The Human Among Wolves Chapter 191

Zayn

I lay there for a while with Aurora tucked against me, one arm draped loosely around her waist, the other resting beneath her head. The room was quiet in that soft, early-morning way, the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel empty but full—full of stillness, of breath, of the slow rhythm of someone sleeping beside you. I watched her chest rise and fall, steady and calm, like nothing in the world could reach her here.

She looked peaceful. Unburdened. For once, not carrying the weight of everything she shouldn’t have had to carry. Her hair was a mess against the pillow, strands brushing her cheek, her lips slightly parted as she slept. It hit me then, harder than I expected, just how much I loved moments like this. The in-between ones. Not the chaos, not the fear, not the plans or the danger—but this.

I leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“Rory,” I murmured softly, my voice low, careful not to startle her. “Wake up.”

She shifted almost immediately, a small sound leaving her as she stirred. Her lashes fluttered, eyes slowly opening as she blinked a few times, adjusting to being awake. For a second, she just looked at me, still half lost in sleep, like she was making sure I was real.

Then she leaned in and kissed me—soft, warm, unhurried. The kind of kiss that wasn’t about urgency or need, just familiarity.

“Good morning,” she said quietly, a small smile tugging at her lips.

I felt it spread through me instantly, that stupid, uncontrollable warmth. I smiled back without even thinking about it, my thumb brushing lightly along her jaw.

“Morning,” I replied, just as softly.

She settled closer again, her head resting against my chest like it was the most natural place in the world. I tightened my arm around her slightly, not enough to trap her—just enough to let her know I was there.

I hesitated for a second, just watching her, feeling that fragile calm between us and already hating myself for being the one to crack it.

“Baby…” I started quietly. “I don’t want to ruin this, but I need to tell you something.”

She lifted her head instantly, eyes narrowing as she searched my face. A frown crept in, soft but unmistakable.

“No,” she said at once. “If it’s something bad, I don’t want to hear it. Not yet. It’s too early for this.”

I sighed, a corner of my mouth lifting despite myself. “Well, what do you consider bad?”

“Zayn.”

“I’m joking,” I added quickly, trying to ease the tension.

She didn’t look amused. If anything, she looked more serious now, more awake.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice lower.

I took a breath, my hand still resting at her waist, thumb tracing small, absent-minded circles like muscle memory. “Zade was in my dreams.”

The shift in her was immediate.

She pulled back just enough to look at me properly, her body going tense in a way I knew too well by now. Her eyes searched mine, sharp and alert, like she was bracing for impact.

“What do you mean, in your dreams?” she asked slowly.

I exhaled through my nose. “The same way he was in yours.”

Her lips parted slightly. She didn’t speak right away, and that silence said more than words could. I could practically see her replaying it—his voice, his presence, the way he had found her so easily.

“He tried before,” I continued, keeping my voice steady. “More than once. He couldn’t get in. My mind’s… harder to crack.” I huffed quietly. “Guess I let my guard down."

I stayed quiet for a few seconds, watching the way her fingers twisted into the sheet, the way her jaw was already tight like she knew something was coming and didn’t want it anyway.

“There’s more,” I said finally.

She lifted her head immediately. “I knew it.”

“Rory—”

“No,” she cut in, already bracing herself. “Just say it.”

I took a breath. “Zade admitted he’s been pretending. All this time. The cruelty, the loyalty to my father—it’s an act. He said he’s been playing the role everyone expects him to play.”

She pulled back from me, sitting up fully now. “And you believed him?”

“I didn’t say that,” I replied carefully. “I said I listened.”

“That’s worse,” she shot back. “Listening is how he gets inside your head.”

“He’s already inside my head,” I said quietly. “He always has been.”

She shook her head, running a hand through her hair. “You’re making excuses for him.”

“I’m not,” I said, sitting up too so we were face to face. “I’m making a decision.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What decision?”

“I’m going to tell him everything,” I said.

The silence that followed was sharp, stunned.

“…What?” she said slowly.

“About Cecilia. About Theron. About the plan. All of it.”

She stared at me like I’d lost my mind. “Absolutely not.”

“Rory—”

“No,” she said again, louder this time. “Have you forgotten what he did? He entered my dreams like it was nothing. He threatened me. He works for your father. You do not get to hand him our truth and call it strategy.”

“He already knows pieces,” I argued.

“Enough to be dangerous. If I tell him everything, I control the narrative.”

“You control nothing once he knows,” she snapped. “You’re trusting him.”

“I’m not trusting him,” I said firmly. “I’m using him.”

She let out a sharp laugh, humorless.

“That’s what everyone says before it blows up in their face.”

“He said he’ll come back tonight,” I continued. “And when he does, I’m not lying to him anymore.”

Her expression hardened completely. “He is not on our side.”

“I didn’t say he was.”

“Then why are you doing this?” she demanded.

Because he hates our father, I almost said.

Instead, I said the truth.

“Because if there’s even a chance he’s telling the truth—if there’s even a crack there—I need to know.”

She stared at me for a long moment, then asked quietly, “Do you trust him?”

The question hit deeper than any accusation.

I hesitated.

“He’s my brother,” I said at last.

Her lips pressed together. “So is your father,” she said softly. “And you want him dead.”

That stopped me.

I looked at her then, and understood what she was afraid of. Not Zade. Not my father.

Me choosing blood over her.

“You’re right,” I said slowly. “Blood doesn’t mean loyalty. It doesn’t mean innocence. It doesn’t mean anything on its own.”

She didn’t move, didn’t speak.

“I’m not telling him everything because he’s my brother,” I continued. “I’m telling him because if he’s lying, I’ll know. And if he’s not… then we gain something we don’t have right now.”

“And if you’re wrong?” she asked.

“Then I deal with the consequences,” I said. “But I won’t walk into this blind.”

She exhaled, long and frustrated, rubbing her face with both hands. “I hate this.”

“I know.”

“I hate that you’re even considering it.”

“I know,” I repeated.

Silence stretched between us, tense and heavy. Finally, she leaned back against the headboard, eyes closed.

“If you do this,” she said quietly, “you tell me everything. Every word. No secrets.”

“I will.”

“And the second I say it’s too dangerous,” she added, opening her eyes to look at me, “we stop.”

I nodded. “We stop.”

She studied my face one last time, then leaned back into me—not fully relaxed, but not pulling away either.

“I don’t trust him,” she murmured.

“Neither do I,” I said, wrapping my arms around her.