CHAPTER TWELVE
908 Words
Seraphine’s POV
The message had barely finished loading on my phone when I felt it—the sharp, electric pull of the bond flaring to life. Seconds later, Caden’s truck tore into the school parking lot with a screech of tires. He was out of the vehicle and striding toward me before I could even process the speed of his arrival. His face was carved with raw urgency, every line of his body screaming protective instinct.
“Don’t touch anything,” he ordered the moment he reached me, voice low and edged with command. His eyes locked onto mine, intense and unblinking. “Where’s Emery?”
The question hit like a punch. I swallowed hard. “He’s in class. He’s safe.”
Caden’s jaw tightened. Through the bond, I could feel the storm raging inside him—fear, fury, and a lethal kind of focus. “The message mentioned his bag. In the cloakroom, right?”
I nodded. “Yes. But he’s still in class. I checked on him before I came out here.”
“Anything placed in that bag means someone had physical access to the school,” Caden said, his tone grim. “They’ve been inside. Near our son.”
The words sent ice sliding down my spine. This wasn’t some distant threat anymore. Someone had walked these halls, stood where our children played and learned. The violation felt personal, visceral.
Before I could respond, another car pulled up sharply. Marcus stepped out, already pulling on evidence gloves, a small professional kit in his other hand. He moved with the calm efficiency of someone who had prepared for the worst.
Caden barely glanced at him. “Good. You’re here.”
Marcus gave a curt nod, his expression hard. “Let’s move.”
We headed inside together, the cheerful colors of the school corridors now feeling mocking and wrong. The cloakroom for the younger children sat just off the main hallway—tiny hooks lined with colorful backpacks, crayon drawings taped to the walls like fragile shields against the darkness creeping in.
Emery’s blue backpack hung exactly where it should. At first glance, it looked untouched. But my eyes caught it immediately—the front pocket. It was unzipped. Just a half-inch gap, but I knew with absolute certainty I had not left it that way.
“It’s been opened,” I said, voice tight. “I zipped it fully this morning.”
Marcus crouched smoothly, gloved hands moving with deliberate care. He eased the pocket open wider and reached inside. When he withdrew his hand, he held two items: a folded piece of paper and a photograph.
My stomach clenched as he handed them over.
The photograph came first. It showed me standing at Kevin’s dock three weeks earlier, coffee in hand, watching the water. The shot was taken from a significant distance—clearly with a long lens. The angle, the framing… someone had been watching me for weeks without me ever sensing it. The realization settled heavy in my chest, a cold weight of violation.
Caden went predator-still beside me, tension radiating off him in waves.
Marcus unfolded the note and scanned it before passing it to me. Four lines, typed in plain, menacing capital letters:
ASK HIM ABOUT THURSDAY EVENINGS.
ASK HIM ABOUT THE LAWYER.
ASK HIM ABOUT PATERNITY RIGHTS.
ASK HIM WHAT HE’S REALLY PLANNING.
The paper trembled slightly in my grip. I turned slowly toward Caden.
He didn’t look away this time. His shoulders squared, but I saw the flicker of regret in his eyes before he spoke.
“I’ve been meeting with a pack lawyer every Thursday since we arrived in Millhaven,” he admitted, voice steady but quiet. “I was building a legal strategy. Securing parental rights for Emery and Luna. In case Isolde moved first.”
The words landed like blows. Every Thursday. While I had been teaching, rebuilding trust, believing we were moving forward together—he had been doing this in secret. The secrecy stung deeper than the action itself.
“You didn’t tell me,” I whispered, shaken. The bond between us felt suddenly raw, exposed.
“I should have,” he said simply. No excuses, no defensiveness. Just the admission. “I thought I was protecting them. Protecting us.”
Before I could respond, Marcus’s phone buzzed. He answered it, listening intently, his expression darkening further.
“We have confirmation on the likely source of Isolde’s intelligence inside Millhaven,” he said after hanging up. “Daniel Crane—her brother. He’s been here for months, posing as if on sabbatical. We never verified his presence until now.”
A perimeter report came through almost immediately after. Marcus’s face tightened as he relayed it. “There’s a suspicious man matching Daniel’s description outside the school fence right now.”
The air in the hallway seemed to thicken with danger. Then Marcus’s phone buzzed again. This time, his reaction was instant.
“The door to Classroom Three,” he said, voice sharp. “It was confirmed closed six minutes ago. It’s open now.”
The realization hit all three of us at once. Someone was inside—or had just gained access to the room where the twins were.
I was already moving, heart hammering, shoes pounding against the floor as the situation erupted into full crisis. Caden and Marcus shouted after me, but nothing could stop the desperate surge toward my children.
- Writer
