Chapter 57

Lila’s POV

The next month was basically a high-speed montage of group dinners, whispered worries, and too much wine. Time blurred into lampshades and half-empty wine glasses as Damien, Rowan, and I, plus all of our werewolf–and–not–quite–werewolf friends, piled into the pack’s big dining hall every night. We feasted like kings and queens, tried hard to act normal, and reeled like fish out of water under the surface. Damien, chief prankster extraordinaire, had gone radio-silent. I missed his practical jokes—like hiding Rowan’s car keys in his breakfast cereal—but I understood. Everyone processes trauma differently. If and when he wanted to talk, we’d be there.

Rowan and I soldiered on through my classes, though we were both quieter than usual—less absent-minded flirting in the hallway, fewer giggly tickle fights between lectures. It wasn’t just Damien bringing us down; Oscar’s death had shoved a neon sign onto our lives that read: “Fragile. Handle with care.” We we