Seated on the chaise in front of his bed, Michael stared at the wardrobe across the room while awaiting his mother's arrival. The sun had risen a few hours prior, and its light touched everything in his room but the wardrobe off in the dark corner. As the contrast was so clear, he found himself intrigued at the sight.

Had the sunlight not wished to be tainted by the darkness, or had the darkness repelled its unwelcomed touch? He knew the type of power darkness held within its grasp, but light was its equal and—should battle lines be drawn—its only worthy adversary as neither could exist without the other.

Just as life could never be free of death—a truth that relentlessly sought Michael out despite his efforts to avoid a confrontation. Efforts he would not allow to be made in vain.

So, despite telling his mother he wished to visit Gabriel, he had no real intention of doing so. It had been a ruse to create an opportunity to prey upon her. Visiting her dead son would undoubtedly put her in an emotionally fragile state, and Michael planned to use that to his advantage to get what he truly wanted: to go to the Woodlands.

He was not proud of the lengths he was going to, but he was her son, after all. If she could have him confined to his chambers to ensure he attended a pack meeting, surely, he could sink just as low. He had already committed to crossing the line, and the moment his mother arrived there could be no turning back.

That is if his mother did, in fact, show up.

Michael turned his attention to the table in the centre of his room, filled with an assortment of untouched breakfast foods his mother had sent nearly an hour prior.

Surely, she did not think it would take him that long to eat, did she? Or had she changed her mind?

Nerves set in as he wondered what kept her. His plan could not work without her. And that fact forced Michael to stand up and head towards the door. However, when he opened it, seeing his mother on the other side, dressed in black and hand raised to knock, caught him off guard.

She gave him a soft smile when their eyes met, but he did not return it. Instead, he focused on the faint tint of red in the whites of her eyes.

"Good morning, Michael. I apologize for keeping you waiting."

He knew right away why she had been late. Despite the rose in her cheeks and bit of colour painted on her lips, her efforts to draw attention away from her eyes had not fooled Michael. But if she wished to cover up the evidence that she had been crying, he would play along.

"Shall we go?"

After she nodded in response, Michael closed the door behind him and, together, they walked down the corridor. Once they turned the corner, he was thoroughly surprised to see all of the guards absent. So much so, he paused.

"You did not believe that I would send them away, did you?"

Michael started to walk again. "I learned a long time ago to never get my hopes up, is all."

"You know I never break my promises."

If she was trying to prompt him to fulfill his promise just as she had fulfilled hers, or trying to remind him he could trust her, Michael did not know. His uncertainty prompted him to say nothing, however, the silence did not last long.

"I did not think I would be able to accompany you today."

"Then why did you come?"

"Because I did not want you to be alone."

Again, Michael remained silent. It was not until after they reached the first floor and made it outside into the cool winter air that his mother spoke again.

"How have you been?" She asked as they walked the snowy path leading to the burial grounds.

If he had not felt her stare, he would have rolled his eyes. Instead, he stared straight ahead. "Why? Are the daily reports of what I do, where I go, when I come back, and who joins me in bed at night not sufficient enough?"

"They tell me nothing of your thoughts or feelings."

"Do they matter?"

"Of course, they matter. You matter to me."

As they rounded a corner, it brought them in direct sight of the tall iron gates that led to the burial grounds. A sudden stop would have aroused suspicion, but time was running out. Michael had to execute the plan before they reached those gates.

Stopping, he turned his head and looked at his mother. "Do I?" He asked, not because he truly doubted her words, but because he knew questioning her love for him would create the sadness needed for him to prey upon.

He only needed to push just a little bit further.

"Do you not wish as father does that it was me laying in those grounds and not Gabriel?"

She looked at him then, her blue eyes flooded with tears. "How could you ever ask me such a question?"

Just a little bit more.

"How could you ever choose them over us? Over him?"

"Michael, I—"

"Lady Reina!"

From behind, a young female omega, who served his mother, ran up to them. She stopped no more than five feet from where they stood and kept her head down.

"What is it, Lia?" His mother asked.

"My apologies for interrupting, but I was sent to deliver a message."

"Sent by whom?"

The girl lifted her head slightly, enough to quickly glance between him and his mother, before lowering her gaze back to the ground. Her silence made it obvious the message in question had not been meant for Michael's ears. Slowly, she approached his mother and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

Whatever she had said caused his mother to narrow her eyes at the girl. "Are you certain?"

The girl nodded.

When his mother turned to look at him, Michael knew what was coming.

"Can it not wait?" He asked.

He had been so close. Had come too far to give up now.

She closed the space between them, reached out and placed a hand on his arm. "I am sorry, Michael, but I must return to the castle."

Just like that, his plan had failed. Another reminder that no matter how hard he tried—in his dreams and in reality—control would always slip through his grasp.

