CHAPTER 49: CHAPTER 49: RHYDRIC’S CORE II

Ian crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing as he finally spoke again. "You rejected the Apex Alpha’s call."

The words dropped heavy in the air.

Rhydric didn’t even flinch. He only leaned back against his chair, shutting his eyes as if the world itself annoyed him to the core. The kerchief was back at his nose, his long fingers curling around it like it was the only thing grounding him.

Ian exhaled hard through his nose. At this point, he didn’t even care anymore. He knew nothing he said would make Rhydric stop. The Alpha would keep sniffing the damn cloth until he got bored or until it lost her scent.

"That apex of a guy is already getting on my nerves," Rhydric finally muttered, his voice low, deep, laced with that sharp edge of disdain.

Ian straightened at once. "Careful with the way you call the Alpha King. If the pack, or worse, if the other packs hear you, they’ll think you’re rebelling against him."

But Rhydric didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even twitch. He just sat there with his eyes still closed, breathing in her faint fragrance, like Ian’s warning was nothing but noise in the background.

Ian rubbed his jaw, tilting his head slightly. "You know," he added slowly, "you’re his favorite. Out of all four alphas, you’re the one he trusts most. The east alpha got the brain. Everyone knows that." The way Ian said it dripped with sarcasm, as if the words left a sweet taste in his mouth.

That’s when Rhydric finally opened his eyes again, cold and sharp, his voice steady and unbothered.

"My brain is For me, myself, and I. Not for the Apex Alpha to take and use as he pleases."

The words rolled out cleaner, sharper,each one deliberate, carrying the weight of his defiance.

Ian chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly. This man will be the death of himself one day. The Apex might love him, but one wrong word...

But he didn’t press further. He knew Rhydric’s pride. He knew that once the Alpha’s mind was made up, no one could move it, not even a king.

Ian’s chuckle faded, replaced by a low sigh. His eyes drifted over the rows of bookshelves crowding the study, each one a monument to Rhydric’s mind. A mind the Apex Alpha wanted to control, to claim, to bend.

"You say that now," Ian muttered, voice quieter, almost testing. "But refusing his call again? Rhydric... the Apex won’t overlook it forever. You know what happens to those who push too hard against him."

Rhydric leaned forward in his chair, resting one elbow on the desk. His fingers still toyed with the kerchief, but his eyes had hardened, that stormy gleam cutting through the dim light.

"What happens?" His lips curved into the faintest smirk, but there was no humor in it. "He punishes them. Breaks them. Makes an example out of them."

His voice dipped lower, dark as the shadows crowding the corners of the room. "But I’m not them."

Ian’s jaw tightened. And that’s the problem. He actually believes it.

"You’re playing with fire," Ian said flatly. "You might be the Apex’s favorite now, but favorites don’t last forever. He only values you as long as you’re useful." His tone sharpened, bitterness slipping through. "The moment you stop being his perfect little weapon, he’ll drop you or worse."

Rhydric’s laugh was low, humorless, a sound that barely counted as laughter at all. He leaned back again, eyes flicking lazily toward Ian.

"My brain is mine. Not his. If he wants obedience, he should find another dog to fetch his stick."

Ian froze at that, his pulse jumping. Those words were reckless, too reckless, the kind that could get even an alpha’s head torn clean off if they reached the wrong ears.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling hard. "You’re insane, you know that? The pack worships him. The world bends for him. And here you are, sitting in your tower, calling the Alpha King a man with a stick. If anyone else said that, they’d be ashes by now."

Rhydric tilted his head back, closing his eyes once more, kerchief pressed lightly against his face as if Ian’s rant was nothing but background noise again.

"Let them burn then."

The words came out quiet, detached,chilling in their simplicity.

Ian’s throat worked, as he rubbed his hands on his face his. Gods help me, one of these days his arrogance will drag us all down with him.

But he didn’t push further. Not tonight.

Not when Rhydric’s defiance burned this sharp.

