Chapter 18 · No Safe House

Darius doesn't answer right away. He's standing three feet from me in the parking lot, hands loose at his sides, eyes still carrying that gold edge from the shift. The rest of his pack is scattered around us—some bleeding, some just breathing hard. Kyle's on his knees by the fence, spitting blood onto the asphalt.

I ask again. "How long have you known?"

His jaw tightens. "Four years."

Something cold drops through my chest. Four years. The same night Mom died, he already knew. I take a step back. My legs feel like they're made of wet cardboard. "You knew the whole time. You knew when you found me in that alley. You knew when you offered me money. You knew when you—"

"Isla." His voice is low, careful. Like I'm the one who might break something. "It's not what you think."

"Then tell me what it is." My voice cracks. I hate that it cracks. "Tell me why your pack's mark was on the road where my mom's car flipped. Tell me why Vivienne has a photo of it and you never said a word."

Kyle gets to his feet, one hand pressed to his ribs.