CH 1-10

Summary

She was born an omega—lowest in the pack. But fate never cared about rank. Cast out by the only family she’s ever known, twenty year old Lyra is forced into the cold wilderness, exiled for the crime of being weak. But when she stumbles into the territory of a powerful rival pack, everything changes. Their Alpha doesn’t see weakness in her—he sees potential. Offered a place among wolves who don’t want her, Lyra struggles to find her footing in a world where rank rules everything and being an omega marks her as less than. School is brutal. Pack life is worse. But the Alpha’s two sons—Ronan, stoic and protective, and Jax, wild and untamed—are drawn to her in ways no one understands. Bound by something deeper than instinct, Lyra soon learns that fate has a plan for her, one that could rewrite the laws of the packs forever. But power has a price, and not everyone wants to see an omega rise.

Characters

Main Character:

Name: Lyra

Age: 20

Rank: Omega

Background: Once loyal to her birth pack, she was bullied for her lower status and exiled under the guise of “keeping peace.”

Personality: Resilient, cautious but not broken. She has a sharp mind, a quiet strength, and a deeply buried but powerful wolf spirit.

Key Characters

Name: Ronan

Age: 23

Rank: Soon to be Alpha

Background: He feels protective of Lyra but also sees her as an equal though he doesn’t say much.

Personality: Strong, responsible, quiet.

Name: Jax

Age: 22

Rank: Soon to be Alpha

Background: The younger son.

Personality: Wild, impulsive, charismatic. He challenges Lyra, mocks her sometimes, but is drawn to her fiercely.

1 Cast Out

The cold bites at my paws, but I don’t move.

I stand at the edge of the clearing, trying to breathe, trying not to fall apart while the entire pack watches me. Dozens of eyes, some filled with scorn, others completely empty. No pity. No warmth. Just wolves who’ve already decided I don’t belong.

Alpha Marek steps forward, towering and rigid, his voice cold as frost. “You’ve been nothing but a weakness to us.”

I clench my jaw, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. I won’t give them my tears. Not now.

“I never asked to be born an omega,” I say, quietly. My voice shakes, but I force it out anyway.

“You didn’t have to.” That comes from Aria his daughter, high-ranking and venom-tongued. “You just are. And we’re done carrying dead weight.”

My heart pounds in my chest, but I keep my chin lifted. My wolf inside me whimpers, afraid, but I refuse to back down. I’ve been stepped on, looked down on, ignored, punished—for existing. I thought maybe if I worked harder, kept quiet, did everything right… they’d see me. But they never did.

“You’ll leave our lands tonight,” Alpha Marek declares, his tone final. “You are no longer one of us. If you’re seen again, you’ll be hunted.”

There it is. No warning. No mercy.

I glance around one last time. The faces I grew up with blur together, unmoving, uncaring. Even my mother—goddess, my own mother—won’t look at me. She stands in the back with her arms crossed, eyes locked on the ground like this moment isn’t happening.

No one speaks. No one stops him.

My chest burns, and not from the cold.

I shift. My bones crack and reshape, fur blooming across my skin as I drop to all fours. I don’t wait. I run.

I run past the dens I once called home. Past the stream where I used to play. Past the border I never dared cross until now.

Snow begins to fall. Light, silent, almost gentle. I don’t stop. I keep running until the air is different. Until the scents change and the woods grow unfamiliar.

It’s not until I collapse beside a frozen creek, heart racing and paws raw, that I realize what I am now.

Alone.

Truly, terrifyingly alone.

2 Strangers and Territory Lines

The world is quiet.

Too quiet.

Snow falls like ash around me, soft and endless, dusting my fur and freezing against my skin. I lie curled beside a half-frozen creek, hidden under the thick shadows of pine and stone, my body trembling from cold, exhaustion… and something deeper.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. My mind flickers in and out like a dying flame. I must’ve run for hours, driven by pure instinct—away from the place that rejected me, away from the pain. But the ache clings to me like frostbite, a slow, creeping thing I can’t shake.

