Other than the soft whistle of wind outside his window, Michael's room was eerily silent. He tried to refrain himself from moving from his spot next to the fireplace, but the moment Zanna picked up Ellette's red cloak laying on top of his bed, he dropped his crossed arms to his sides and moved in her direction. When he reached her, he snatched the cloak out of her hands.

"It seems you have a habit of touching what does not belong to you, Zanna."

She had only been there for a few minutes, the hood of her black cloak still on top of her head, and she was already taking liberties.

He walked around his bed and towards his bedside table with the cloak clutched tightly in his hand. He opened the top drawer of the table and pulled out the grey moonstone—its presence and significance no longer a mystery—and tossed it on the bed close to where she was standing.

"Were my memories not enough?"

Confronting her was not his initial intention, but it seemed he had underestimated just how deep his anger ran.

Zanna glanced down at the moonstone then back up at him. "You remember." She said, a statement rather than a question. "How?"

"Does it matter? All that matters is all the memories my mother made you lock away have been restored."

"Does Reina know?"

He nodded.

"Does Ellette?"

He tightened his grip on the cloak upon hearing Ellette's name slip past her lips because how dare she say her name now after all this time of pretending.

"No, and I have no plans of telling her, either. You all went to great lengths to make sure I remembered nothing, so I figured I might as well continue the ruse."

She slid the hood from her head before reaching out and picking up the moonstone on his bed. She held it in her palm while staring down at it. "That is what you call keeping secrets. In doing so, does that make you any different than us?"

"Do not dare compare my choice to yours. What you and my mother did harmed her. Me not telling Ellette only harms me. Because no matter how much I want to be with her, I lost that right when I took everything away from her. All I can do now is make it right."

"You made it right when you chose her over Gabriel."

"A choice that forced my mother to put down her own son."

"To save her other son. It does not make it right, nor does not make it wrong, Michael. Her choice saved you and the Fae. It saved Ellette. But you know this, so the one you are truly upset with is yourself, is it not? Because you did not save her. Is that not the real reason you have not told her? Because of your shame? Because you cannot face the girl you professed to love and swore to protect?"

Michael clenched his jaw as he stared at Zanna. Mad as he was, he could not argue because she was right. He had chosen Ellette over Gabriel but could not see that choice through to the end, and as a result, his mother had been forced to do what he could not. But accepting he was most at fault did not make them blameless.

"You should have taken care of her. When I could no longer protect her, you should have, Zanna. You should have done everything in your power to get her to her people."

"Do you think your mother and I have not been doing just that this entire time? Is that truly what you believe?"

"I do not know. But what I do know is my mother will always put me above all else, which means I cannot trust her. Not when it comes to Ellette. And you? Is it a lie to say your loyalties will always be to the Witches?"

"Is that a fault?"

"A fact."

The return of his memories meant he remembered Aria had betrayed the Wolves in order to start a war against the Fae. The strong animosity the Witches felt towards the Fae would make it hard for him to know Zanna's true intentions.

"Yet, here I am, in your chambers in the middle of the night because you called. Have I not done everything you asked—then and now? Then, was it not I who told you how to save your dying mate? Now, was it not I who told you how to get her home? But if you do not trust me, Michael, then you should find somebody else to help you."

"There is nobody else."

She walked up to him, and because the top of her head only came to the middle of his chest, she was forced to tilt her head back and look up to meet his eyes. "Then where does that leave us?"

Staring down at her, he saw the tears in her eyes. It took only one to fall first before the rest followed suit. He immediately lifted his hands and placed them on either side of her face before swiping her tears away with his thumbs.

In that moment, he was reminded of the Zanna he had grown up with. The girl who rarely cried, and when she did, it was for the most unusual of reasons. The girl who had told him what to do to save Ellette's life despite how much she loved Gabriel. A year ago, he knew who Zanna was and who she was not, but now, he was unsure of who the girl currently standing in front of him truly was—friend or foe.

