Page 54 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

The image plays on repeat in my mind: Cassian stepping closer, the way his body angled toward hers, the way her shoulders tensed just before she pushed him away. A moment that should have reassured me, but instead, it lingers like a bruise picked at too often. The bloody thing refuses to heal...to just go away.

I trust her. I do. But trust doesn't erase the feeling that lodged itself in my chest when I saw them.

It doesn't erase the fact that she isn't mine.

Not in any official sense. Not in the way that would settle the unease curling in my gut.

I press my hands against the desk, exhaling through my nose. This is ridiculous. I am not the kind of man who lets emotions rule him. I deal in strategy, in logic, in calculated risks. But Elara isn't a political maneuver. She isn't a piece to be placed on a board and manipulated into position.

She is wildfire—untamed, brilliant, capable of burning me to the ground– and I have already sacrificed so much. How much more am I willing to give? How much morecanI give?

I lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. I need something else to focus on. Something concrete. Something that doesn't unravel me from the inside out.

My gaze drifts to the file on the edge of my desk.

Marcus Thorne.

My predecessor. My mentor.

The last man who held my position before he stepped down under vague circumstances. He was the one who taught me how to navigate the Council's tangled web, how to keep my head down and my hands clean. He never spoke much about why he left. He never warned me against taking his place.

But something about the way he vanished from the political scene always felt...off.

And if there's anyone who might have answers about what these documents suggest—about the Council's quiet manipulation of mate bonds—it's him.

I check my watch. If I leave now, I can make it to his office before he locks up for the night.

Marcus's office is smaller than I remember. It was above his apartment and I'd been here multiple times before. He kept this place separate from his life working for the Council. He worked as a private investigator in his spare time and when he left, he focused on that full time.

It's tucked away in a quiet part of the city, far from the influence of the Council's towering presence. The blinds are half-drawn, casting slanted shadows across the room, and the air smells faintly of old paper and bitter coffee.

He's already there when I step inside, standing by the window with his back to me. His shoulders, once broad with confidence, are slightly hunched now. His brows and lashes, still contributing to his calm and trustworthy expression, have begun to gray along with the rest of his hair. The years have worn at him, but there's still a sharpness in the way he holds himself.

"You're late," he says without turning around.

I smirk. "I didn't realize this was an appointment."

He glances over his shoulder, and for a brief moment, the ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. But it doesn't last. His gaze flickers past me, out into the hall before he moves to close the door.

When he turns back, his expression is unreadable.

"You shouldn't have come here," he says.

I raise an eyebrow. "Good to see you too, Marcus."

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw before nodding toward the chair across from his desk. "Sit."

I do.

For a moment, there's silence. He watches me the way he used to when I was younger.

"You've been digging," he finally says.

I tilt my head. "That depends on what you mean."

His gaze flickers to the window again before he lowers himself into his chair. The leather creaks under his weight. He wants to ask me if I'm involved with the debacle with Elara. I'm sure his sources already informed him that the girl escaped and his mind must have gone to me immediately. The rest of the Council considers me too loyal to defy them like that.

"I knew you'd start asking questions eventually," he admits. "I just hoped you'd be smart enough to leave them unanswered."

---