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The answer is immediate. Almost satisfying. Because at least some things haven't changed.

"You always did like making things difficult."

A flash of anger crosses her face.

"Excuse me?"

"I meant⁠—"

"No, I know exactly what you meant."

The door remains only partially open. A barrier. Smart.

"You don't get to show up after 15 years and act like you know me."

I hold her gaze.

"I don't."

That surprises her. Good. Because it's true.

"I know who you were."

Her jaw tightens.

"And who am I now?"

I don't answer. Because the answer scares me. Before she can say anything else, a voice comes from behind her.

"Carys?"

Everything inside me stops. Not because of the voice. Because of the scent. My wolf reacts before I can. A sudden rush of recognition. Impossible.

I look past Carys. A teenage boy stands in the hallway. Dark hair. Green-gray eyes. My body goes rigid.

No. No, that isn't possible. Carys sees my expression. Her face changes.

"What?"

I don't answer. I can't. Because I have spent the last day looking at this boy's photograph.

Morrow Valentine. The missing teenager. The one connected to every strange thing happening in this town. The one whose existence brought me here.

Except now he is standing inside Carys's house. Alive. Safe. And looking at me like he knows exactly who I am.

"You know him," Carys says quietly.

It's not a question. I force myself to look at her.

"He's Morrow Valentine."

Her face loses color.

"You know his name."

"He's the missing person case."

Silence. Then: