Chapter 11 - Maisie

The next job is a blur.

I am beginning to lose track of time when we go out on jobs together. I sink into the feeling of Zane’s hand on my waist, and I almost drift.

It’s a dangerous habit. One of these days, my anxious mind warns me, it’s going to get me killed.

Zane whisks me into the glare of an overhead light and twirls me as music plays somewhere. Dangerous men laugh at his jokes, and so do I, following their cue as if I’m one of these people. My dress feels like it’s always pinching me. We drink champagne, though, of course, that’s an act too. I pretend to take a sip, and the ghostly taste of it, so faint it’s almost nonexistent, lingers on my lips.

Zane keeps looking at my lips.

If he’s really acting, which I’m certain he is, then I think I’ve never known an actor as good at it as him.

We drift apart. All of this was part of the plan. We need to get to know as many people as possible. A man I’ve never seen before, dark-haired and well-built, corners me at the drinks table as Zane chats with a group of socialites nearby, beginning to interrogate me about my real estate business.

I steel myself. Become like Zane. “Sorry, but I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

He laughs, startled. “May I have this dance, then?”

I nod. What choice do I have? He spins me off onto the dancefloor, where we twirl until I’m dizzy. The twinkling lights cast odd shadows across all the faces in the room. I catch men staring. Surely, they can’t be staring at me.

Zane’s arm around my waist grounds me as we return to the edge of the ballroom. The man I danced with disappears into the crowd, and I feel Zane’s lips brush the top of my head, an almost tender gesture that sends a shiver through me. It’s startling how sensitive I am to the feel of him—the warmth of his breath, the firm press of his hand at the small of my back.

"Going to make me jealous," he murmurs.

I laugh softly, but it sounds strange to my own ears, as though I’m standing outside myself. Everything feels dreamlike, heightened—the lights, the music, the distant murmur of voices. All of it blurs into a haze of sensation. Then there’s Zane, close enough that I can feel his heartbeat through his suit jacket, close enough that I can smell the faint spice of his cologne.

Something shifts inside me, unexpected and overwhelming.

I imagine what it would feel like to kiss him—really kiss him, not just the polite brush of lips that we fake in public.

I picture leaning up on my toes, tugging him down by his tie, tasting the champagne on his tongue. Would he pull me closer, his hand sliding up my spine, holding me so tightly that there’d be no space between us?

Heat flashes through my entire body at the thought, a rush of something wild and unfamiliar.

I’ve never felt this way before, not about anyone.

My heart races. I’m barely aware of the conversation around us, the polished strangers still laughing and drinking, the delicate clink of champagne flutes in the background. All I can focus on is this sudden, burning need, this ache deep in my chest that I don’t understand.

Zane’s hand tightens on my waist, his thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of my dress. It jolts me out of my head. I swallow hard, fighting back the confusion rising in my throat.

What’s happening to me? Why am I thinking like this?

I’ve never even kissed a boy before, not more than the occasional dared kiss in school, so many years ago now—nothing like how I’m imagining kissing Zane now. I feel like I’m drowning. I feel like I’m soaring, flying, high on imagination.

Sweat prickles at the back of my neck. My skin feels too tight, my dress too constricting. I try to catch my breath, but it’s like I can’t get enough air into my lungs.

Zane must notice because his voice pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts.

“We should retire for the night,” he says, his words calm but heavy with meaning. I understand instantly. It’s our code: mission over.

I nod, grateful for the excuse to leave, though my mind still spins ever onward, going on its own momentum now. Zane keeps his hand at my waist, guiding me through the throng of guests. People smile and nod as we pass, none of them noticing the storm brewing inside me.

We step outside into the cool night air, and the contrast is jarring.

The heat in my body dissipates almost immediately, like a summer storm sweeping through and leaving only stillness in its wake. I feel like I’ve been snapped out of a trance, the intensity of my earlier thoughts evaporating as quickly as they came.

Zane drops his arm from around my waist as soon as we’re clear of the party.

The space between us reopens, and with it, the strange spell I was under disappears entirely. I almost feel embarrassed, like I’ve just woken up from a dream and realized how absurd it all was.

Zane walks ahead toward the car without a word, his usual cool, collected demeanor settling back over him like a second skin. It’s as if none of what I felt back there mattered. As if the moment between us—the heat, the almost-affection—was just part of the act.

It was, I realize. Of course it was.

I slip into the passenger seat, my movements automatic. We drive in silence, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the whisper of tires on asphalt. The tension between us—that burning, electric energy from the party—has vanished completely.

It’s like it was never there at all.

I stare out the window, watching the city lights blur past, my hands folded tightly in my lap. The night feels colder now, the distance between us growing with every mile we put between ourselves and that ballroom.

