Morning came pale and cold, spilling over Blackthorne Manor in a quiet that felt almost deceptive.
Evelyn had barely slept after reading Lucien's note. The words had stayed with her until dawn, replaying in her mind every time she drifted toward rest.
Tomorrow morning, go to the greenhouse.
Look for what the old Luna left behind.
Do not tell the staff.
She had read the line so many times that the paper seemed branded into her thoughts.
Beside her, Cassian had reacted no better. He had spent the rest of the evening with the note folded in his hand, his expression unreadable and tense in the way Evelyn was beginning to recognize as his version of alarm. Neither of them had spoken much after that. The manor had remained quiet, but the silence now carried expectation rather than peace.
By the time the first light reached her window, Evelyn had already washed, dressed, and stood waiting near the door with a restless energy she could not shake.
Mina had not yet arrived.
Cassian, however, was already outside.
Evelyn opened the door to find him in the corridor, dressed in a dark coat over his training clothes, hair slightly disordered as though he had run a hand through it too many times. He looked as if he had been awake for hours.
"You're up early," she said softly.
He glanced at her. "So are you."
"I had an appointment with a secret greenhouse mission."
That earned the faintest twitch near his mouth. "You say that like it sounds normal."
"In this house, it probably is."
Cassian held up the folded note. "You're surprisingly calm."
Evelyn looked at him for a moment before answering. "I'm not calm. I'm choosing not to scream before breakfast."
He regarded her with visible skepticism, though it did not last long.
A pair of servants passed at the far end of the hall, and both of them lowered their heads immediately as they walked by. Once they were gone, Cassian stepped closer.
"We should go before anyone asks questions," he said.
Evelyn nodded. "That seems wise."
The greenhouse was farther from the main manor than she expected.
They followed a narrow stone path along the eastern edge of the estate, where trimmed hedges and frost-bitten flowerbeds lined the walkway. Snow had settled in the corners of the garden overnight, though the morning sun had already begun softening the frost into silver droplets. Beyond the outer wall, the forest loomed in dark quiet, visible between the bare branches of winter trees.
The greenhouse sat at the far end of the garden, half-hidden behind a long row of dormant rose bushes.
From a distance, it looked older than the rest of the manor grounds. Its glass panes had a faint antique shimmer to them, and the iron frame around the structure had darkened with age. The building did not feel abandoned, exactly, but it did feel forgotten. Like a place the household no longer visited unless forced to.
Evelyn stopped when they reached the entrance.
The air inside was visibly warmer even through the glass. Moisture clouded the panes, and faint green shadows moved behind the walls of translucent light.
Cassian looked at the door, then at her. "Do you want to open it?"
Evelyn gave him a flat look. "Why would you ask me that?"
"Because you're the one who keeps acting braver than she looks."
That surprised her enough to make her pause.
Then, despite herself, she gave a small laugh and reached for the handle.
The door opened with a soft creak.
Warm, damp air touched her face immediately. The scent inside was rich and earthy, layered with soil, growing leaves, herbs, and something sweet she could not immediately name. The sudden contrast against the cold outdoors made her breathe in more deeply than she meant to.
The greenhouse stretched long and narrow in both directions, its glass roof arching above them in elegant curves. Rows of planters, hanging vines, and wooden shelves filled the space. Some plants looked perfectly ordinary, while others had been cultivated in shapes that suggested deliberate attention. There were herbs in ceramic pots, flowering shrubs lined in orderly clusters, and one entire wall covered in climbing ivy so thick it looked almost woven.
Evelyn's gaze moved slowly across the room.
It was beautiful.
Quietly, almost painfully beautiful.
And, like the rest of Blackthorne Manor, it felt as though it carried secrets beneath its surface.
Cassian stepped inside behind her and closed the door carefully. "I don't like this."
Evelyn glanced at him. "You don't like anything."
"That is not true."
"What do you like?"
He looked genuinely irritated by the question. "That is irrelevant."
She smiled to herself and moved deeper into the greenhouse, careful not to step on the narrow stone channels between the plant beds. Light filtered through the glass roof above them, falling in soft gold patches over the leaves. Some of the vines trembled lightly in the warmth, as if the room itself were breathing.
There were no servants inside.
No gardeners.
No obvious signs that anyone had been tending the space recently.
That made her uneasy.
"This place is too clean," she murmured.
Cassian followed her gaze. "It is not clean. It is maintained."
"By whom?"
A pause.
That made Evelyn slow.
The answer was obvious enough.
By someone who still cared.
Or had cared.
Or had left it behind for a reason.
