“Who’s Celeste?” I ask her.
Queenie’s face does something complicated. She glances at Knox, who’s now in a low, tense conversation with Nathaniel about something involving pack council votes.
“Celeste was Knox’s mate,” Queenie whispers. “His true mate. She died a few years ago.”
The words land like a punch. “He had a mate?”
“Yeah. It’s not a secret, but people don’t bring her up around him. It’s... complicated.”
“How did she die?”
Queenie’s expression goes carefully neutral. “That’s Knox’s story to tell, not mine.”
“But—”
“Ember.” Queenie’s voice is gentle but firm. “Some things you need to hear from him. Not me.”
I want to push, but Queenie’s right. This isn’t her story to tell. I look at Knox, still deep in conversation with Nathaniel, jaw tight, shoulders tense.
He had a mate.
