YOU SAY YOU HATE ME

The Girl in the Garden

Chapter Five:

Dillon's POV

I made it through the rest of the day without crying.

Barely.

Second period was Pack History, taught by an ancient wolf who'd been on the council when the Luna died. He looked at me like I was something he'd scraped off his shoe and then ignored me for the entire hour.

Third period was Potions. I sat in the back. Alone. A girl in front of me kept scratching her arm like my presence made her skin crawl.

The fourth period was lunch.

I didn't eat.

I found a bench in the farthest corner of the courtyard, hidden behind a hedge, and sat with my back against the stone wall. My stomach growled. I ignored it.

My phone buzzed.

No service—the pack network blocked outside signals—but a message had come through the internal system.

Everhart. My office. 4pm. Don't be late.

Principal Ashford.

I'd never met her. She'd been appointed after I left, brought in from a neighboring pack to "restore order" after the Luna's death scandal.

I wondered if she'd look at me like everyone else did.

Like I was already convicted.

The courtyard emptied slowly.

Students drifted toward the dining hall, laughing, shoving, living their lives like the world made sense. I watched them from behind my hedge and tried to remember what that felt like.

Belonging.

Safety.

The easy confidence of someone who'd never been accused of murder.

I was so focused on not feeling sorry for myself that I almost missed the girl.

She was sitting on a bench across the courtyard, half-hidden by the shadow of the old oak tree. Alone. Like me.

But she wasn't watching the crowd.

She was watching me.

I stiffened.

She didn't look away.

She was pretty in a sharp, uncomfortable way—dark skin, close-cropped hair, eyes the color of honey. Her uniform was immaculate, but her sleeves were rolled up, and I could see the edge of a tattoo peeking out from her left wrist. Pack markings, but not Blackwell.

She was from somewhere else.

We stared at each other for a long moment.

Then she stood up, walked across the courtyard, and sat down on the bench beside me.

"Hi," she said.

I blinked. "Hi?"

"I'm Rina." She didn't offer her hand. Didn't lean closer. Just sat there, casual, like we were old friends. "You're Dillion."

"That's not a question."

"No." She shrugged. "Everyone knows who you are. But I figured someone should say hello instead of just whispering behind your back."

I didn't know what to say to that.

Three years of exile. Three years of silence. Three years of no one—no one—offering kindness without wanting something in return.

"Are you new?" I asked.

"Transferred in about six months ago. Solara Pack." She paused. "I heard about your case. Before I came here. The Luna's murder."

My whole body went cold.

"Did you now?"

"I also heard the evidence was garbage." She said it flatly, like she was commenting on the weather. "Two witnesses who changed their stories. No physical evidence. A council that closed the investigation in three weeks." She tilted her head. "That doesn't sound like guilt to me. That sounds like a cover-up."

My heart was pounding.

"Who are you?" I whispered.

Rina smiled. It didn't reach her eyes.

"Someone who knows what it's like to be blamed for something she didn't do."

The bell rang.

Rina stood up, brushed off her uniform, and looked down at me.

"If you need help," she said, "find me. I'm in the east wing. Room 117."

Then she walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the strange, unfamiliar feeling of someone believing me.

I didn't know if I could trust her.

But I didn't have many options.

And right now, any ally was better than none.

Principal Ashford's office was at the top of the west tower.

I climbed the stairs slowly, my thighs burning, my mind still spinning from the encounter with Rina. A cover-up. She'd said cover-up like she knew something. Like she'd been waiting for me to come back.

I filed that thought away for later.

The door at the top of the stairs was heavy oak, carved with the Blackwell crest—a wolf howling at a crescent moon. I knocked.

"Enter."

The office was smaller than I expected.

Bookshelves lined every wall, stuffed with files and old texts and the kind of knickknacks people collect when they've moved too many times. A desk sat in the center of the room, cluttered with papers. Behind it, a woman.

Principal Ashford was younger than I'd imagined. Maybe forty. Her hair was silver-white, cropped short, and her eyes were the pale gray of winter storms. She wore a simple black dress and no jewelry except a silver ring on her thumb.

She didn't stand when I walked in.

Didn't offer her hand.

