CHAPTER 6 : THE SLEEPING CAGE

Someone watched her every night. Seraphine couldn’t say how she knew. She just did. Since the morning she’d woken up next to the dead guard, that feeling had stuck—like invisible eyes camped out just beyond the edge of every shadow. Watching. Waiting. Recording. No matter what she did, it wouldn’t leave her alone. The more she tried to convince herself it was nothing, the louder it got. By the third night after the murder, she couldn’t take it anymore. Something was wrong. So much more wrong than she’d ever let herself believe. Alpha House never felt like home. Now it felt like a cage. A pretty prison. Quiet as the grave, but still a prison all the same. Everyone thought she’d killed the guard. The Council hadn’t said it out loud, but they hadn’t cleared her either. She was stuck—neither guilty nor innocent. Suspended, untouchable, left to drift. People whispered. Servants scattered as she walked by. Warriors stared, kids pointed, even her own family looked through her like she was a ghost. But honestly, the loneliness wasn’t the worst of it. No, what really scared her were the dreams. Every night, the same: chaos and fire, silver skies, ancient wolves kneeling at her feet. And always Kaelen. Sometimes he stood guard at her side, other times he was the danger. Some nights, he was both. Nothing in those dreams made sense, but they felt more real to her than anything Alpha House could offer. Every morning, she woke up wrung out and half-gone, like she’d spent the night somewhere else. Living a life that wasn’t hers. After the guard, after that blank space in her memory, she couldn’t trust herself not to slip again. What if she hurt someone? What if she really was dangerous? That fear kept her up long past midnight. Tonight was no different. Moonlight poured through her window, draping everything in silver. The mansion slept. Everyone but her. Seraphine perched on the end of her bed, staring into the dark, holding her breath and listening. She heard it—a clicking sound, faint but definitely there. Click. Click. Click. Her body went rigid. The sound was overhead, near the ceiling. She stood. The room felt colder, the hair on her arms spiking up. Click. Click. Click. She crept across the floor, pulse hammering. Then the noise stopped. Quiet again. But she knew it had been real. She pulled a chair under the beam and climbed up. At first there was nothing—just shadows, old wood, stone. Then she saw it. Something tiny and metallic, just peeking out. A black lens. Watching. Recording. Her hands started shaking as she yanked the thing loose. It was a camera. Someone had been spying on her—in her room. The one place that should’ve been safe. A wave of nausea nearly doubled her over. How long had this been going on? Days? Months? Years? Suddenly she was tearing the place apart—behind paintings, inside shelves, under the bed. Everywhere. And she found more. Another camera. Then another. Five, in total, hidden all over her room. Her breath came short and sharp. It wasn’t just occasional surveillance. It was constant. She felt stripped bare. Not a person; an experiment. That word—experiment—rattled through her mind, too familiar, like something out of a dream she couldn’t quite remember. The feeling vanished, but the dread stayed behind. — She should have reported the cameras. Should have gone straight to the Council, or her father—or anyone, really. She didn’t. Instead, she kept searching. Instinct told her there was more. Right now, instinct was all she trusted. About an hour later she found something far worse. Symbols. They covered the room—hidden under furniture, carved into shelves, etched on the underside of her bed. So small and well-placed, she’d almost missed them. At first they looked meaningless. But something about them prickled at her memory. Seraphine crouched by her dresser and traced one with her finger. As soon as she touched it pain tore through her skull like lightning. A vision flashed: silver fire, shattered ruins, a throne carved from moonlight—then darkness. Just as fast, it disappeared. She staggered back, chest heaving. The symbol itself hadn’t changed. But now, when she squinted, the lines seemed to move, crawl around each other, like they were straining to become words. She blinked, and the movement stopped. What were these symbols? Not decoration. Not random. They meant something—and they were connected to her. Someone had put them here for a reason. That terrified her. Only one question left: Who? — The answer found her before sunrise. A soft knock at the door. She tensed. Nobody visited her. Not anymore. Three slow, deliberate taps. Heart in her throat, she opened the door. The hallway was empty for a moment. Then a shadow stepped into the dim light. Kaelen. She hadn’t expected him. The next Alpha just stood there, impossible to read, making the space feel ten degrees colder and a hundred times more dangerous. She gripped the door. “What are you doing here?” He didn’t answer right away. He just looked around—saw the mess, the cameras, the symbols. Something passed over his face. Recognition, then anger. Not at her, at whoever had done this. “You found them,” he said, voice low. She felt her stomach knot up. “You knew about them.” Not a question. He didn’t deny it. That made her angrier than anything. “You knew someone was spying on me?” No answer. She couldn’t hold it in. “Who put them here?” Still nothing. “No.” She shook her head. “No more secrets. No more half-truths.” Her voice shook; exhaustion and fear winding together. Kaelen studied her. For a second, he almost looked sorry. Then his face closed up again, solid as ice. “The less you know, the safer you are.” She laughed, sharp and bitter. “Everyone says that.” “They’re right,” he replied. He believed it, she could tell. Whatever he was protecting? It scared him too. He stepped into the room, eyes landing on one of the symbols beneath the bookshelf. His whole body went tight. He wasn’t surprised about the cameras—he was scared of the symbols. “What are they?” Her voice came out barely above a whisper. No reply. He stared at the markings like he expected them to come alive. Silence stretched until it hurt. Then she caught something in his expression. Fear—for her, not himself. Kaelen Dravenhart wasn’t afraid of anything, or so people said. But right now his fear was real, and it curled inside her too. “What do they say?” He turned to her. The room shrank. His eyes were colder, sadder than she’d ever seen. He spoke four words that landed like a punch: “You’ve seen them before.” That made no sense. “I haven’t.” “Yes. You have.” He was certain. A sharp headache sparked behind her eyes. For a split second, she pictured a sky filled with glowing silver symbols. Gone, just as fast. She staggered, Kaelen’s face darkening as if her pain told him something he didn’t want to believe. They stood in silence while the first light of day crept into the room, but nothing warmed the air. Kaelen turned to leave—another warning, another retreat. Seraphine’s fists clenched, keeping him from slipping out so easily this time. “No.” He paused. She swallowed and finally asked what kept her up every night. “What happened to me the night the guard died?” He stilled, shoulders tense. After a long moment, he looked at her—really looked—no anger, no distance, just raw concern. And that, for some reason, frightened her most. He whispered, “You need to stop dreaming.” The words settled between them, heavy and cold. Meaningless, and yet not meaningless at all. “What?” But he was already gone, disappearing into the corridor, leaving her with cameras, haunted symbols, and more questions than answers. It hit her then—Kaelen wasn’t warning her about nightmares. He was warning her about what lived inside her dreams. Something that wanted her to remember. Something that was already waking up.