—surprise? Fear? Then it was gone, replaced by that cold mask she'd been wearing since the breakdown with Caspian.
"Maybe you're just bad at investigating," she said.
"We're not," I said flatly.
She stared at me for a long moment. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away.
But not toward the kitchen. Toward her mother's room.
"Should we stop her?" Orion asked.
"No." I stood up, following at a distance. "Let's see what happens."
We hung back in the hallway, out of sight but close enough to hear. Lyra didn't bother knocking. She just pushed open Iris's door and walked in.
"Lyra!" Iris's voice was sharp, surprised. "What are you doing?"
"Who are you?" Lyra's voice was flat, emotionless.
Silence.
"What kind of question is that?" Iris tried to laugh, but it sounded forced. "I'm your mother."
"Are you?" Lyra asked. "Because according to the Sterling pack's very thorough investigation, you don't exist before I was born. No records. No history. Nothing. So I'll ask again—who are you?"
"I don't have to answer to you," Iris said, her voice going cold and hard. "You're my daughter. That's all you need to know."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you're getting." Footsteps. Iris moving closer. "And you need to stop asking questions, Lyra. For both our sakes."
"Why?" Lyra pressed. "What are you hiding?"
"I'm not hiding anything!" Iris's voice rose, panicked. "I'm protecting us! If you keep digging, if you keep asking questions, you're going to get us both killed!"
The words hung in the air. Heavy. Terrifying.
I glanced at Caspian. His face was hard, his eyes dark.
"Killed by who?" Lyra asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"It doesn't matter." Iris's voice dropped low, urgent. "Just stop. Please. Stop asking. Stop drawing attention. Just be quiet and invisible like I taught you."
"I'm tired of being quiet," Lyra said. "I'm tired of being invisible. I want the truth."
"The truth will kill you!" Iris screamed.
Silence. Long and terrible.
"Get out," Iris said finally, her voice shaking. "Get out of my room. And don't ask me about this again."
Footsteps. The door opened. Lyra walked out, her face pale but expressionless. She saw us standing there, knew we'd heard everything, and didn't care. She just walked past us toward her own room.
The door to Iris's room slammed shut.
"Well," Rowan said quietly. "That was interesting."
"She's running from something," Caspian said. "Or someone."
"The question is what," I said. "And does it have anything to do with Dad's death."
That night, I couldn't sleep. Something felt wrong. Off.
I got out of bed and walked through the dark house, checking the perimeter like I always did when my instincts were screaming. Everything seemed normal. Quiet.
Then I saw movement near the east gate.
A figure in dark clothes, carrying a bag. Moving fast and low, trying to stay in the shadows.
Iris.
"Rowan," I said into the pack link. "East gate. Now."
I moved silently through the grounds, keeping her in sight. She was almost at the boundary line when I stepped out of the shadows.
She froze.
"Going somewhere?" I asked coldly.
Her head whipped around. Even in the dark, I could see the fear on her face. Real, genuine terror.
"Please," she whispered. "Please just let me go."
"Not happening."
Rowan appeared from the other direction, cutting off her escape. Then Jeremy emerged from the trees behind her, blocking the last route.
She was surrounded.
"No," she said, backing up. "No, no, no. You don't understand. I have to leave. I have to go now before they—"
"Before they what?" I demanded.
"Before they find me!" she screamed. The sound was raw, broken. "Before they come for me! I didn't have a choice! I never had a choice!"
She tried to run. Jeremy caught her easily, grabbing her arm.
She fought like a wild animal—scratching, biting, kicking. "Let me go! They'll kill me if I stay! They'll kill all of us!"
"Who?" Rowan grabbed her other arm, helping Jeremy restrain her. "Who will kill you?"
"I can't tell you!" Tears streamed down her face. "I can't! If I talk, they'll know! They always know!"
She collapsed between them, sobbing so hard her whole body shook. The confident, cold woman from dinner was gone. This was just a terrified, broken person.
"Please," she begged, her voice cracking. "Please just let me go. I'll disappear. You'll never see me again. Just let me go."
"No," I said flatly. "You're going back to the house. And you're going to tell us everything."
"I can't," she sobbed. "I can't. They'll kill me."
Jeremy and Rowan dragged her back toward the mansion. She didn't fight anymore, just cried and mumbled incoherently about choices and time running out and being found.
We passed Lyra's window. I looked up and saw her standing there, watching. Her face was illuminated by moonlight, completely expressionless.
She watched her mother being dragged back, sobbing and begging. Watched the woman who gave birth to her completely fall apart.
And felt nothing.
I could see it in her eyes. The cold, empty nothing.
It should have bothered me. Should have made me feel something—pity, concern, anything.
Instead, I just felt a strange, dark satisfaction. She was learning. Learning that sentiment was weakness. Learning that family didn't mean loyalty.
Learning to be hard.
Like us.
We brought Iris inside and locked her in one of the secure rooms in the basement. She screamed and pounded on the door, begging to be let out, warning us that we were all going to die.
- Writer