I’m not ready to shift. My wolf is too afraid. She curls in tight, ears pressed flat against her skull. She doesn’t want to be vulnerable. She doesn’t want to be human. Not now.

And honestly, neither do I.

Then I hear it.

A twig snaps.

I freeze.

Another sound—quiet paws pressing into snow. Slow. Cautious.

My ears perk, and my heartbeat quickens. Someone’s here. No… not someone.

Wolves.

I lift my head slightly and sniff the air. New scents hit me hard. Strong, dominant, wild—but controlled. Organised. This isn’t a rogue group. It’s a pack. A real one. And I’ve crossed their border.

Before I can even lift myself up, a dark shape steps between two trees ahead, his silhouette framed by falling snow and rising mist.

He’s huge in wolf form—thick black fur, piercing golden eyes, posture dominant but calm. Behind him, two others materialise like ghosts from the forest. One is a lean silver wolf with sharp blue eyes, the other a chestnut-colored female with a low growl rumbling in her throat.

They don’t lunge. Don’t snarl. They just watch me.

The black wolf takes a step forward. Then another. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him despite the cold.

And then, in a slow ripple of cracking bones and shifting flesh, he transforms. Snow steams where his bare feet meet the ground. Muscles flex. His eyes stay locked on mine, even as his face becomes human—stern and weathered, with short dark hair and a voice like thunder behind the calm.

“You’re on our land, girl.”

He pauses, reading me like a book. “State your name.”

My breath clouds the air. I want to speak, but my throat is raw, and I’m still in wolf form.

So I send it across the mental link, weak and shaky.

Lyra

He tilts his head, the name tasting foreign on his tongue.

“You don’t smell rogue,” he says after a moment. “But you’re not marked. No pack scent on you. That means one of two things either you left them, or they left you.”

He doesn’t sound angry. Just observant.

My head dips once in silent confirmation.

The silence stretches. The wind moves through the trees.

“Shift,” he commands.

I hesitate. My body is stiff. Weak. I don’t want to be human in front of him I’m bruised, starving, trembling. But I know better than to refuse an Alpha.

So I shift.

Pain ripples through every muscle as my bones crack and twist, fur shedding into bare skin. I’m left kneeling in the snow, completely exposed, chest heaving. My long hair clings to my back, soaked and matted.

One of the patrol wolves tosses something—a thick, black coat. It lands in front of me, and I scramble to pull it over my body.

The Alpha doesn’t look away. “I’m Alpha Kade. You’ve stepped into Bloodstone territory.”

Bloodstone.

I’ve heard of them. Far to the north, strict and loyal. Ruthless when crossed. Not a pack you mess with. Not a place an outsider is welcomed.

My voice comes out hoarse. “I didn’t mean to trespass. I didn’t know where I was going. I just… ran.”

Kade folds his arms over his chest, still watching me closely. “That may be true. But every step brought you closer here.”

Behind him, the silver wolf shifts into a lanky young man, maybe early twenties, with storm-gray eyes that study me like a threat. “She could be a spy,” he says coolly. “A rogue sent to test the border.”

“She’s no spy,” the female counters. “Look at her. She’s half-frozen.”

“She’s still trespassing,” the silver one snaps.

“I didn’t mean to,” I say quickly, the words spilling out. “I swear. My old pack they exiled me. I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Kade raises an eyebrow. “Exiled? For what?”

My throat closes. I force the answer past it anyway.

“I’m an omega.”

That gets their attention.

The silver-haired man laughs under his breath. “Of course.”

But Kade doesn’t laugh. He just watches me, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. Not disgust. Not quite pity, either.

“An omega with no pack,” he murmurs. “That’s dangerous. For you and for us.”

I nod slowly. “If you want me to leave, I will. I’m not here to cause problems.”

“You’ll freeze to death before you get a mile,” Kade replies. “And if not that, a true rogue will find you first. They hunt alone wolves this close to winter.”

I swallow. “Then what do I do?”

He’s silent for a long moment. Then:

“You have a choice. I don’t take in strays lightly. But we don’t kill without reason either.” He steps closer, eyes locked on mine. “If you stay, you follow our laws. You work. You answer when called. You prove yourself.”

