Chapter Two

Damien King had imagined this moment a thousand times—rehearsed what he'd say, how he'd explain everything—but none of it prepared him for the actual sight of her.

Willow.

No, Lena, he reminded himself. That was what she called herself now.

He leaned back against the shelf, his heart pounding in a way it hadn't in years. She was standing right in front of him, flesh and blood, alive. After everything he'd been told, after years of believing the worst, she was here. Sure, she had changed. She was older now, no longer the wide-eyed child he remembered. But there were traces of her that no passage of time could erase.

Her hazel eyes were the same. They burned with the same intensity, even as confusion and defiance warred in their depths. Her nose, slightly upturned at the tip, was exactly as he recalled, and when her lips pressed into a thin line, it brought back memories of her stubborn pout when she was a child.

"Willow," he murmured again, the name rolling off his tongue like a prayer.

Her eyes narrowed. "Stop calling me that."

Her voice snapped him out of his daze. She was watching him now, wary and tense, like a cornered animal ready to bolt.

"This is insane," she said, stepping back toward the elevator. "I don't know what kind of sick joke this is, but I'm leaving."

Panic surged through Damien. She couldn't leave. Not now. Not before she knew the truth.

"Wait!" he called, stepping forward. His movements were measured—deliberate. He didn't want to scare her more than he already had. "Just… give me five minutes. That's all I'm asking."

She hesitated, her hand hovering over the elevator button. "Why should I?"

"Because I can prove I'm not lying," Damien said, his voice softening. "You don't have to believe me, but at least see the evidence before you go."

She hesitated, her eyes flicking between him and the elevator. Every instinct told her to leave. She didn't know this man, and everything he'd said so far sounded like the plot of some twisted thriller. But there was something in his eyes—a sincerity that gave her pause.

"Five minutes," she said finally. "No more."

Damien exhaled, relief washing over him. "Thank you."

He walked to a nearby cabinet, and from the bottom shelf, he pulled out an old, leather-bound photo album. He carried it back to her, handling it with the kind of reverence one reserved for sacred artifacts.

"This," he said, holding it out to her, "belongs to you."

Lena hesitated before taking it, her fingers brushing against the cool leather. She opened the album, and the first page hit her like a punch to the gut.

The picture was of a little girl, no older than five, with wide hazel eyes and a smile that took up most of her face. She was sitting on a swing, her hands clutching the ropes tightly as if she were afraid to fall. Behind her stood a boy—a younger Damien, though she didn't recognize him.

"That's you," Damien said softly, watching her face. "And me."

Lena shook her head. "No, this can't be…"

She flipped to the next page. Another photo. This time, the little girl was holding a bouquet of wildflowers, grinning from ear to ear. Damien was there too, kneeling beside her, his hand ruffling her hair.

The next photo was of a birthday party. A cake shaped like a wolf sat on the table, candles glowing brightly. The little girl was wearing a crown made of leaves, laughing as Damien held her aloft.

Page after page, the photos told a story she didn't remember.

"These… these aren't me," she said, her voice trembling. "I don't know these people."

Damien's chest tightened. He'd prepared for this, but hearing it still stung.

"You don't remember because of the accident," he said gently.

Lena froze, her fingers hovering over the edge of a photo. "What accident?"

Damien hesitated. How could he explain it in a way that didn't overwhelm her?

"When you were ten," he began slowly, "there was an… incident. Your family was attacked. It wasn't random. They were after your father. And when it happened, you were injured. Badly. We thought we'd lost you."

He paused, running a hand through his dark hair. "But somehow, you survived. We never knew how. You disappeared, and for years, there was no trace of you. We thought they had taken you, or worse."

Lena's head spun. This was too much, too fast. "Why would anyone attack my family?"

Damien's jaw tightened. "Because of what you are."

Her eyes snapped to his. "And what exactly is that?"

He took a step closer, his presence looming but not threatening. "You're the Aeternum"

Her breath caught. "The what?"

"The first bloodline. The origin. The power that started it all," Damien continued, stepping closer. "The wolves... our kind... we exist because of you. Or rather, what's inside you."

The room felt like it was titled and Lena let out a short, incredulous laugh. "I don't understand," she said, her voice breaking. "I don't understand any of this."

"I know it's a lot," Damien said, his tone softening. "And I don't expect you to believe me right away. But this—" he gestured to the album "—this is proof that you had a life before New York. Before all of this. You belonged to something bigger."

Lena closed the album, her hands shaking. "Even if this is true—and I'm not saying it is—why would my father hide this from me? Why didn't anyone tell me?"

Damien hesitated. "I don't have all the answers. But what I do know is that your father loved you more than anything. He would've done anything to keep you safe."

"Safe from what?"

"From the people who wanted to destroy him—and you."

Lena took a step back, her breathing uneven. This was too much. Too many questions, too few answers.

"I need to go," she said, clutching the album to her chest.

"Lena, please," Damien said, his voice urgent. "I know this is hard to believe, but you're in danger. The people who came after your family—they'll come after you too. You need to stay here, where it's safe."

She shook her head. "I can't. I don't even know you."

Damien's expression darkened. "You might not remember me, but I remember you. I've spent years searching for you, Willow. And I won't let them take you again."

The intensity in his voice made her freeze. For a moment, she saw something in his eyes—something raw and unguarded.

But then the elevator doors slid open, and the spell was broken.

"I need time to think," she said, stepping inside.

Damien didn't follow, but his words stopped her just as the doors began to close.

"They'll come for you, Willow," he said, his voice low and unyielding. "And when they do, I won't let them take you. Not again."

The doors shut, and Lena was left alone, clutching the album like a lifeline as the elevator descended.