Deborah's POV
The cold night outside was unsettlingly quiet, the kind of silence that pressed into my thoughts, making every worry seem louder. After Deb left with that wealthy nobleman, a wave of despair washed over me.
I had risked everything to get here, sneaking into this unknown place with the faint hope of seeing her again. And yet, when I finally laid eyes on her, there was another man standing by her side—a man who introduced himself as her fiancee. The weight of that realization hit me like a blow, leaving a hollow ache in my chest.
I thought back to how I'd managed to reach the Sky City in the first place. It was a dangerous, almost reckless venture that still felt surreal.
A few days ago, I had spotted a hidden entrance to the underground city of Avalon. The area had been abandoned for years, yet on that particular day, it teemed with activity. Soldiers patrolled the perimeter, and a few armored aircraft were stationed nearby. What caught my attention was the logo on one of the aircrafts. I recognized it instantly—it was the same insignia used by the troops that had attacked Tirfothuinn.
A risky plan began to form in my mind.
Under the cover of darkness, I slipped past the patrols and onto one of the aircraft. Every move I made was calculated and quiet, relying on the heightened senses and agility that came with being a werewolf. I found a hidden spot in the cargo hold, holding my breath as the engines roared to life. The ascent was rough, and the momentary weightlessness made my heart pound in my chest.
When the aircraft finally landed at the Ablach border, I seized the opportunity to slip past the guards while they were distracted. Luck was on my side that day—the checkpoint was lax, and I managed to blend in without raising suspicion. That's how I made it here, into this strange, dangerous place.
And now, standing in Chad's apartment, I found myself confronted by even more questions.
My eyes were drawn to a wall of photographs, their surfaces covered with images of Chad and a woman I didn't recognize. They were together in every picture, their closeness impossible to ignore. There was something tender about the way they looked at each other, a connection that leapt off the glossy surfaces.
Barron's earlier comment echoed in my mind: "She looks like Deb."
At first, I dismissed it as an exaggeration. But now, studying the photos more closely, I couldn't deny it—there was a resemblance.
Not in their physical features. The woman in the photos had fairer skin and softer contours, her appearance unmistakably different from Deb's. And yet, something about her expression, the way she held herself, felt eerily familiar. Was it the intensity in her eyes? A particular tilt of her head? Whatever it was, it stirred an unsettling feeling deep within me.
I shifted my gaze to Chad. He was moving around the apartment with ease, pulling blankets and pillows from the bedroom to prepare a makeshift bed. His movements were fluid, almost automatic, as if he'd done this countless times before. It was a level of comfort that made me uneasy.
"Hey, Chad," I said, breaking the silence. My tone was light, almost conversational, though my gaze remained locked on him. "Can I call you that?"
Chad didn't even glance my way. He continued adjusting the blankets on the couch, his movements steady and deliberate. "You can, Matthew," he said, his voice flat and controlled, as though we were discussing the weather.
I leaned back slightly, studying him. His calm demeanor was unnerving, like a perfectly still lake hiding something dangerous beneath the surface.
"You know," I pressed, pointing toward the wall of photographs, "we really do look a lot alike. Especially in those pictures where you didn't have a beard. Don't you think?"
For a moment, Chad paused, his eyes briefly flicking to the photographs before returning to his task. "Maybe a little," he replied, shrugging as if the idea didn't interest him. "But lots of people look alike. It's not uncommon."
The indifference in his tone grated on me. He wasn't denying it outright, but his lack of reaction left me frustrated. I kept my gaze fixed on him, waiting for even the smallest crack in his composure, but it never came. Whatever he was thinking, he wasn't about to let it show.
His dismissive tone irritated me, but I forced myself to remain composed. "How old are you?" I asked, changing tactics. "You're probably quite a bit older than me, right?"
He ignored the question, tossing a pillow onto the couch before heading into the kitchen.