She moved toward the central section of the greenhouse, where a long worktable stood beneath the tallest span of glass. Several clay pots sat in a line near the edge, along with a shallow tray of soil and a pair of shears carefully laid on a folded cloth.
And beneath the table, half-hidden behind the hanging edge of a white cloth, was a wooden box.
Evelyn stopped.
Cassian noticed at once. "What is it?"
She crouched and pulled the box out slowly.
It was small, plain, and locked with a rusted clasp that had clearly not been opened in some time. No dust had gathered on the lid itself, which suggested it had been placed there recently or hidden with unusual care.
Cassian knelt beside her. "That must be it."
Evelyn ran her fingers over the lid without opening it. "The old Luna left it?"
"Probably."
The thought settled over her with strange weight.
The old Luna again.
Always the old Luna.
Always some unfinished thread leading back to her.
Evelyn frowned slightly. "Why would Lucien hide this here and not tell the staff?"
Cassian was silent for a moment before answering. "Because he trusts us more than he trusts anyone else in the manor."
That made her look at him sharply.
Us.
The word had slipped out naturally, and he seemed not to have noticed.
Interesting.
She turned her attention back to the box. There was no key attached, no obvious mechanism. The clasp looked old but intact. She studied it for a moment, then tried lifting the lid with her fingers. It did not budge.
Cassian leaned closer. "Can you open it?"
"I was hoping you would ask that after I tried."
He gave her a look. "Do you have a key?"
"No."
"Then why are you smiling?"
Evelyn's fingers paused against the clasp.
Because she had seen the tiniest groove along the edge of the lock.
A pressure point.
Not a normal latch.
A puzzle.
She tilted the box slightly and traced the groove with her thumb. There was a small clicking sound, soft but distinct. Cassian looked down immediately.
The lock shifted.
Evelyn's breath caught.
"Well," she murmured, "that was suspiciously easy."
The lid opened with a soft creak.
Inside lay several folded pages, tied neatly with pale ribbon, along with a dried sprig of silver-green leaves and a small glass vial containing a deep red liquid. Evelyn stared at the contents in silence, her pulse beginning to quicken.
Cassian's face changed. "What is that?"
Evelyn reached for the papers first, lifting them carefully.
The top sheet was written in a fine, elegant hand. Not Lucien's. Not Cassian's. The script was feminine, precise, and slightly slanted. It looked old enough to be written years ago, but the ink remained surprisingly dark.
Cassian read over her shoulder.
The first line made him freeze.
IF YOU ARE READING THIS, THEN THE GREENHOUSE IS STILL SAFE.
Evelyn looked up slowly.
The old Luna had left a message.
Cassian's voice dropped low. "Keep reading."
Her fingers trembled slightly as she unfolded the next page.
The lines beneath were neat and deliberate, each one carrying a weight that made Evelyn's chest tighten as she read.
Some things buried beneath this house were not meant to be opened by force.
If the forest begins to stir, do not trust the silence.
The manor remembers what the men have forgotten.
And if the name is found beneath the dust, it will not remain asleep for long.
Evelyn felt the greenhouse grow colder around her.
Cassian stared at the page. "This is about the ridge."
"Yes," she whispered.
Her eyes moved to the vial next.
Something about the red liquid inside it made her uneasy, though she could not yet say why. The dried leaves beside it looked deliberately preserved, as if they were meant to be used in some ritual or remedy. Or warning.
Evelyn swallowed and looked back at the next page.
Below the folded sheets, a final line had been written in smaller text, almost as though the author had hesitated before adding it.
If Lucien asks, tell him I left it here for the boy.
Evelyn went still.
Cassian had gone completely silent beside her.
The greenhouse around them seemed to hold its breath. The leaves above rustled faintly in the warm air, and the room that had felt peaceful just moments earlier now seemed full of shadows she had not noticed before.
"The boy," Cassian repeated quietly.
Evelyn looked up at him.
His expression had changed in a way she had never seen before. Not anger. Not disbelief. Something more personal. More wounded.
The old Luna had left this for him.
Not Lucien.
Not the pack.
For the boy.
Evelyn gently folded the papers back together, her mind moving rapidly now. Whatever was buried in the manor, whatever had gone wrong at the ridge, whatever Lucien had not yet told them -- the old Luna had known enough to leave a warning specifically for Cassian.
And if she had left this box here, hidden in the greenhouse all this time, then she had believed someone would eventually come looking for it.
Cassian looked at the vial again. "What is that for?"
Evelyn stared at the red liquid. "I don't know."
But she had the strange and unsettling feeling that she was about to find out.