Ian finally rubbed the back of his neck, realizing he wasn’t getting through to Rhydric tonight. The alpha was too deep in his own world, too wrapped around that kerchief and his stubborn pride.

"Fine," Ian muttered, giving up the argument. "I need to get to class anyway before the teachers start whining again."

Rhydric didn’t even glance his way. "Go, then."

Ian rolled his eyes. Cold bastard. He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned toward the door.

"You know," he said over his shoulder, his voice lighter now, more casual, "if anyone else skipped as many classes as you, they’d be dragged by the collar to the principal’s office. But no... not you. Not Azrael. Not Eryx. Not even that smug bastard Theodore. You four get your little Phantom Den and the whole school acts like it’s sacred ground."

His words hung in the air, echoing off the tall shelves of books.

The Phantom Den.

It wasn’t really a classroom, more like a private chamber hidden on the east wing of the academy. The space had been built for them, the sons of men too rich, too powerful, too dangerous to deny. No one else dared to enter, not even the principal. Teachers knew about it, the staff knew about it, everyone whispered about it,but no one questioned it. They knew better.

It was their haven. Their throne room. Their lawless sanctuary.

"Sometimes I wonder," Ian continued, hand on the doorknob, "what it must feel like, to have an entire school bow without even saying a word. Must be nice."

Rhydric finally cracked one eye open, his gaze cold but sharp, cutting through Ian like glass.

"Nice?" His voice was low, amused in that dangerous way. "No. It’s expected."

Ian let out a short laugh and shook his head. "Of course you’d say that."

With that, he slipped out, leaving the alpha alone again with his books, his thoughts, and that kerchief that still carried Athena’s faint scent.

The house was too quiet.

.

.

.

Athena sat in the corner of her room where the small shelf stood, books lined neatly, their spines faded from being read one too many times. But tonight, even her favorite books couldn’t save her from the heavy silence. Not even her phone, which she had scrolled through more times than she could count, staring at the same boring feeds.

Oliver still wasn’t back. That wasn’t new, but the absence pressed harder tonight, like the walls were swallowing her whole.

Her damp hair clung to her cheeks, white strands shining faintly under the dim lamp light. She tucked one behind her ear before reaching for the frame sitting right on the shelf.

Her fingers brushed against the glass. Her father’s smile stared back at her. Warm. Gentle. The kind of smile that could chase away storms.

Her lips twitched, trembling between wanting to smile and not being able to. "Hey, Dad..." her voice came out soft, almost a whisper, like if she spoke too loud she’d break something fragile.

She traced the outline of his face through the glass, the curve of his cheek, the familiar laugh lines by his eyes. "It’s been... what? Eleven years now? You’d probably laugh if you saw me now. Hair still white as snow, still the weird kid everyone stares at like I fell out of the sky."

She let out a shaky breath, leaning her head against the shelf. "School’s... fine, I guess. Big. Loud. Too loud sometimes. And people..." she paused, exhaling sharply. "People are people. Some of them stare too much, some whisper too much. But I’ve got Felicia. She’s... well, you’d like her. She’s insane. Talks too much, laughs at everything, and drags me around like she owns me. But she makes it less lonely. Even when I roll my eyes at her, she doesn’t stop."

Her lips curved a little more, the tiniest smile.

She chuckled lightly, shaking her head. "Then there’s Oliver. You know... my boyfriend. Crazy, right? Someone that was meant to be my uncle, even though we’re not related by blood. I don’t even know how that makes sense anymore, but somehow it does. He’s... he’s good to me, Dad. He makes me feel safe, even when everything else feels like it’s spinning out of control. I don’t know what I’d do without him."

Her thumb lingered on the frame, pressing gently against her father’s cheek in the picture.

Her voice grew softer, her throat tightening.

"I miss you. I miss you so much it hurts. Some days I just want to hear you laugh again, tell me what to do, scold me when I mess up. Just... be here. But you’re not. And I’m trying, Dad, I swear I’m trying."

She pressed the frame against her chest, closing her eyes. The silence of the night wrapped around her, heavy, but her heart kept speaking to the picture like he could still hear.