The message came from Axel.
"Your mom's at Dashley's place. Something's off. Hurry."
Kellan didn't wait for more.
His heart stopped, then slammed back to life with violent force. He grabbed his keys, the phone slipping from his hand as he bolted out the door. He didn't even lock it. Didn't care. The world narrowed to a single point:
Dashley.
And his mother.
By the time he reached the street, the smell of smoke was already thick in the air. Sirens screamed somewhere far behind, too late. The sky over Dashley's house glowed a sickly orange-red, and flames cracked in the distance.
Then he saw it
The smoke hung low like a mourning veil.
Kellan's car screeched to a stop at the edge of the street, headlights slicing through the settling ash. Dashley's house was a skeleton of ash and flame, caving in on itself, swallowed whole by the fire. Her scent lingered—burnt, wild, terrified.
Then he saw her.
Dashley.
On her knees.
Bound in silver.
She flinched when one of the guards tugged her arms back. Her skin sizzled against the chains. She was shaking, not from fear—but rage. Pure, heartbroken rage.
Kellan stumbled forward, breath caught in his throat.
"What… what is this?"
His mother turned at the sound of his voice, her expression unreadable. "She's a werewolf. Her father resisted. He's dead. She's next if she doesn't cooperate."
His whole body went cold. "No…"
"Yes," his mother said firmly. "And don't pretend to be shocked. You of all people should know the danger they pose."
That was when Dashley looked up.
And saw him.
Blood on her face. Ash in her hair. Her eyes—those storm-gray eyes—locked on his. Her lips curled in disbelief.
"Oh, look who finally showed up," she said, voice hoarse but sharp. "Came to help clean up after the mess? Or just here to watch your mother finish the job?"
Kellan flinched.
"Was this the plan all along?" she continued, breathing hard. "Play the nice guy, get close, then burn my whole life down? Or was I just a bonus target?"
"Dashley," he said, his voice cracking. "Stop."
"Stop?" she repeated with a bitter laugh. "Why? Is it making you uncomfortable? Watching your girlfriend get chained like an animal while you just stand there?"
"You don't understand," he whispered, eyes wide, jaw clenched.
"Make me understand then!" she snapped, tears starting to fall now. "Tell me something, anything, to make this make sense. Why you're just standing there while your mother burns my life to the ground!"
Kellan opened his mouth—then closed it again.
He said nothing.
No denial.
No defense.
No explanation.
Dashley stared at him, chest rising and falling, waiting for something that never came.
"Right," she said bitterly, yanking her arm away from the guard despite the burn it caused. "Exactly what I thought."
She didn't scream when they dragged her away this time. She didn't fight.
She just turned her face away from him.
And that silence — that empty, broken quiet — said more than anything she ever could.