Just pointed to the chair across from her desk and said, "Sit."

I sat.

She studied me for a long moment.

"You look like your mother," she said finally.

I stiffened. "You knew her?"

"I knew everyone in this pack before the rot set in." Ashford leaned back in her chair. "Your mother was the best of them. And then she wasn't here anymore, and no one would tell me why."

I'd heard that before. From Theron.

"She left," I said. "When I was twelve. No explanation. Just... gone."

Ashford's eyes narrowed. "Is that what they told you?"

My heart skipped. "What do you mean?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she pulled a folder from her desk drawer and slid it across the table.

"Your academic file. Transferred from your boarding school." She tapped the cover. "Impressive marks. Combat scores in the top five percent. Your instructors say you're one of the most disciplined students they've ever trained."

I didn't know what to say to that.

"I didn't bring you here to talk about your mother," Ashford continued. "I brought you here to tell you the rules."

She stood up, walked to the window, and looked out at the grounds below.

"Rule one: You attend every class. No exceptions."

"Rule two: You do not engage with students who provoke you. If someone attacks you, you come to me. You do not fight back."

"Rule three: You stay out of trouble." She turned to face me. "I don't care if you're innocent. I don't care if the whole pack is lying. What I care about is keeping this school open and keeping my students alive. If you cause problems, I will expel you. And the council will use that as an excuse to reopen your case."

My blood ran cold.

"Reopen my case? It was closed."

"It was closed inconclusively." Ashford's voice was hard. "That's not the same as closed. If I expel you, the council will have grounds to arrest you. And this time, they won't let you go."

I gripped the arms of the chair.

"You're threatening me."

"I'm warning you." She walked back to her desk and sat down. "I don't think you killed the Luna. I've read the file. The evidence is flimsy at best. But I'm not the one you need to convince. The pack is. And right now, they've already decided you're guilty."

She held my gaze.

"So keep your head down. Do your work. And for the love of the Moon Goddess, stay away from Lucien Blackwell."

My throat tightened.

"Stay away from him?"

"His father wants you dead. His fiancée wants you gone. And Lucien..." She paused. "Lucien is a powder keg. He's been grieving his mother for three years, and he's decided you're the reason. If you provoke him, if you give him a reason to come after you, I can't protect you."

I wanted to tell her that I didn't need protection. That I could handle Lucien. That I hated him just as much as he hated me.

But the words wouldn't come.

Because somewhere beneath the hatred, buried under three years of betrayal and heartbreak, something in me still ached for him.

And that something was dangerous.

"I understand," I said.

Ashford nodded. "Good. Now get out of my office. You have combat training in twenty minutes."

I walked to the gym in a daze.

Stay away from Lucien.

His father wants you dead.

The pack has already decided you're guilty.

I pushed open the gym doors and stepped inside.

The room was already half-full. Students stretching, wrapping their hands, practicing drills on the mats. I found an empty corner and started my own warm-up, keeping my head down, my movements careful.

"Everhart."

I looked up.

Lucien stood ten feet away, arms crossed, face unreadable.

He wasn't in uniform. He wore black training pants and a gray shirt that clung to his chest, and his hair was messier than before, like he'd been running his hands through it.

My heart stuttered.

I hated that it stuttered.

"You're in my spot," he said.

I looked around. Empty mats everywhere.

"There are thirty other spots," I said.

"This one's mine."

I held his gaze. "Then take it. I'm not stopping you."

Something flickered in his eyes. Anger. Frustration. Something else I couldn't name.

He walked toward me.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Every step ate up the distance between us until he was close enough that I could smell him—pine and storms and the boy I used to know.

"You shouldn't have come back," he said quietly.

"I've heard that."

"Then why didn't you listen?"

I stood up straighter. Met his eyes. Refused to flinch.

"Because I didn't kill your mother, Lucien. And I'm done letting everyone pretend I did."

His jaw tightened.

For a moment—just a moment—something cracked in his expression. Doubt. Pain. Confusion.

Then it was gone.

He turned and walked to the other side of the room without another word.

I watched him go.

And I felt the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on my chest like a stone.

Stay away from him, Ashford had said.

But no one told him to stay away from me.

And somehow, that made all the difference.