I stood there, feeling the weight of his silence, but refused to let it deter me. "Your fiancee is beautiful," I said, nodding toward the photos. My voice took on a teasing edge. "Haven't tied the knot yet?"
The sound of water boiling came from the kitchen, but Chad didn't answer.
"You'd better hurry," I added, my tone light but pointed. "Good women like that don't stay single for long."
This time, he finally looked up, his eyes cold as they met mine. "Worry about yourself," he said curtly, his voice sharp. "You're the one who's lost your girlfriend."
The jab stung more than I cared to admit. I clenched my jaw, refusing to let him see the impact of his words. "I haven't lost Deb," I said firmly, my voice steady. "We haven't broken up."
Chad emerged from the kitchen, carrying a steaming mug of coffee. He didn't acknowledge my words, instead settling onto the couch and taking a slow sip. His calm demeanor only fueled my frustration.
"She's not Deborah Wellspring anymore," he said after a moment, his voice as measured as ever.
The statement caught me off guard. I narrowed my eyes at him. "What does that mean?"
"She's Dara Edwards now," Chad continued, placing the mug on the table in front of him. "Mr. Lugh Edwards's long-lost daughter."
I froze, his words sinking in like a heavy weight. "Daughter?" I repeated, disbelief evident in my tone. "Who the hell is Lugh Edwards? And why should anyone care about being his daughter?"
Chad's expression didn't change. "Think of him as the ruler of Ablach."
I stared at him, my mind racing. Deb—no, Dara—was the daughter of the most powerful man in this city? The revelation created an insurmountable distance between us, one I hadn't anticipated.
"She's not the Deb you knew," Chad said, his voice softer now but still firm. "She belongs here, to this city and to her family."
"No," I said, shaking my head. "Deb is my equal, my partner. She doesn't belong to anyone."
Chad's eyes flicked up to meet mine, and for the first time, there was something almost sympathetic in his gaze. "You may think that, but she has responsibilities now. She made her choices."
I opened my mouth to argue, but the memory of seeing Deb earlier—her guarded expression, her careful words—stopped me. She hadn't changed, not really, but there was something new in her. A weight, a hesitation, that hadn't been there before.
The room fell silent again, the tension between us thick and unyielding. I glanced at the photos on the wall once more, feeling their presence like a physical force. Chad followed my gaze, his expression softening as he looked at the woman in the pictures.
"She was my fiancee," Chad said softly, his voice steady yet weighted.
The single word was hit me harder than I expected, bringing a fleeting sense of relief that quickly curdled into guilt. It wasn't my place to feel anything about her loss, but I couldn't deny the odd comfort it gave me.
"She passed away," he continued, his tone carefully measured but carrying an undercurrent of sorrow. He turned his gaze to me, those perpetually composed eyes now shadowed by something deeper. "And yes, I see the resemblance between her and Dara."
I opened my mouth to respond but found no words. The weight of his statement hung between us like a dense fog. The connection he'd made felt impossibly large, too overwhelming to confront.
Chad studied me for a moment before speaking again, his voice quieter but firm. "But I'm a simple man," he said. "All I want is for Dara to be happy."
His words struck a nerve. "Then help me," I said, leaning forward, my voice low but filled with urgency. "If you really care about her, help me take her away from all this."
Chad's reaction was immediate. He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head slightly. "And why exactly would I do that?" he asked, his tone edged with skepticism.
I didn't flinch. Instead, I met his gaze head-on, my own expression hardening with resolve. "Because," I said deliberately, each word weighted, "you're my brother."
The silence that followed was deafening. Chad's composed exterior remained intact, but something in his eyes flickered—a crack in his usually impenetrable demeanor. It wasn't anger or shock, but something subtler, more complex: recognition, perhaps, or the shadow of an old truth he'd long tried to ignore.
"Half-brother," he corrected after a pause, his voice measured but tinged with something I couldn't quite place. "Same mother, different fathers."
"You knew?" I asked, surprise lacing my voice.