Elena's POV
Morning came quickly.
It had been two days since the encounter with Jameson, and it still had not left my mind. The way he fixated on the name Widders lingered longer than I wanted to admit.
After that day, Michael and I decided to slow down with the investigations and lay low for a while.
Not because we were afraid.
If anything, it was a strategy.
Staying visible meant control. Disappearing now would only raise questions, and questions attracted the wrong kind of attention. If someone was watching, we needed to stay within their line of sight, not outside it.
My wolf had not rested since.
She remained alert, restless, always listening, reacting to things I could not fully name yet. It was the kind of tension that came before something shifted.
Michael arrived later than usual that morning. We did not have classes to attend that day, though even when we did, we rarely shared all of them. Still, we moved together more often than not. It had always been that way.
And lately, it felt necessary.
I wore my usual style, the human one I had adopted over time. A short leather jacket over a sleeveless top, fitted jeans, and low brown boots. Simple. Practical. Easy to blend in.
I grabbed what I needed and we left the house together. Today, we planned to make inquiries about the on campus apartment we had applied for. A two bedroom place, somewhere neutral, somewhere we could stay without drawing attention.
As I stepped outside, I realized I had not seen my father.
Lately, that has become normal.
It was not that I did not know he was busy. It was that he seemed busier than usual, distracted in a way I could not quite place. And according to my suspicions, it all started after the attack on the low rank pack member.
Something about that situation did not add up.
The information surrounding it was scarce, controlled, and carefully released.
When we arrived at the student affairs office to inquire about the apartment, we were told it had already been approved.
That, in itself, was not the shocking part.
What unsettled me was the speed. We had been placed on a waiting list, clearly informed that it would take time. Yet somehow, we had been moved up without explanation.
The responses we received felt rehearsed, almost too smooth, as if they had been expecting us. I told myself I was overthinking it.
I had not exactly been in the right headspace lately, and paranoia had a way of creeping in when answers came too easily.
Still, Michael noticed it too.
He glanced at me briefly, just enough for me to catch it, and said nothing. I mirrored his silence as we accepted the approval slip.
Paperwork followed. Forms, signatures, confirmations. All routine. All efficient.
When we were finished, the staff handed us the address of the apartment we had been assigned.
And just like that, another door had opened.
When we arrived, I saw someone I had not seen in days.
Jameson.
He noticed me at the same time I noticed him. I expected him to walk past, or at least offer a distant, casual greeting. Instead, he did neither. He turned and walked toward us at an easy pace, as if the encounter two days ago had not happened at all. As if it had been nothing more than a passing moment.
"Hi, Elena," he said, flashing that same confident, almost obnoxious smile.
Then his gaze shifted to Michael. "Hey."
Michael's expression remained neutral, but I felt the tension beside me sharpen.
I studied Jameson carefully. The timing. The familiarity. The way he acted like everything was normal.
I could not decide which unsettled me more.
He was strange.
And worse, he was confusing me.
I did not know what unsettled me more, the familiarity or the timing.
"Jameson, what brings you here?" I asked, genuinely curious.
He smirked. "I should ask you both. I live here."
He gestured toward a white apartment.
Two houses away from ours.
I exchanged a quick glance with Michael.
"That is… convenient," I said carefully.
Jameson chuckled softly, genuinely amused by the situation. "Funny how things work out."
His gaze lingered on me, sharp and assessing, like he was trying to read between thoughts I was not offering. I met his stare without flinching, my expression carefully blank.
After a moment, he smiled, slow and easy, dimples appearing as if on instinct, giving him that effortless golden boy charm everyone seemed to fall for.
I did not.
"Yeah," I replied coolly, "I do not usually believe in coincidences."
He did not hesitate.
"I nudged it," he said, shrugging casually. "I know a few people on the team. Nothing dramatic." His eyes flicked briefly to Michael, then back to me. "You two were qualified anyway."
"Why?" I asked, confusion slipping through despite myself.
Jameson held my gaze for a moment longer than necessary, as if weighing how much truth to give. Or maybe deciding which lie would sound closest to it.
"Call it curiosity," he said quietly. "Or a need for proximity."
His smile softened, just slightly, and for a split second it felt real. Unguarded.
"I have a feeling," he continued, "that having the right people close makes it easier to get real answers."
Then, just like that, he exhaled, the moment dissolving. "Oh well. See you guys around."
He lifted a hand in a casual wave and walked away, as if he had not just rearranged pieces on a board only he seemed to see.
From the outside, Jameson looked uncomplicated. Easy. Predictable.
But the more I watched him, the more he reminded me of an onion, layers hiding beneath layers, each one sharper than the last.
Michael stood beside me in silence, eyes following Jameson's retreating figure. Then, for the first time since the encounter, he spoke.
"That guy," he said slowly, "is interesting."
Michael's POV
I watched as Jameson walked away, his steps unhurried, almost satisfied, like someone who had just set something in motion and was content to let it unfold.
That reaction bothered me.
An intervention like that did not happen without expectation. No one pushed paperwork, pulled strings, and rearranged access out of goodwill alone. Proximity was the reward he had secured, and he had done it smoothly. Too smoothly.
Elena stood still beside me, her gaze fixed on his retreating figure. To anyone else, it might have looked like she was simply watching him leave. I knew better. She was dissecting the moment, pulling it apart piece by piece, already searching for the fracture lines beneath his easy smile.
"I do not like coincidences," I said quietly.
She glanced at me, just briefly. "Neither do I."
Jameson had not helped us out of curiosity alone. He had moved us closer, close enough to observe, close enough to insert himself, close enough to become either a problem we would regret ignoring or an ally we might one day need.
I replayed the way he had looked at Elena when he spoke. Not with hunger. Not with arrogance. But like a man studying a puzzle he had not solved yet and fully intended to.
My wolf stirred uneasily, protective instincts rising sharp and immediate.
"Stay alert," I murmured as we turned toward our new apartment. "He is not as simple as he wants people to think."