“I will,” I whisper.

“You’ll be watched. Judged. Not all my wolves will accept you—and I won’t protect you from that.”

“I understand.”

Kade studies me for another heartbeat. Then he jerks his head toward the trees. “Come. We’ll find you somewhere to sleep before you collapse.”

I rise shakily, hugging the coat tighter around me. As I take my first step into Bloodstone territory, I feel it the shift. The weight of new air. New rules. New danger.

3 A Place for Strays

The walk back is slow.

Not because we take our time, but because every step feels heavier than the last. My body aches deep, marrow deep and the adrenaline that had kept me moving is long gone. My muscles tremble. My feet are numb. The coat wrapped around me is warm, but it can’t chase away the kind of cold that sinks into your bones when you’ve been unwanted for too long.

No one speaks.

Alpha Kade leads the way, silent and unreadable. His two wolves follow behind me—one still in wolf form, the other now human, pacing just a little too close for comfort. Their eyes keep flicking toward me like I might bolt at any moment.

Part of me wants to.

But I don’t have the strength to run anymore.

We pass through a section of forest that’s thick with pine and silence. The trees here are taller, older. The snow deeper. It’s not just territory—it’s a warning: You’re not from here. You don’t belong.

Eventually, the trees thin, and we break into a wide clearing dusted with snow and lit by the soft golden glow of lanterns. Buildings rise up from the frost—tall cabins built from thick logs, dark wood against white ground. Smoke curls from chimneys. The scent of roasted meat drifts through the air.

It smells like a life I’ve never had.

The Bloodstone pack compound is beautiful. Not what I expected from a pack with such a fierce reputation. There’s order here. Peace. Wolves move with purpose but without fear. No one snarls. No one snaps.

But they do stare.

Conversations fall silent as I pass. Heads turn. I feel their eyes, their curiosity, their judgement, like invisible weights pressing down on me.

I drop my gaze automatically. Old habits. Learned ones.

Kade glances back at me once “They’ll talk. Don’t let it sink in.”

Easy for him to say.

He leads me toward a smaller cabin nestled at the far edge of the clearing, half-wrapped in shadow. It’s set apart from the rest, like it doesn’t quite belong—fitting, I guess.

The porch light is on, casting a soft orange circle over the snow. There’s a single window facing the woods, and frost laces the glass.

“This was a guest cabin,” Kade says, stepping aside to let me pass. “Vacant. Quiet. You’ll stay here while we evaluate.”

Evaluate.

Of course. No one welcomes an omega without a price.

I nod, keeping my voice low. “Thank you.”

He lingers in the doorway for a moment. “Someone will come by in the morning. Eat. Rest. Don’t cause trouble.”

Then he’s gone.

The door closes with a soft click, and for the first time in what feels like days, I’m alone.

I don’t move right away. I just… stand there.

The warmth hits first.

Soft. Gentle. Almost painful after so much cold. The room smells like pinewood and old earth, like someone had cleaned it just recently but let it keep its soul. There’s a small fireplace glowing with slow-burning embers, a woven rug spread across the floor, and a simple couch with a folded gray blanket draped over the back.

To the side, there’s a tiny wooden table. A plate sits on it—bread, cold cuts, a small pot of honey. A jug of water and a ceramic mug.

It looks like a meal. Not a test. Not a bribe.

A kindness.

I swallow hard.

Still, I don’t touch anything yet. I don’t sit. My legs are shaking, but my instincts are louder.

Don’t trust it. Don’t let your guard down my wolf spoke

“I know”

I take cautious steps through the room. The floor creaks in places, but the cabin is sturdy. There’s a narrow hallway that leads to a small bathroom—stone-tiled, clean, and cold—and a bedroom with a narrow bed, folded sheets, and a tall window overlooking the snow-draped woods.

Everything is plain. Simple.

But it’s more than I’ve had in years.

I take a long, shaking breath.

Then I lock the front door. Twice.

And only then do I let my body collapse onto the couch.

