Lena's POV
The journal sat open on the desk, its pages illuminated by the golden glow of a nearby lamp. Damien's mansion was silent, his pack on edge after Victor's sudden attack. But my mind wasn't on them. It was on the scribbled, chaotic handwriting staring back at me.
"I still don't get it," I muttered, frustration lacing my voice.
"You've been staring at that thing for hours," Damien said from the doorway. His tone was calm, but I could feel the tension radiating off him. He crossed his arms, leaning against the frame. "What are you hoping to find?"
"Answers," I snapped, more to myself than to him. "This is Ethan's journal. He left it for a reason. There's something here—something I'm supposed to see."
Damien sighed, stepping closer. "Lena, sometimes the answers we're looking for aren't the ones we want to find."
"Spare me the fortune-cookie wisdom," I said, flipping another page. My eyes scanned the writing, desperate for a clue, a sign—anything. "If Ethan's in danger, this might be the only way to figure out where he is."
"You're chasing ghosts," Damien said, his voice softer now.
I froze, my finger brushing against a jagged tear in the page. "Maybe," I murmured, "but sometimes ghosts leave trails."
"What do you mean?" Damien asked, his silver eyes narrowing.
I tore the page carefully from the journal and held it up to the light. The tear was deliberate, the edges uneven. And beneath the text, I noticed faint indentations—like someone had written something on the page above it.
"I think Ethan left me a message," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Damien was beside me in an instant, his presence both grounding and overwhelming. "Let me see."
I handed him the page, watching as his expression shifted from curiosity to something darker. "There's definitely something here," he said. "But it's faint. You'll need to rub it with graphite or something to make it visible."
Without hesitation, I grabbed a pencil from the desk and began shading over the indentations. Slowly, words began to emerge—disjointed and cryptic, but enough to set my heart racing.
Cabin. Shadow Pines. Alone. Danger. Trust no one.
"Shadow Pines," I repeated, the name sending a shiver down my spine. "That's in the woods just outside town."
Damien's jaw tightened. "You're not going there."
"What?" I turned to him, incredulous. "You can't stop me. If Ethan left this message, it means he's alive. He's trying to lead me to him."
"It could be a trap," Damien said, his voice hard.
"Or it could be the only chance I have to find him," I shot back. "You don't get to make this decision for me, Damien."
"You don't understand how dangerous this is," he growled, his wolf just beneath the surface. "If Victor or his pack finds out you're heading there, they won't hesitate to use it against you—or worse."
"I'm not afraid of them," I said, though the truth was more complicated.
"You should be," Damien said darkly. "Victor doesn't play games, Lena. And neither do I."
The intensity in his gaze made my heart stutter, but I refused to back down. "Then come with me," I said, challenging him.
He hesitated, and I knew what that meant. "You won't, will you?"
"I can't," he admitted. "Not without drawing attention to you."
"Fine," I said, snatching the journal off the desk. "Then I'll go alone."
"Lena—"
"No," I interrupted, meeting his gaze. "I don't need your permission, Damien. I'm not part of your pack. And if you won't help me, I'll figure it out myself."
He stared at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "Be careful," he finally said, his voice low and rough.
I didn't reply. Instead, I grabbed my coat and headed for the door, the journal clutched tightly in my hand.
The drive to Shadow Pines was uneventful, but the tension in the air was palpable. The woods loomed ahead, dark and uninviting, their shadows stretching across the dirt road like skeletal fingers.
I parked the car at the edge of the tree line and stepped out, the cold night air biting at my skin. My flashlight cut through the darkness as I followed the narrow path Ethan and I used to hike as kids.
The cabin came into view after what felt like an eternity. It was small and unassuming, its windows dark and its wooden exterior weathered by time.
I approached cautiously, my every sense on high alert. The door creaked as I pushed it open, the sound echoing in the eerie silence.
"Ethan?" I called, my voice trembling.
The interior was sparse—a single table, a few chairs, and a fireplace filled with cold ashes. But it was the object on the floor that made my breath catch in my throat.
A bloodied piece of fabric.
I crouched down, my stomach twisting as I realized it was a torn piece of Ethan's shirt.
"No," I whispered, clutching it tightly. "This can't be happening."
My eyes darted around the room, searching for any other clue, and that's when I saw it.
Carved into the wooden wall, deep and jagged, were three chilling words: Trust no one.
My heart pounded as the implications sank in. The warning felt personal, almost like Ethan was speaking directly to me.
A sudden rustling outside snapped me out of my thoughts. I spun around, my flashlight cutting through the darkness, but saw nothing.
"Who's there?" I demanded, my voice shaking.
The silence was deafening, and then, just as suddenly, a low growl echoed through the night.
I backed away, my mind racing. Whatever was out there, it wasn't friendly. And I was alone.
The growling grew louder, closer, and I knew I had to move. Gripping the piece of Ethan's shirt, I bolted out the door and into the woods, the darkness swallowing me whole.
But even as I ran, the warning carved into the wall echoed in my mind: Trust no one.