POV: Evelyn

Helena recognized my mother's surname before I finished saying it.

Her hand stopped above the teacup. Only for a second. Then she picked it up and asked whether I took sugar.

“You know the name.”

“Many old family names passed through my office.”

We sat in a small consultation room at the clinic. She had agreed to meet after Miriam forwarded my request, with her own lawyer present and mine joining by phone. Silas waited outside because I wanted the first answers without an Alpha filling the doorway.

I had brought a copy of the tracing entry, not my mother's original photograph.

Helena looked at the page.

“Vey,” I said again.

“Where did this come from?”

“Material submitted by Gideon's lawyer. Its authenticity is being checked.”

“Then I would advise caution.”

“I asked whether you recognized the name.”

Her lawyer shifted beside her. Helena set the cup down without drinking.

“It was associated with Moonridge.”

The unfamiliar word settled between us.

“A place?”

“A pack. A group of families. It depended on who was keeping the records.”

“What happened to them?”

She looked toward the frosted window. Outside, a patient laughed at something Maeve said. The sound made Helena's careful silence feel particularly unnatural.

“There was a conflict over succession and territory.”

“What happened to the people?”

Her eyes returned to mine.

“Some died. Others left.”

“Left willingly?”

“No.”

I sat back. Until then, I had been holding the edge of the paper without realizing it.

“Was my mother one of them?”

“I cannot establish that from a surname.”

That answer was reasonable. It was also the first one she had offered promptly.

I slid the page closer.

“Then explain why someone continued tracing this name after she stopped using it.”

Helena's lawyer spoke. “We haven't had the opportunity to examine the complete document.”

Miriam answered from my phone. “Understood. Ms. Reed is asking about your client's knowledge of the family, not requesting an opinion on an unverified entry.”

Helena folded her hands.

“After the dispersal, some names were removed from active registers. For protection.”

“Whose protection?”

She did not answer immediately.

I thought of all the photographs my mother used to turn toward the wall. A habit could look harmless for years until one sentence changed its meaning.

“Did you handle those registers?” I asked.

“My office reviewed later amendments.”

“Did you?”

Her lawyer touched her sleeve.

Helena looked at his hand, then back at me. “I will provide a written account after consulting the records.”

“You could have said that when I asked.”

Her face changed. Not anger exactly. Something closer to exhaustion with being seen.

“I have already released material that damages my own position.”

“Yes,” I said. “That doesn't tell me what you are still keeping.”

The room went quiet.

I did not enjoy hurting her. That surprised me. She had helped remove a dangerous restraint from her daughter; she had also permitted things no apology could repair. Sitting across from her, I could see both without knowing how much more there was.

“Sabine was involved?”

Helena looked down at the page.

“She had access to the families before many of the relocations. Medical access.”

“Were they relocations?”

Her mouth tightened.

“Some were clearances.”

I waited until she looked at me again.

“Use words I can understand.”

“People were forced out. Some were killed.”

There it was at last.

I could hear the clinic clock now, every tick too distinct.

Miriam asked for the relevant records to be preserved and for Helena's promised account to be sent through counsel. No one pretended the meeting had proved my identity or Sabine's exact role in every death.

It had given me something worse than a conclusion.

A reason to reconsider my childhood.

I stood before the tea went cold.

Helena rose with me. For a moment I thought she would offer one more careful distinction.

Instead she said, “Octavia asks about the women.”

Her daughter had been both harmed and complicit. I remembered her refusing to have the second fact erased by the first.

“Does she ask you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Tell her the ones who want updates can arrange them through Maeve. Their addresses stay private.”

Helena nodded. Her eyes had reddened, though she did not cry.

I could have softened the meeting then. Offered her a sentence about having done her best, made it easier for us both to leave the room.

I thought of my mother turning over photographs.

“And send the account you promised,” I said.