I sit for a long time, still wrapped in the coat, staring into the fire. My limbs ache. My back stings with bruises I don’t want to think about. My stomach twists painfully, and my throat is dry, but I still can’t bring myself to eat.

What if this is a trap?

What if they change their minds in the morning?

What if I start to feel safe… and they throw me out all over again?

My old Alpha’s words come back like poison:

“You’re nothing, Lyra. A mouth to feed. A burden. No rank. No strength. Not even worth the pity of a mate.”

I flinch.

I know it wasn’t true. Deep down, I know it. But it still echoes.

Eventually, I rise and force myself to eat. I tear a corner from the bread, chew it slowly, wash it down with cold water. My stomach cramps at first, but I keep going, bite after cautious bite, until the plate is half-empty and I feel warm enough to think.

Then I take a shower.

The water is freezing—no surprise—but it feels like a ritual. I scrub harder than I need to. As if I can erase everything they said about me with enough soap and steam. The dirt under my nails. The scent of the old pack. The blood. The shame.

When I step out, wrapped in a towel, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

I barely recognize her.

Hollow eyes. Pale skin. Long dark hair tangled over one shoulder. A bruise on my collarbone. A scar on my hip from when I was ten and a higher-rank wolf shoved me down the stairs for “being in the way.”

I stare at myself for a long time a feeling of sadness overcome me. I was never like this before but now I am completely different.

My wolf stired whimpered and spoke

“You’re here now Lyra maybe we can start new. So far they have been kind to us. I think were going to do fine here and be accepted ”

I don’t know if it’s a promise or a plea. My wolf went silent after.

I dress in the softest clothes I’ve ever owned gray sweatpants, a navy sweater too big for my frame. The sleeves fall past my hands. It smells like cedar and lavender.

I curl up on the couch again, near the fire, wrapping the blanket tight around me. The quiet wraps around me just as tightly.

No voices. No threats. No one barking orders at me. No one telling me I don’t belong.

For the first time in years, my wolf is still.

Not happy. Not relaxed.

But still.

We watch the fire together, silent. Waiting.

Outside, the snow continues to fall, heavy and slow.

Inside, I finally let my eyes close.

And even though I know I’ll wake with fear in my throat…

For now, I sleep.

4 The Alpha Calls

I wake to the sound of wind brushing against the cabin walls.

For a second, I don’t move. I just stare up at the ceiling beams, tangled in a nest of blankets on the couch, half-expecting to feel sharp claws or hear Marek’s voice snapping me awake with another cruel order.

But the silence holds.

Then I remember: the trees, the patrol, the strange Alpha… the offer.

Bloodstone.

I sit up slowly, my joints stiff from the night before. The fire has burned low to a dull orange glow. The air smells like pine, wood smoke, and something faintly floral—lavender, maybe. There’s a warmth in the room that doesn’t come from the fire. It feels… untouched. Private. Like no one’s lived here for a while.

I rise and stretch, hissing quietly as sore muscles protest. My ribs ache. My legs are heavy. But I’m standing, and that’s more than I expected to be able to do today.

The table still holds the untouched remains of last night’s bread and meat. I eat slowly—small bites, wary and quiet, as if someone might walk in and tell me I’m not allowed to have it. It’s happened before.

Afterward, I clean up as best I can in the little bathroom, then dig into the folded stack of clean clothes. I choose simple black leggings, a long charcoal shirt, and a soft flannel jacket lined with fleece. Warm. Practical. No frills. But everything fits.

That alone feels like a miracle.

I run a brush—found in the bathroom—through my hair, wincing at the knots. The girl in the mirror still looks like a stranger. Pale. Tired. But steadier now. Her eyes have fire again.

Knock knock knock.

Three sharp knocks slice through the silence.

I freeze, heart lurching.

Not a threat. Probably.

I open the door cautiously, just wide enough to see a girl standing there tall, built like she knows how to fight, with brown skin, sharp cheekbones, and dark eyes that don’t blink much. Her cloak is thick and deep green, clasped at the throat with a small silver emblem.

“Lyra?” she says.

“Yes.”

“Alpha Kade wants to see you. Now.”

I nod, instinctively lowering my gaze. “I’ll come.”