"You swear that you have not been playing a game this entire time, Zanna? Pretending is one thing, but if you have been lying about helping to reunite Ellette with the Fae, tell me now."

She shook her head. "'Twas not a lie. You are not the only one who cares for her, nor the only one bothered by her suffering."

"Then why—"

"Why did I not help her escape sooner? Because it was not what she wanted."

"Then what changed your mind?"

She looked away immediately, a telltale sign she was keeping something from him.

"Tell me, Zanna."

"The night you called and asked for my help, I left here and went straight to the Woodlands to talk to her. The moment I found her, I knew..."

"Knew what?"

She slowly began to look up at him, as if trying to prevent the inevitable for as long as she possibly could.

And that made his heart begin to race and a knot in the pit of his stomach begin to form. When her eyes finally met his, he was terrified to hear what words were going to slip past her lips.

"She...Ellette is dying."

Michael continued to stare, waiting for her to correct herself because he was absolutely positive she had misspoken. But when seconds ticked by and she only continued to stare back with tear-filled eyes, he knew she had not.

He took a step back and shook his head. "No, that is impossible. I...I just saw her. No, Zanna, you must be mistaken."

"I know you do not wish to hear it, but she is dying, Michael. If we do not get her to her people by the next Moonrise, I fear she will not live to see another."

He did not know what to say any more than he knew what to do. He had just gotten Ellette back, and he was going to lose her? How was that possible? He had fought his brother so that she would live. His mother had put down her eldest son so that she would live. So, why, a year later, was she dying?

"Gabriel's death for her life. Is that not what you said?"

"His death did undo the effects of the wolf bite he inflicted upon her; she would not have made it past that night had it not. But there is much about the Fae I did not know until recently."

"Is it for certain? Did she confirm it with her own words?"

Because a fairy could not tell a lie.

Zanna nodded. "You have to remember, Michael, she was prepared to die. Now I know 'tis because she knew death would be her fate without her people. We saved her so that she may live, but we only temporarily delayed the fate she had already accepted for herself. A wolf can survive without a pack, but a fairy cannot survive once cut off from the Fae and their shared light."

He walked over to his window and stared out towards the Woodlands.

He thought of all the times he had noticed Ellette trying to catch her breath if they had walked too long, her lack of energy whenever she spoke. She had been dying this entire time and he had not even realized.

How scared she must have been. How alone she must have felt.

He released a deep sigh and lowered his head.

"I know this is a lot to take in, that you are probably angry with me, your mother, even with Ellette, but you must remember what is important, Michael."

She was right. He had called Zanna with the intention of asking her to give him more time with Ellette, but time was not on their side—a reoccurring theme that haunted them from the moment they first met. Right now, getting her home was most important.

Doing so meant he would have to accept he only had a few weeks left to spend with her, but if her life was on the line then it did not matter. As long as she lived, nothing else mattered.

He lifted his head, turned away from the window and walked over to his wardrobe. He opened it and pulled out the handkerchief stained with Ellette's now dried blood. He walked it over to Zanna and held it out to her.

"Is it still usable?"

She nodded and took it from him.

Michael then brushed past her and headed towards his bedside table. He pulled out a dagger he kept in the middle drawer then walked back over to Zanna. Knowing his intention, she reached into her cloak pocket, pulled out a handkerchief and offered it to him.

He pressed the blade of the dagger to his left palm and sliced it open. He took her handkerchief and looked at her as he let his blood soak it. "Wolf blood, Fae light, and a dark object?"

She nodded.

"And you are certain there is one in the locked room in the West Wing?"

"As certain as rumours are credible."

He refrained himself from rolling his eyes. "So, not at all?"

"No, but 'tis the only lead we have."

And they could not afford to not pursue it.

* * *

Lantern in hand, Michael stood in front of the locked room in the middle of that same night. Unlike the obvious destruction that defined the entirety of the West Wing, its tall wooden door was completely untarnished.

