Rejected and Pregnant I Fled The Pack (Evelyn and Damon) novel Chapter 135

Chapter 135

Evelyn pov

The days continued dragging forward, one after another, each one bringing fresh messages from Genevieve- taunting, threatening, occasionally almost gleeful in their cruel, escalating specificity-and still, despite every resource the pack seemed to throw at the search, she remained frustratingly, terrifyingly elusive.

I sat in the living room that afternoon, Willow napping soundly in the next room, watching Damon pace near the window, his phone gripped tightly in his hand, checking it obsessively despite the fact that checking rarely brought anything beyond more of the same unsettling silence.

“Nothing new,” he said, more to himself than to me, though the frustration in his voice was unmistakable. ” Nothing from Callum, nothing from the search teams. She’s like a ghost, Evelyn. How is that even possible, given everything we’ve thrown at finding her?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, watching him continue his restless movement. “But this constant vigilance, this waiting for the next message, the next threat-it’s wearing on all of us.”

He nodded, though his pacing didn’t slow, and I found myself thinking, not for the first time, about how thoroughly this ongoing crisis had transformed our daily life. Security everywhere, careful monitoring of every movement through the compound, the constant, exhausting awareness that danger might genuinely be lurking just beyond whatever protective measures we’d currently implemented.

Robert’s door opened quietly, and he emerged slowly, still moving with the same careful deliberation his continued recovery required, though something in his expression carried a heaviness that went beyond simple physical fatigue.

“Any updates,” he asked, settling carefully into his usual chair.

“Nothing,” Damon said, frustration audible in the single word.

Robert nodded, something resigned crossing his tired features, and I watched him carefully, noting the particular sadness that had settled into him these past several days-not just fear, though that remained present too, but something heavier, more discouraged.

“You look tired,” I said gently, once Damon had finally settled his restless pacing enough to sit down himself.

“I am tired,” Robert admitted, something honest and vulnerable in the admission. “Tired of being frightened. Tired of watching Damon carry this constant, exhausting vigilance. Tired of knowing my own continued recovery is genuinely compromised by stress that shouldn’t exist in the first place, if we’d simply managed to actually locate and stop her by now.”

“You’re supposed to be healing,” I said, echoing the thought that had been circling my own mind for days now.” Peaceful, stress-free recovery, according to the healers. Instead, you’re worrying constantly about a genuinely dangerous woman who apparently could reach you at any moment.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I feel it, actually, physically. My heart rate elevated more consistently than it should be, given my current recovery stage. The healers mentioned it during my last check-up, though they can’t do much beyond simply advising me to reduce stress, which feels almost laughably impossible given our current circumstances.”

Damon’s expression tightened at that, guilt and frustration both evident in his tense posture. “I keep thinking there has to be something more we can actually do, some approach we haven’t yet properly considered.”

“We’ve considered everything reasonable,” Robert said gently. “The bait strategy we discussed, expanded search

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protocols, increased surveillance throughout the compound. At some point, Damon, continued strategizing without actual new information simply becomes exhausting repetition rather than genuine progress.”

I watched Damon absorb that, understanding the particular frustration of feeling like you should be doing more, even when logically you recognized you’d already exhausted most reasonable options.

My phone buzzed, and I glanced down, finding a message from Pete about the diner, something mundane and ordinary about weekly supply orders, and felt a strange, complicated pang at the sight of it- a reminder of the normal, uncomplicated life I’d built before all of this, now suspended indefinitely while we navigated this ongoing, exhausting crisis.

“I miss the diner,” I admitted quietly, more to myself than anyone specifically. “Miss simply existing without constant fear, without checking my phone anxiously every hour for whatever threat might arrive next.”

“I’m sorry,” Damon said immediately, guilt evident in his voice. “I know how much this ongoing crisis has cost you, cost all of us, really.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said gently. “None of this is anyone’s fault except hers. I just-I wonder sometimes how long we can genuinely sustain this level of constant vigilance before it starts eroding something essential in all of

us.”

Robert nodded slowly, something contemplative in his tired expression. “I think about that too. About whether continued, indefinite fear might eventually become more damaging than whatever direct danger she actually represents.”

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