The girl doesn’t offer her name, or a smile, or even a flicker of friendliness. She just turns and walks, expecting me to follow.

So I do.

The moment I step outside, I feel the stares.

The compound is alive now—wolves training in the snow, others carrying crates between cabins, some shifting in open spaces under supervision. I pass three young wolves near the mess hall, all in human form, who stop mid-conversation and stare directly at me.

One of them—a blonde girl with a smug grin—whispers something, and the others laugh. Not loud. Not obvious.

But I hear it anyway.

“That must be the omega stray.”

The words hit like a slap.

I force myself not to flinch. Not to show anything.

Keep walking. Keep breathing.

The patrol girl doesn’t react. Either she didn’t hear or she’s learned not to care.

I trail her through the centre of the territory until we reach a large cabin—tall, dark wood, thick with the scent of command. The Alpha’s house.

Two guards stand at the front. One gives me a hard stare, nostrils flaring, and the smallest trace of a sneer touches his lips before he schools it.

I step inside.

The warmth here is heavier, thicker. The walls are lined with weapons—old blades, axes, hunting tools, and a few modern rifles hung above shelves of books and rolled maps. There’s a massive carved table in the centre of the room.

Three men stand around it.

Alpha Kade is one of them, of course—dark-eyed, unreadable.

Next to him is the silver-eyed male from last night. He hasn’t bothered with a shirt today, his torso marked with battle scars and a fresh scratch down his arm. He’s clearly used to attention. Used to power. Used to looking down at people like me.

But it’s the third man who makes me stop.

He’s taller than both of them, broader through the chest. He wears a black thermal shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and his hands rest lazily on the table’s edge like he doesn’t feel the need to stand straight. His jaw is sharp, his dark hair a little messy, and his eyes

His eyes are locked on me.

Piercing. Sharp. Controlled.

I don’t know what he’s thinking. That unsettles me more than anything.

“Lyra,” Kade says, his voice smooth but firm. “Come in.”

I do, careful to keep my steps even. I approach the table and stop a few feet away, standing tall even though my legs are trembling beneath me.

“This is my son, Ronan,” Kade says, gesturing toward the tall man in black. “He’ll be leading today’s training rotation. And this,” he nods at the silver-eyed man “is Elias, my second in command.”

Ronan’s gaze flickers just once. A subtle scan. Not lust. Not hate.

Just interest. Quiet and unreadable.

“Training?” I ask cautiously.

Kade nods. “You want a place in this pack. That means proving yourself. You’ll be assigned basic duties for now watching patrols, tracking runs, work in the kitchen and storage barns. But before that, we test your limits.”

Elias smirks. “If she has any.”

My jaw tightens. “I can keep up.”

“I hope so,” Kade says, not unkindly. “Because this pack does not hand out protection. You work for it.”

I nod once.

Elias circles around the table and stops beside me, close enough to breathe down my neck.

“You know,” he says lightly, “we don’t usually let omegas wander into the heart of the territory. They bring trouble. Weakness. Mates get distracted. Challenges stir. Alphas—”

“She’s not a threat,” Ronan interrupts, calm but sharp.

It’s the first thing he’s said.

Elias glances at him. “Didn’t say she was. Just that trouble has a scent.”

“And you talk too much,” Ronan replies, without even looking at him.

A beat of silence.

Tension crackles in the air like a storm brewing beneath the surface.

Kade lifts a hand. “Enough. Lyra, you’ll report to Ronan after breakfast. Wear something durable. You’ll be paired with a younger trainee group. I want to see how you move what your wolf can do.”

My voice is steady. “Yes, Alpha.”

Ronan finally looks at me again.

“I’ll be watching.”

And something about the way he says it quiet, unflinching sends a ripple down my spine.

Not in fear.

In warning.

In challenge.

And strangely… something else.

Something that feels a little like the beginning of fate.

5 Run with the Strong

The cold is sharper today.

By the time I finish the small breakfast left in the cabin oats, dried fruit, and tea that’s gone lukewarm my hands are trembling again. Not from hunger this time.

