LOGINAuroraClosing the door behind me feels louder than it should. It is just a door, wood and metal and a handle that sticks on cold mornings, but right now it echoes through my chest like I slammed it on a whole lifetime. I take one step onto the porch, then another. The air outside tastes different, cooler, sharper. I look around like I am expecting the world to shift in some dramatic way, but it looks exactly the same. The same trees. The same quiet. The same sky that refuses to care about whatever is happening inside me.I stand there for a moment, not sure what to do with myself. I do not know where to go. I have no plan. I am angry, yes, furious in a way that feels new and old at the same time, but underneath the anger there is this tiny spark of something I am embarrassed to admit.Excitement.A small, hidden thrill twists through me. Because I did it. I actually had the last word and walked out. The thing I used to imagine doing in my head during every fight I never had the coura
AuroraThe way I have felt drawn to Lucas all this time runs through my mind like a quiet rewind. Not physical, not the easy kind anyone can explain with a look or a touch. It is something deeper, something that has been working in the background of every moment we have shared. I think about the way my chest loosens when he enters a room. The way the tension leaves my shoulders without me even noticing. The way my mind goes strangely quiet around him, like all the constant noise of my thoughts steps back for a second to make room just for him. Trust has always come easier with him, too. Too easy. Like my heart recognized his before my brain ever caught on.Now it makes a strange, perfect sense.Was all of that because I am his mate?Is this the reason why he is with me? Not because he chose me freely, but because something unseen tied us together long before I had a choice in it, long before he probably did either?“You already knew it, didn’t you?” I ask, my eyes locked onto his face
Aurora“Dad, I never knew mom was British.”The words come out of my mouth in an almost curious tone, like I am pointing out a fun fact I just learned, but my forehead wrinkles right after. That is not even what I had ever truly thought. I never thought of her as British or American or anything. I never thought of her much at all because I never had the chance to. She has always been a blur, an idea, a soft outline that never quite fills in.“What?” Dad looks at me, eyebrows lifting as amusement curls at the corners of his mouth. “She wasn’t British.”The way he says it is light, like it is obvious. Like I should have known.“But you said you were her mate,” I reply. The word feels small and simple to me, something that belongs in the same category as friend, partner, best person. “It means you guys were friends.” I can’t help the smile that forms. There is something oddly sweet in thinking about the way he still talks about her. He still calls her his friend. It makes me feel like I
AuroraI move from one picture frame to the next, my fingers almost trembling as they hover near the glass. Every frame holds a different version of me, but all of them are unmistakably mine. Younger. Softer. Smiling. Serious. Lost in thought. Even the face I see in the mirror every day stares back at me from one of the photos.My heart begins to race as my eyes move from picture to picture. Each one feels like a small punch to my memory.There I am on my seventh birthday, cheeks round, frosting on the corner of my mouth. I remember that cake. Chocolate with too much cream. Another frame shows me standing in front of my school gates on my first day, backpack too big for my small shoulders. I remember how nervous I was... I remember twisting the ends of my hair around my finger while I watched other parents crouch to hug their kids goodbye.Another frame. I am older. A little taller. My smile is more confident, but it is still careful, like I do not fully trust the happiness on my face
AuroraA shock runs through me, sharp and fast, but my face barely shifts. I have trained myself for this. Years of smoothing over the wild parts of me with a calm expression, a neutral mask, a version of myself that people can look at without flinching. But this time, the control is not just mine. It has everything to do with Lucas standing behind me. I can feel his presence the way you feel heat from the sun through a window, even without turning around.“What do you mean?” I ask, and I am impressed by how normal my voice sounds. Barely a ripple. If someone was listening from another table, they would think we are talking about the weather. Or the menu.James does not answer right away. His eyes slide around the restaurant, quick and careful, taking in faces, exits, the spaces between tables. He looks like he is memorizing everything, like he always does. Finally, his gaze returns to me.“I have come here because you called me,” he says. His voice is low, but not tense. More like he
AuroraLucas is sitting behind the wheel with his eyes fixed straight ahead as we drive to meet James. The road passes in blurred streaks, trees and signs smearing together like my thoughts. There is too much happening in my head for me to settle on one thing. Memories bump into questions. Fear presses up against hope. It all feels like a tangled knot that I cannot separate, only hold.I keep glancing at his profile, the way his jaw tightens and relaxes, the tiny muscle in his cheek that flickers every time he blinks. He looks calm, but I know him well enough to see what hides underneath. His hands grip the wheel, not hard, just enough to show he is holding onto something. Maybe that something is me.I stare out the window again. I know whatever I find out today will change everything. I can feel it in my chest, in the slow pull of each breath. My entire life feels like it is standing on a thin line, waiting for the next step. I do not know if I am ready to hear the truth, or if I wil







