The Human Among Wolves Chapter 194

Zayn

The knock at my door cut straight through my thoughts.

Aurora.

I was on my feet before I even realized it, crossing the room in two long strides. The moment I opened the door, she was there—and I didn’t give myself time to think. I caught her wrist gently and pulled her inside, shutting the door behind her with my foot.

“Took you long enough,” I muttered, more relief than accusation in my voice.

She smiled faintly, tired in a way that went deeper than sleep. “Sorry,” she said. “I was on the phone longer than I thought.”

“With your parents?” I asked, studying her face.

She nodded, stepping past me and setting her bag down on my desk before climbing onto my bed like it was the most natural thing in the world. She curled onto her side, knees tucked slightly, hoodie sleeves swallowing her hands.

I couldn’t help the quiet laugh that left me. “Comfortable, baby?”

“Very,” she said, her voice soft, eyes already half-lidded. “Your bed’s better than mine.”

I joined her, lying on my side so we faced each other. The space between us disappeared easily, like it always did. I brushed my thumb over her knuckles, slow and absentminded.

“So,” I said quietly, “talk went okay?”

She hesitated for just a second. “Yeah. It’s… it’s been okay,” she repeated, like she was testing the words before committing to them.

I didn’t push. I knew that tone. Instead, I shifted closer and pressed a kiss to her hair. “I’m glad.”

She sighed, a long one, the kind that carried the weight of a day finally being set down. Her forehead rested against my chest, and I felt her breathing start to even out.

“You’re safe here,” I murmured without thinking.

Her fingers curled into my shirt. “I know.”

We stayed like that, talking in fragments—nothing important, everything important. Small observations. Half-finished thoughts. Quiet jokes that didn’t need punchlines. At some point, her voice trailed off completely, her breathing slow and steady.

I realized I’d followed her into sleep only when—

I woke up.

The ceiling above me wasn’t the academy’s.

It was familiar in a way that made my chest tighten.

I sat up slowly, already knowing where I was.

The bed beneath me was larger, heavier. The room wider. Shadows clung to the corners like they had never left.

My old bedroom.

I ran a hand over my face and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold under my feet. Everything was exactly where it was supposed to be. Too exact.

I didn’t move when I heard the footsteps.

They weren’t rushed. They never were.

They crossed the room with calm certainty, stopping just behind me.

I turned.

Zade.

“You’re getting sloppy.”

His voice was calm. Almost bored.

I didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. I straightened slowly, meeting his gaze. He stood near the window, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat like he’d been there for a while. Moonlight cut across his face, sharpening angles I knew too well.

“Relaxed,” I said. “Not sloppy.”

Zade’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Same thing, in our family.”

I crossed my arms. “You came all this way to insult me?”

“This isn’t all this way,” he replied, glancing around the room. “It’s a thought. A crack. An open door.”

I clenched my jaw. “Say what you came to say.”

He turned fully toward me then, eyes darker than I remembered. Tired. Not weak—never that—but worn.

“She’s becoming a liability.”

The words landed heavy.

I took a step forward before I could stop myself. “Watch your mouth.”

Zade raised a hand, not in surrender—just to slow me down. “I’m not talking about her,” he said evenly. “I’m talking about what she makes you forget.”

I laughed under my breath. “You don’t get to lecture me about forgetting.”

“No,” he agreed quietly. “I get to warn you.”

Silence stretched between us, thick and familiar.

“You’re drifting,” he continued. “Your defenses are thinning. You’re sleeping deeper. You’re dreaming louder.” His gaze flicked to the bed behind me.

“That’s why I can reach you.”

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I decided to tell him—if not everything, then at least enough.

“The woman in the basement…”

That did it. His attention snapped to me instantly. He turned, eyes sharp.

“What about her? I told you everything I knew.”

“You did,” I said quietly. “Everything you knew. But… she’s Aurora’s mother.”

“What?” His voice cracked with disbelief.

“Yes.” I swallowed. “We were there—when you entered Aurora’s dreams. In her cabin. She didn’t remember who took her that night. He erased their memories.”

His expression darkened. I pressed on before he could interrupt.

“Our father and Aurora’s father were best friends.”

“Her father?” Zade frowned. “You met him too?”

I nodded. “I did. It’s complicated, and I don’t have time to explain all of it right now.” I hesitated, then looked him straight in the eyes. “Zade… I need to know something first.”

He didn’t speak.

“Can I trust you?”

“Zayn…” he said slowly. “I may have helped our father—but not because I wanted to. I was forced.” His jaw tightened. “And I swear on our mother’s grave… I won’t tell him anything you tell me now.”

“Our mother’s grave,” I repeated quietly.

“She’s not dead,” I added slowly, letting each word hang in the air. The look on his face—pure shock, disbelief—told me he hadn’t known.

“What?” His voice cracked, disbelief written all over his face. “What do you mean she’s not dead? She… she died giving birth to you, Zayn.”

“No,” I said firmly, my voice steady even as my chest tightened. “She’s alive. Or at least, she was. Father… he’s been keeping her locked away for years, trapped and hidden from the world.”

“But why? Why would he do that?” Zade asked finally, his voice quiet, almost cautious.

His words weren’t full of anger, but the confusion behind them cut sharper than any shout could. He didn’t understand—it was impossible to. And honestly… maybe no one could. I swallowed, feeling the weight of the truth pressing down on me, and I realized, once again, that our father didn’t need a reason to destroy someone’s life. It took me years to accept that. To understand that what he did wasn’t a fluke, wasn’t a mistake, wasn’t a lapse in judgment. He was a monster. Pure and simple.

“Maybe…” I began slowly, my voice low as I searched for the words. “…maybe she saw something she wasn’t supposed to see. Or she said something, opposed him in some way he didn’t like. Or maybe she just existed in a way that angered him. There are so many possibilities, Zade… and none of them are good. None of them.”

He stared at me for a long moment, as if trying to measure the truth in my tone, in my expression. The silence that followed was heavy, stretching across the room, pressing against us both like it had its own weight.

“Do you remember… her funeral?” I asked, my voice softer now, almost a whisper.

Zade shook his head, slow and deliberate, the motion weighed down by memory—or the lack of it.

“Father didn’t allow us to go to her funeral,” he said quietly, as if remembering the fear and confusion of that time.

“What?” I asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” he continued. “The servant kept us away. You had just been born, and I was only six. We had to stay home and look after you.”

Finally, he exhaled, a sound somewhere between resignation and determination.

“Do you… truly believe she’s still alive?”

“I know she is,” I said, steady, firm.

“If this is true… if what you’re saying is true… we can’t waste time. We have to find her.” he said.

“We have to,” I said firmly. “Aurora’s mother said she’d help, but we need something of hers. Anything personal, a keepsake, something that belonged to her. Without it… we can’t reach her, we can’t help her.”

Zade nodded slowly, the lines in his face hardened with resolve.

“I don’t know what I’d find, but I’ll look. If I find anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

“You have to be careful,” I warned. “Father suspects more than we realize. If he finds out… it could be catastrophic.”

“I know,” Zade said. “I’ll be careful. But we have to try. I have to go now, but I’ll search. And I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”