From nerves.

Every step I take through the compound feels watched. Judged.

A few wolves glance up as I pass. Some do double takes. One boy barely older than me, with a smug smirk and an obvious rank leans against a wall and makes a quiet howling sound as I walk by.

The others laugh.

I don’t stop. I don’t look back. I just keep walking, like their words don’t matter.

They do, though.

Every whisper. Every sneer. Every scent of amusement or disdain. I feel it like tiny blades, each one slicing across the wounds I haven’t let heal.

I find the training field behind the Alpha’s cabin. It’s carved into the land like a scar—open, packed dirt and snow-crusted mud, ringed by pine trees and weapon racks. Wolves in human form stand in a loose cluster, most of them young—probably my age or slightly older. Some stretch. Others talk and laugh in easy, confident tones.

I hover at the edge, unsure of where to stand.

Then I see him.

Ronan.

He leans against the railing near the edge of the field, arms crossed, dressed in black again combat boots, thermal shirt, and gloves tucked into his belt. His gaze finds me the moment I step onto the field.

He says nothing.

Just watches.

“Stray girl finally showed,” someone mutters.

A girl with long auburn hair and a delicate, deadly frame steps closer to me, her tone mockingly sweet. “You’re the omega, right?”

I straighten my spine. “Lyra.”

She hums. “Lyra. Right. I’m Talia. Second rank. Beta’s niece. So if I give you advice, you should probably listen.”

I don’t answer.

She leans in slightly. “Try not to cry when you shift. It gets… embarrassing.”

Laughter echoes behind her.

I grit my teeth, saying nothing, trying not to let my wolf rise at the insult. She’s already curled up inside me, trying to stay out of sight.

“Enough,” Ronan’s voice cuts through the air like a blade.

Silence falls instantly.

He pushes off the railing and strides forward, his presence anchoring the field in a way that no amount of volume ever could. No one argues. No one teases when he’s near.

I could feel my heart racing faster then usual when he was near. I never felt like this before what could it possible mean ?

“We’re running boundary drills today,” he says flatly. “Endurance, tracking, terrain reading. Shifts only. I want two full loops of the eastern ridge and back. No shortcuts. No shifts back until you return.”

There’s a murmur of annoyance.

Talia groans. “That’ll take hours.”

“Then pace yourself,” Ronan says without sympathy. His eyes flick to me. “Lyra, you’re with Group C.”

A few wolves near the edge of the pack groan quietly.

“She’s gonna slow us down,” someone mutters.

“I’ll do my best,” I say quickly.

Ronan’s gaze lingers on me for a second longer than it should.

Then he turns his back.

“Shift and go.”

I hesitate. The others are already moving, dropping into their wolves easily, smoothly, practised. Fur bursts where skin used to be. Bones crack with speed. Within seconds, a dozen wolves bound toward the woods, paws kicking up snow and dirt.

I stand still.

My stomach turns.

I haven’t run like this in days. I haven’t shifted without injury since before I was exiled. What if I can’t keep up? What if I fall? What if they leave me behind and worse, what if Ronan sees all of it?

I close my eyes. Just breathe.

The change hurts.

It always does.

My skin stretches. Muscles tear and twist. My wolf comes forward hesitantly, slow to rise. She’s smaller than the others. Lighter. Her fur is dark gray and silver-touched, ribs just slightly too visible.

But I shift.

I stand.

And I run.

The snow stings my pads as I race after the others, already far ahead. I push myself harder, lungs burning, legs straining. My paws slide in the deeper snow. My breath comes in short, ragged bursts. The trail rises into uneven, icy hills, and I nearly trip more than once.

The others are specks in the trees.

Gone.

I’m alone again. Running alone. Struggling alone.

Just like before.

But I don’t stop.

Even when my muscles scream, even when my body tells me to collapse and curl up in the snow, I keep going. Because I know what happens to omegas who fall behind.

They’re forgotten.

Hours pass.

The eastern ridge is brutal. Steep inclines, uneven ground, brambles tearing at my fur. I track the scent of the others through pine needles and frost. Sometimes I catch faint signs of them ahead—pawprints, a bit of fur, the barest echo of scent.