***

The next day, the uncomfortable energy in the condo pushes me to my breaking point. I can’t stand being cooped up any longer. The walls feel too close, too cold, and Zane’s silence only sharpens the edges of my thoughts. Every time I glance at him—searingly attractive in a tight t-shirt, tattoos exposed up both of his arms, biceps tensing idly as he scrolls on his phone nearby—I feel that strange mixture of confusion and longing clawing at my insides. My wolf is blindingly angry and hurt all the time these days. She can’t understand any of this.

I know I shouldn’t, but I text Veronica. I figure one coffee can’t hurt.

Come to Stratfell? I type, pressing send before I can second-guess myself. I drop her the location of a café down the street.

Her response is quick: Absolutely .

I dress in my softest, darkest sweater, one that makes me feel somewhat anonymous. I don’t tell Zane where I’m going—he doesn’t need to know. And he’ll text me if he’s really worried.

I doubt he’ll worry. To worry about someone, you have to care.

The café is warm, filled with the comforting hum of conversation and the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee. I don’t know how she got here so fast—I suppose it’s one of her many superpowers—but I spot Veronica instantly, sitting by the window, a bright smile on her face as she waves me over. Her sleek, dark hair is tucked behind her ears. The sight of her makes me weak with relief.

“Maisie! There you are,” she says, standing to give me a hug.

I wrap my arms around her, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“Hey,” I say, my voice small but steady. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Of course. I’ve missed you!” She pulls back and looks me over, hands braced on my shoulders. “Are you okay?”

I force a smile, though I know it’s a weak attempt. “Yeah, just… you know. Work stuff.”

Veronica raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but she doesn’t push right away. We settle into our chairs, and after ordering our drinks, the easy rhythm of our friendship returns, at least for a little while.

We chat about Rosecreek, Aris, the pack, and how everyone’s doing back home. We talk like I’m still there. Veronica keeps forgetting to update me about how people are, how the kids are, how the pack is faring now that they’re down a medic. She jokes that nobody misses Zane, and I laugh, trying not to feel sick, then realizing my laugh wasn’t really a laugh at all, just a sad little noise.

Silence falls between us. Veronica reaches for my hand and I squeeze hers tight.

I stare down at my untouched cup of tea, my fingers tracing the rim of the mug. “I haven’t been very happy.”

Veronica tilts her head, her expression softening. “I know.”

I take a deep breath, feeling my voice tighten. “It hasn’t been easy.” I release her hand to cough into my elbow, trying to clear my throat.

Her brows knit together in concern. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. It’s—" I hesitate, unsure of how to explain what’s been eating away at me. "It’s everything. This mission, the undercover work… Zane."

At the mention of his name, Veronica’s expression shifts slightly, though she stays quiet, waiting for me to continue.

“I can’t stop thinking about him, and not just because of the mission. It’s like… there’s something between us, but at the same time, I feel so stupid for even thinking that. He’s distant and cold half the time, and then there are moments where he’s—" I pause, biting my lip. "He’s different. Kind. And I don’t know if it’s real or if I’m just imagining it because I want it to be real.”

Veronica watches me carefully, her gaze thoughtful. She goes to speak, then pauses, saying nothing instead.

“I’m sorry,” she says eventually. “I’m so sorry. That’s really hard.”

I shake my head, feeling the tightness in my chest return. “Most of the time, I just feel like a burden to him. I’m not like you or Keira or anyone else in the pack who knows what they’re doing. I feel… weak. And then I’m getting caught up in my feelings. Getting too emotional.”

“Maisie.” Veronica leans forward, her voice gentle but firm. “You need to talk to him.”

I blink, a lump forming in my throat. “But what if I’m not enough for this? For him?”

Her expression hardens with resolve. “Listen to me. Whether or not things work out with Zane doesn’t define your worth. You are more than this mission, and you’re more than any relationship. You’re strong, smart, and compassionate. And you have people who see that—Aris, Keira, the pack. We all know how incredible you are.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected, and I blink back the sudden rush of tears. “You really think so?”

“Of course. No matter what happens with Zane, we’ll always be here for you. You’re part of the family.”

I swallow hard, the anxious pressure in my chest easing just a little. “Thank you. I… I really needed to hear that.”

Veronica takes my hand again, squeezes it hard, then lets go. “Anytime, Maisie. And don’t forget—you’re never alone in this.”

We finish our coffee in more comfortable silence, chatting about lighter topics as the café buzzes around us. By the time we leave, I feel like I can breathe again. Veronica’s words have given me the strength I didn’t realize I was missing.

I return to the condo building with a spring in my step, feeling lighter than I have in days. In the rare sunshine over this city I’ll never truly know, I’m sure there’s an omen of better things to come. Maybe it’s stupid to think, but I believe it.

As I reach the door to our unit, something catches my eye.

A small, unmarked package sits on the doorstep.

My heart skips a beat, a flicker of unease crawling up my spine. I glance around the hallway, but it’s empty—no sign of anyone who might’ve left it there.

Kneeling down, I inspect the package. There’s no address, no label, nothing to indicate where it came from or who sent it.

On the underside, six words are scrawled in red.

NOTHING TO FEAR, NOTHING TO HIDE.