Just as Michael turned to head back towards the castle, the hand still on his arm stopped him. When he looked back at his mother, she spoke.

"You do not have to return, just remember your promise. I kept mine, so be sure to keep yours. At all costs, Michael."

Before he could respond, his mother turned and headed back towards the castle with the omega following close behind.

Of all the things he expected to happen, being left outside alone was certainly not one of them. As conniving as she sometimes was, he did not think this was some sort of test. His mother had given him what he wanted—freedom—yet the victory, if he could even call it that, felt bittersweet.

If he were to make a break for the Woodlands, he would be betraying her trust but getting what he set out to do in the first place. If he stayed, he might actually have to visit Gabriel, something he was not at all mentally prepared to do. If he did neither and returned to the castle to wait out the hours until the pack meeting, there was no telling when he would be able to leave the castle again.

Michael stared towards the burial grounds and took a step in its direction. Immediately, his heart began to race, and his throat and chest tightened. The only thing he could do was look away. Not at the castle that seemed like a prison on most days, yet would always be a safe haven for him, but at the Woodlands.

Before he could stop himself or think twice, he headed towards the forbidden territory.

* * *

Despite winter being nearly at its end, there was a slight chill in the air. Neither he nor his kind felt the cold as easily as others, yet he felt its attempt to sneak its way inside of him. Because there was no lack of sun, a part of him could not help but wonder if warmth would ever­—could ever—fill those desolate lands again. But he did not dwell on those thoughts for long, as they were overshadowed by more important matters.

A tree with four names carved into its trunk.

A clearing in the woods.

A cabin.

Michael did not know if those three constant things from his dream were real or just figments of his imagination, yet there he was, trying to find a single tree out of the hundreds of thousands that made up the Woodlands.

His plan may not have been the smartest—especially since time was not on his side—but knowing it was a large oak would somewhat help narrow the search. His belief was that if he could at least find the tree, it would lead him to finding the others, which would then, he hoped, lead to finding answers and forgotten memories.

It was not his first time entering the Woodlands since the night of the almost war, but the first time since then that he was doing so alone. For months afterwards, he had been forced to join his father every time he called a 'hunt'. They were meant to ensure the Fae were truly gone, but, in actuality, Michael knew they were an excuse to avoid the pain and guilt he felt over Gabriel's death.

He was by no means an expert navigator, and hoped he remembered enough to know where certain paths would lead him to. But the deeper he ventured into the Woodlands, the more he realized he had not a clue where he was going. Pride would not allow him to admit it, but when he was thoroughly convinced he had passed the same path of redwood trees for the fifth time, he knew he was lost.

Had he made a left when he should have made a right? A right instead of a left?

Just as a deep sigh escaped him, the wind, which had been faint up until that point, began to pick up. Michael thought nothing of it as he made another attempt down an unsure path, but within seconds, the wind strengthened to the point where it began to howl, and the surrounding spruce trees began to sway back and forth.

To combat its sudden aggression, Michael lowered his head and tried to continue with his trek. But for every step he took, the wind pushed him back three. When it howled again, a shiver ran throughout his body. Not because of the cold that had been working so hard to invade him, but because he could have sworn that mixed in with the howl was a blood curdling scream of his name.

Instantly, a pain like no other erupted inside his head and forced him to stop. The pain only increased when images began to repeat over and over in his mind.

A girl.

A blinding white light.

A howling wolf.

Before he knew it, Michael found himself on the ground, writhing in pain. When keeping his eyes open began to become a struggle, he knew he was going to pass out. The pain was so severe that he would gladly welcome unconsciousness if it meant he would not have to feel it anymore.

Slowly, he felt himself drifting off as his vision blurred. Just before his eyes closed, he saw a cloaked figure running towards him, and his last thought was if it was real or just an imagination.

When Michael came to, it took him a second to remember where he was and what had happened. Another to realize that night had fallen. Although the pain in his head had disappeared, a slight throbbing remained.

He rolled over onto his back, and stared up at the dark, starry sky.

His father was absolutely going to kill him.

The thought alone pushed him to sit up, but he did not anticipate the dizzy spell that came over him. His hand immediately flew to his head until it passed, and when he pulled it away, there was blood on his hand. He must have hit his head when he had fallen.

He looked around, but not even the moonlight was enough to pinpoint which direction he came from. Was there even a point of trying to go home when he had already missed the meeting?

If he did, he would probably be prohibited from leaving his chambers let alone the castle, which meant his solo trip to the Woodlands might be his last. And he was no closer to finding answers than he was before he entered. But if he did not return home, his father would only take out his anger on his mother until he did. He was not in the mood to be scolded, but he would not allow his mother to be a scapegoat.

After getting up and dusting the snow from his clothes, Michael attempted to retrace his steps, and hoped it would lead him out and not on another wayward path.