As a pup, he had been more fascinated by the mystery and lore of the locked room than the fact that despite the cracked stone walls on either side of its door and broken floorboards leading to it, the door was perfectly intact. It was only when he grew older that he noticed the contrast.

Although it had not persuaded him enough to believe every word of the old tales—monsters and all—he could not deny some sort of magic had played a role in keeping the door locked.

And that was a problem he had not the slightest clue how to solve.

He walked up to it and raised the lantern. The glow from the candlelight bounced off the centre of the door down to its handle. His free hand reached out to grab then slowly turn it, but, as expected, it did not budge.

He tried again. Then again. Then again. He even put the lantern down and tried to force his way in by repeatedly banging against the door with his arm. Again. Then again. Then again.

Despite knowing the outcome years of experience of trying to open that very door gave him, Michael thought—hoped—this attempt would be different and that his desperation would will it open. But, still, it did not.

He sighed as he stepped closer to the door, and leaned in until his forehead touched the cold wood.

If he gave up now, it would be as good as giving up on saving Ellette. But how could Zanna expect him to bring about the impossible when all she had equipped him with was some nonsensical riddle about locked doors opening if asked?

But as ridiculous as it sounded, he knew she had been serious, and if it was his only shot, however long it may be, he had to take it.

He took a deep breath, pulled his head away from the door and tightened his grip on the handle. "Please open. Please help me save her."

He internally counted the seconds that ticked by with every beat of his heart. When nothing happened at five, he loosened his grip on the handle. When he hit ten, he lowered his head. But when he counted to fifteenand was ready to give up, he heard a click of a lock.

Suddenly, he felt his hand burning. He snatched it away from the handle, but before he could look down to inspect it, the door slowly creaked open, drawing his gaze to it and the sliver of complete darkness revealed by the crack.

There was no time to process what was happening or give in to his shock. He picked up the lantern, further pushed the door open with his free hand and entered the room.

A harsh coldness immediately wrapped around him, and the further he walked in, the more unbearable it became. The lantern's light was no match against the darkness as he could barely see in front of him. If there truly was a monster, were it to attack, he would never see it coming.

How was he to find a dark object in this unnatural darkness?

Just as he was about to stop, he stepped on something hard. He lowered the lantern and looked at the floor but could not see much. He crouched down and felt around with his free hand until he felt a hard object. He lifted it towards the lantern and was barely able to identify it as a sheathed dagger.

Right away, Michael felt something was off. It was not cold like the room it had been locked inside of for a century, but unnaturally warm.

He put the lantern down, then held the dagger to the light and unsheathed it. Its blade glistened, and from what little he could see, had markings on both sides. He reached out to trail his finger along the markings, and the moment it touched the blade, pain erupted as images seared themselves inside of his head.

He managed to drop the dagger which ceased the invasion of images. Despite the warmth he initially felt when he held it, Michael felt a coldness deep within—like every bit of light and happiness had been sucked from him.

There was no question the dagger was the dark object he had sought. The stories of the locked room spoke of a monster, and although there was no literal beast, the stories were very much true—the dagger was the monster.

The door slammed closed and the light from the lantern blew out, sending the room into complete darkness. Instead of panicking, he felt around for the dagger until his hand curled around its handle.

He quickly realized there would only be one way to get out of the room. He did not know how he knew, or why he was so certain, but the dagger wanted him to see something. Whatever century-long secret it had been keeping, it was willing to share with him but only if he was willing to give in to the darkness.

And there really was no question about what choice to make.

He tightened his hand around the handle of the dagger. And as he prepared himself to be dragged into the darkness, he thought only of Ellette in hopes it would lessen the pain.

A/N: Ellette really can't catch a break :( Time is ticking for our girl & it's stressing me out! As for Michael, he has no choice but to trust Zanna, but do we trust her?