Chapter 12: The Ledger

Cassandra's POV

I woke at dawn to find his side of the bed empty and cold.

Conall was sitting on the edge of the mattress in his jeans with a black notebook in his hands.

He had not slept, and it showed.

"You left," I said.

"I did."

"I told you. No pack business in my bed."

"I know." He turned and put the notebook in my lap. "This isn't pack business. It's yours."

I opened it.

I read the first page, and the second, and I stopped understanding the words and started understanding the handwriting.

It was Braden's.

It was the same square capitals he used on my birthday cards.

It was the same hand as the grocery lists he left on the fridge.

Date. Dose. Notes.

I read the entry about the nosebleed.

I read the one where I had asked why I could not smell the rain.

I read: Good girl, drinks it every day.

I read it all the way back to the first line.

The date next to it was the week after we buried my parents.

"I was nineteen," I said.

"Yes."

"I was crying in the garage, and Lorna came out with a cup of tea."

"I know."

"She sat with me all night. She held my hair."

Conall said nothing.

There was nothing to say.

I felt something rise in my chest that was not grief and not fear.

It was white and cold and perfectly clear, and my wolf lifted her head inside me and agreed.

"I'm going to the Fir Cone," I said.

"I'll come."

"Yes," I said. "But you don't talk."

Braden was already at the counter when we walked in.

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