First thing in the morning, Caleb hurries to the hidden castle, his mind filled with dread and unease.
The hidden wing, also known as the hidden castle of the packhouse, had been closed and sealed off after Cedric’s turning as a means to protect the pack members. Although it’d proven to be quite futile, seeing as Cedric—or what was left of him now—often found ways to bypass the guards and find his way out whenever darkness was upon them.
It was still a mystery how he almost always managed to do that. Night after night, no matter what new method they devised to keep him in, he’d find a way out to wreak havoc. More often than not, it usually never happens during the day. It was like he became a ghost lurking in the walls of the hidden castle.
Last night, Caleb had known when Marisol wandered into the hidden castle, but he figured the hidden castle to be the least of their problems at nighttime, focusing on the more important task, which would be keeping the pack members safe. Cedric should be somewhere within the pack already, and if not, he was probably finding his way up to it, not still being holed up in his designated home that doubled as a non-functional prison, but how wrong he’d been.
He hurries on, each step laden with the burden of impending disaster. The echoes of Marisol’s terrified screams from the night before were seared into his memories, the sound replaying in his head on a haunting loop.
Sophia’s insistence that he could get hurt, coupled with the escalating strain on their relationship due to Marisol’s presence, had held him back from immediately rushing to her aid. Yet, the guilt gnawed at him, a relentless reminder of his failed duty to protect the pack, even from his own kin.
What scared him the most was what would happen if Marisol truly died. With trepidation gripping his heart, Caleb braces himself for the gruesome scene he anticipated. He steels his nerves, preparing to confront the aftermath of the wolf’s rage, convinced that Marisol would have borne the brunt of the attack.
However, as he cautiously enters the hidden wing, his breath hitches in disbelief as he takes in the sight presented in front of him. There was no trace of the grisly sight he had envisaged. No bloodstains drying on the hallways or splattered against the walls, no shredded remains of what was supposed to be Marisol’s outfit. Overall, there was nothing that hinted at an attack the night before. It was as though the night’s ordeal never happened, or, had been erased completely, leaving behind an eerie void.