C20 ADALINE POV

Adaline’s Point of View

“Blu?” I say, then a laugh bursts out of me.

She grins shamelessly, like a woman who doesn’t have a single care in the world. “I swear, my hair is just coincidental.”

I laugh harder at that. “Blu, your hair is not coincidental. You had the name before the hair.”

She smiles and takes another bite of her burger. I watch her, she has this youthful glow about her, and suddenly, I feel old.

“How old are you, Blu?” I ask, not caring whether it’s appropriate or not.

“Twenty-seven,” she replies.

My eyes widen. “No way,” I gasp, giving her a once-over.

“Yes, I am,” she laughs, clearly amused by my reaction.

“You look young. I thought maybe twenty-five or younger, definitely not twenty-seven,” I say.

She shrugs with a smile. “Can I guess your age?”

I nod. “Try.”

“Twenty-eight.”

I smile, then nod. “I am twenty-eight.”

We sit in a comfortable silence while she finishes her burger, and I scoop up the last of my ice cream.

“You seem like a very powerful woman,” she says suddenly.

I let out a dry laugh, just as another jolt of pain shoots down my back, perfect timing.

“I’m not.”

“Then you must have powerful parents. People who’d die, or kill, for you.”

I want to laugh, to tell her no, but she’s not wrong. I do have powerful parents, and people who’d kill and die for me. And I left them behind.

I stay silent. Nearby, a guitarist plays Jhene Aiko’s Born Tired, and I nod along to the beat of the sad song. I wish I had a sibling. An older sister, or even younger, someone who’d be my automatic best friend, someone who wouldn’t see me the way I see myself: a mess.

“Why so sad, Aurora?” Blu asks softly. I turn to her, eyes full of tears. She pulls me into a hug, and I fight the sob threatening to break free. I won’t be the girl who cries in the street.

I pull away and wipe the stray tears with my sleeve. “I’m just so tired.”

She’s quiet for a moment, like she’s warring with herself, then asks, “What do you do?”

I feel a pang of disappointment, like I expected her to ask something deeper. I throw my hair into a bun. “I’m a professor at NYU.”

She whistles. “Fancy.”

“What do you do?” I ask with a small smile. The disappointment fades.

“I’m a…” she trails off, and when I glance at her, she looks genuinely unsure. “I’m a woman trying to get through the next few days, I guess. I work in a café back home… and I offer palm readings.”

“Come on,” I laugh, not believing her. But she keeps a straight face, which makes me laugh harder.

“You don’t believe me? Give me your palm,” she says. There’s a twinkle in her eye, like she knows something I don’t.

I shrug, hand it to her, and watch in amusement as she traces the lines with her fingers and murmurs something under her breath.

“There’s a storm coming,” she finally says.

“Very original, Blu.”

“Your next days will be your hardest,” she continues, her voice suddenly serious. “There will be days you can’t get out of bed. Days when the pain feels unbearable. Days you search for answers. You’ll fall. Your body will fail. And you’ll be reborn.”

The laughter fades from my lips. I look at her with suspicion, try to pull my hand back, but she holds it tightly.

“Relax, Adaline,” she says gently. And suddenly, there’s a calm washing over me, but I resist it, because I know now. She’s one of them.

“I can heal your body. The hex will be removed. But you’ll still feel like death. I can’t heal your soul or mind, that’s not within my power. Only you can lift the sadness in your soul.”

I stare at her, slowly relaxing. If she wanted to harm me, she would’ve done it already.

“Tighten your grip, Adaline,” she says, referring to my hand.

Still raw from betrayal, I snap, “Aurora.”

She nods. “Hold me, and do not let go, Aurora. Do this like your life depends on it.”

I don’t trust her. She could be my parents’ enemy, sent to kill me, or worse. She could be the devil in disguise. I shouldn’t be holding her hand. But I do.

And I’d love to say it’s because I hope she can take the pain away. But the truth is, I’m tired. If she wants to kill me, let her. I’m just tired. I want to rest.

I hold her hands.

She begins to speak, or chant, words in an ancient language, over and over. Something in me recoils. My blood sings. My bones hum. This isn’t just palm reading. This is Pack magic, deep and old and buried in me like a memory I refuse to claim.

It feels like something is trying to pull me away from her, but I tighten my grip, just as she does. Suddenly, we’re not in the streets of New York anymore. We’re somewhere else. Somewhere full of power.

Blu continues chanting, holding onto me. A gust of wind, or something like it, rushes between us, trying to rip me away. My hand burns where she touches it. My chest tightens. There’s wind, but no one around us seems to notice. My ears ring like someone screamed right beside me.

I don’t let go. Not until she whispers, stops chanting, and the chaos of New York seeps back into me.

“The hex has been lifted. They will come for you. I’ve placed a protection spell on you. Don’t let anyone into your home, only people you already know. Be wary of strangers,” she says.

I scoff. “A little too late for that.”

She hears the edge in my voice and sighs. “What was I supposed to do? Walk up and say, ‘Hey, Aurora Vulkov, I’m Blu from your Pack, and everyone’s dying of worry over you?’”

I stiffen. The truth slams into me. She knows. She knows everything.

“I don’t have a Pack.”

“Oh, fuck you,” she snaps.

I match her tone. “No, fuck you. My life’s been spiraling into shit, and it’s all the Pack’s fault. I left to create a life for myself and -”

She cuts me off. “You think this is our fault? You brought this on yourself. I flew all the way from The Big Easy to help you. I should have let you suffer. But your poor parents, and Luc, were killing themselves with worry.”

“This mess? It’s on you. You attracted the witches’ attention. And with what you are, with the power you could wield, of course they want to take you out.”

“You could’ve stayed home. But no. You wanted to play posh professor. Pretend you’re one of them. All this? It’s a façade. A mirage. A fake. You are fake, and you know it. Everyone knows it. All because you’re too weak to own what you are. Who you are. So you hide. You dream.”

She steps closer.

“Wake the fuck up.”

I’m holding my breath. Tears well in my eyes.

“Don’t cry,” she snaps. “Don’t fucking cry, you baby.”

But the tears fall anyway.

“Listen to me, Adaline, because you won’t see me again until you come home. Everything you need is already in you. There’s power in you. You just have to own it. There’s a traitor close to you. Someone working with the enemy, someone who will use you to bring down the Pack and the world with it.”

“Lean into your strengths. You’re not going insane. You’re waking up, just too slowly.”

“We don’t know what we’re facing. And even if I did, I couldn’t tell you. You’re supposed to figure it out yourself. But honestly? I think the Ancestors had too much faith in you.”

She starts to walk away, then pauses. “Just don’t die, okay? It’d suck if one of us died.”

“Get through the next few weeks. Or months. Don’t tell anyone about this. Pretend you don’t know a thing. Shouldn’t be hard.”

She gets up, and I catch the word tattooed on her neck: New Orleans.

“Wake up. You’ve been asleep too long. Wake up, or they will wake you. And kill you.”

And just like that, she disappears into the crowd.

God.