Living was harder than I thought.

At first, it was only darkness, my body floating in some endless void. Then a rare beam of light pierced my eyelids, forcing them to flicker open.

I tried to keep them open, but the heat of the sun burned against my pupils, making me slam them shut again. Strangely, that pain felt like joy, I was alive. I wasn’t dead.

And if I was alive, it meant Thorne was too.

I pushed myself toward the edge of the bed, tilting my body in an attempt to sit up, when a sharp, stabbing pain in my side ripped a cry from my throat.

“Arrrrghhh…” I gasped, pressing gently against the injured spot.

I was barely clothed, wrapped in nothing more than a sack-like cloth around my waist and a thin covering over my breasts.

“The mad beast got me,” I muttered bitterly, staring at the carefully bandaged wound.

I had no idea who stripped me or patched me up, but whoever it was, they had done a surprisingly good job.

Clenching my teeth, I pushed myself upright, numbing my body against the waves of pain.

“You shouldn’t be moving so much.”

The familiar voice made me whip my head toward the corner of the room.

It was her, the elderly woman with the welcoming smile and pitiful eyes. She sat calmly at a small table, mixing a dark, foul-smelling liquid.

“What happened?” I whispered, my throat dry, my voice cracked as though someone else was listening.

“I don’t know much,” she said softly. “Sire Killian brought you to me himself, and he commanded that if you died, so would I. I’m glad you’ve woken. I still like to see the sun rise in the morning.” She gave a faint smile, as though her own death was nothing but a passing thought.

“Pfft… don’t exaggerate. He didn’t mean that literally,” I mumbled under my breath.

But she caught it.

“He meant every word. Sire Killian does not speak idly. Had I failed to make you breathe again, my body would have been cold.” Her voice was calm, eerily calm for someone speaking about her own death.

I stared at her as she poured the mixture into a fine wooden cup.

“Where’s Thorne?” I asked suddenly, shattering her composure. Her eyes flickered, betraying discomfort, before she returned to her work.

“I don’t know,” she muttered. “But even if you despise him, you should show a little respect when you speak his name.”

For a moment, I thought wolves were supposed to be stoic, unreadable creatures. But this woman… I could read her like an open book.

“You do know,” I pressed, my voice sharp with urgency. “Tell me. I have something important to say to him.”

She only sighed, carrying the cup over to me.

“You need to drink this first. For your strength.” She handed me the wooden cup, the liquid inside as dark as tar.

I wrinkled my nose. “No offense, but you’re not crazy, are you? You expect me to drink this… concoction? For one, it’s not sterile. And do you even have a license?” I spat out.

She frowned at my outburst, clearly confused by my words, though she was used to my stubbornness by now.

“I don’t know what you’re saying, but I know this, you must drink it to heal.”

“And what if it kills me? You’d die too, remember?” I argued, pushing the cup away.

“You’ve been drinking it for three days already,” she said flatly, though her lips twitched with the hint of a smirk.

My eyes widened. “Wait… what?!” My stomach twisted, nearly gagging. But then another realization hit me harder.

I’d been unconscious for three days.

She leaned closer. “Drink this, and I’ll tell you where Sire Thorne is.”

I searched her eyes, desperate, suspicious. “You’re serious?”

“Just drink,” she whispered, her voice heavy with strange pressure. “Then you’ll have your answers.”

Pinching my nose, I downed the bitter liquid in one gulp, cringing as it scorched down my throat.

“Now, tell me where Thorne is,” I demanded, belching as the taste lingered.

“Sleep now. Even if I told you, you wouldn’t remember.” She caressed my cheek gently, almost motherly.

My vision blurred.

“Wait.. have I been drugged?” My voice cracked, panic rising. “What did you give me?”

“Something to calm you down,” she said soothingly, pressing me back onto the bed. “You act like you’re unafraid of death. But I can feel it, my life is tied to yours. And I’m not ready to die yet.”

Her words sank into me as the darkness pulled me under again.

“Sweet dreams.”

My eyelids grew heavy, her blurred face the last thing I saw.

“Why am I being drugged all of a sudden?”

Those were my last thoughts before the darkness claimed me.

But just as I slipped into unconsciousness, a voice tore through the haze, sharp and venomous. It was Arlie’s, yet not the soft, guiding tone I knew. This time her voice dripped with fury, each word slicing through my skull.

“Find Thorne… before Killian breaks him. He needs you now.”

The echoes died, but the weight of her command clung to me like chains. My body trembled, though I couldn’t move. Why would Arlie of all people side with Thorne? He was the monster in both prophecy and reality. The savage beast who had tossed me against a brick wall as if I were nothing more than a filthy rag.

“And now I was supposed to save him?”

My fading sanity snarled at the thought. “No. He’s dangerous. He deserves his chains. If Killian destroys him, maybe it will end this nightmare once and for all.”

But the doubt lingered, scratching at the walls of my mind. Arlie had never spoken without reason. If she believed Thorne was the key, then maybe, just maybe, I’d been wrong all along.

Still, what power did I have? I could barely lift myself from a bed without wincing, let alone face Killian’s wrath. Even if I wanted to rescue Thorne, I couldn’t. My gut twisted with the truth I had been trying to ignore: the old hag’s brew wasn’t just for healing. This bitter concoction was something more, why did she say I won’t remember?

A shiver coursed through me as darkness swallowed my thoughts. What if, when I wake, I won’t even remember Thorne’s name? Or who I am.

The last thread of consciousness clawed at me, whispering: If I forget him, I lose more than memory, I lose myself.

My body went slack, but my ears… they betrayed me. Even as the potion dragged me under, I caught fragments of hushed voices. The hag wasn’t alone anymore.

“Is it done?” a low voice asked. Male and cold but it wasn’t Killian’s, that I know for sure.

“She drank it all,” the hag whispered back. “She’ll forget everything when she wakes.”

“And Thorne?”

“He’s……” I couldn’t catch the last part, my consciousness slipped.