**Chapter 22: She Agrees At Last**
**Grace’s Perspective**
A sharp jolt of pain radiates through my body, a piercing reminder that I have been through something unimaginable. It feels as if my very flesh has been torn apart and hastily stitched back together, leaving me raw and vulnerable.
With great effort, I pry my eyelids open. The ceiling looms above me, adorned with intricate molding that captures the gentle glow of the morning light filtering in. This is not the basement. There are no chains, no cold concrete walls.
I find myself in a bed, cocooned in a sense of safety that feels foreign yet welcome.
My wrists are wrapped in clean, tight bandages, and I sense similar bindings around my torso. Each breath I take pulls at something tender beneath the gauze, a reminder of my fragility.
“Grace,” a voice calls softly, pulling my attention.
I turn my head, too quickly, and the room tilts around me.
Ethan is seated beside me, his chair drawn close to the bed. His hair is tousled, and dark circles shadow his eyes, suggesting he hasn’t had a moment’s rest. Yet, seeing him brings a wave of relief, anchoring me amidst the storm of panic threatening to engulf me.
“You’re awake,” he breathes, his voice cracking under the weight of emotion. Relief washes over his features, raw and unguarded, and I can see the tension in his shoulders ease.
I attempt to respond, but my throat feels like sandpaper, and the words emerge as little more than a whisper. “How long—”
“Two days,” he interrupts gently, reaching for my hand. His touch is careful, almost reverent, as if I might shatter under his grasp. “You’ve been out for two days.”
Two days. The horrors of the basement feel like they happened just yesterday, yet they also seem like a lifetime ago.
“How do you feel?” His thumb brushes over my knuckles, a soothing gesture. “What do you need? Water? Food? I can call the doctor—”
“Lori.” The name escapes my lips, hoarse and filled with desperation. I clutch Ethan’s hand tighter, my heart racing. “Where’s Lori? Is he—”
Please, please let him be alive.
Ethan’s expression shifts, a cautious look settling over his features. “He’s alive.”
The breath I didn’t realize I was holding rushes out in a whoosh of relief.
“But he’s hurt. Badly.” Ethan’s jaw clenches, and I can see the turmoil in his eyes. “The doctors are with him now. He’s going to need a long time to recover.”
Alive. He’s alive.
My eyes sting, and I blink rapidly, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over. *He’s alive. That’s what matters.*
“Grace—”
“Damien.” The name tastes bitter on my tongue, like poison. I force myself to meet Ethan’s gaze, searching for answers. “What happened to Damien?”
In an instant, Ethan’s demeanor shifts. Power crackles in the air around him, a palpable energy that makes my skin prickle. His eyes flash with something primal, the wolf lurking just beneath the surface.
“That fucking coward,” he growls, his voice low and lethal. “He never showed up at the cabin himself. No trace of him. By the time the Council arrived—” He pauses, his grip tightening around my hand. “There’s no evidence. Nothing that directly ties him to what happened to you.”
No.
No, no, no.
“He gets away with it?” My voice breaks, the weight of despair crashing over me. “After everything he did—after Lori—after—”
“Hey.” Ethan’s free hand cups my face, his touch gentle despite the simmering rage radiating off him. “Listen to me. We’re not done. This isn’t over.”
“But you said there’s no evidence—”
“For the cabin, no. But we still have witnesses from the rogue attack.” He brushes his thumb across my cheekbone, his gaze steady and unwavering. “The masked scents, the coordination—it’s not conclusive enough to charge him with conspiracy yet, but it’s enough.”
I’m lost. “Enough for what?”


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