But I never catch up.

By the time I crest the final hill and stagger back into the training field, the others are already there shifted back, laughing, drinking water, resting on logs. Some are stretching. Some are clearly showing off.

I shift behind the tree line, shaking and sore.

When I limp into the field in human form, the laughter stops.

Not out of kindness.

Just interest.

“Oh. She made it,” someone says with theatrical surprise.

Talia smirks. “I was betting she’d pass out halfway.”

“She probably shifted back early,” another boy adds. “No way she ran the full loop.”

“I did,” I say quietly, my throat raw.

No one believes me.

Ronan walks over from the far end of the field. His gaze sweeps over me slowly, assessing.

“You ran the ridge?”

I nod. “All of it.”

He says nothing for a moment.

Then he holds out a water bottle.

I stare at it, stunned.

Talia scoffs behind me. “Seriously?”

But Ronan doesn’t react to her. He just waits.

I take the bottle with shaking fingers and sip slowly.

“You’ll run again tomorrow,” he says, tone unreadable. “But you didn’t quit.”

My heart jumps.

Was that… approval?

“You’re slower than the others,” he adds. “Weaker. That’s obvious.”

My chest tightens.

“But you came back.”

He turns to leave, his boots crunching softly over the frozen dirt. Then he pauses. Without looking at me, he speaks again.

“You need better shoes.”

I blink.

“What?”

“Your steps were uneven,” he says. “You slipped five times. You’re compensating for pain in your right hind leg when you shift. You either ran injured or have an old fracture that didn’t heal.”

I don’t answer. I’m too stunned to.

He glances over his shoulder, just once, and this time his gaze doesn’t scan me like I’m a threat. It settles.

On me.

Not on my bruises. Not on my failure.

Me.

“Get that fixed before tomorrow,” he says. “Or I’ll have to leave you behind.”

My lips part—to say what, I don’t know.

Thank you? I’m trying?

But he’s already walking away again.

Still, something lingers in the space between us. Unspoken. Brief. A flicker of heat beneath all the cold.

Not a flame.

Not yet.

But a spark.

And for the first time in years, I don’t feel completely invisible.

6 Ashes and Embers

By mid-morning, my legs ache with every step. I’ve changed into cleaner clothes—a warm brown sweater, sturdy jeans, the boots Ronan recommended. They still rub against my ankles, but they’re better than what I had before. My wolf is still quiet inside me, watching everything, wary but curious.

I haven’t seen Ronan since the training field.

I didn’t expect to.

Whatever flickered between us whatever that look meant I’m not foolish enough to think it meant something. Not really. I’ve learned not to attach weight to brief kindness. It only drags you under later.

A young woman with short hair and a clipboard meets me outside my cabin. She doesn’t introduce herself. Just hands me a folded slip of paper and nods once.

“Kitchen duty. Report to the main hall. Don’t be late.”

Then she walks away.

The paper smells like ink and cedar oil. It’s stamped with Alpha Kade’s seal and my name, hastily written in block letters. Lyra.

I trace the letters for a moment, lips pressed tight. There’s something surreal about seeing it there. Official. Real. A name not ripped down or spat out.

The main hall is a long timber building near the heart of the compound. Smoke rises from a wide stone chimney, and I can hear the clatter of pots and the low thrum of voices before I even reach the door. It’s a constant, living sound—of pack life, of work, of community.

I don’t belong to it.

But I’m inside it now.

I step into the warmth and immediately feel eyes on me. Again.

There are a dozen wolves inside—some prepping meat, some slicing vegetables, others loading food into crates. The scent of broth and roasted herbs fills the air, but so does sweat, salt, and tension.

A broad-shouldered man with gray at his temples barks orders from the back. He catches sight of me and frowns slightly.

“The stray,” he says. Not unkind. Not kind, either. Just… fact.

I nod once. “Lyra.”

“You’ve got sorting and prep today. Food goes out to the patrols and training teams. Fast hands, quiet mouth. Stay out of the way.”

He jerks his chin toward a table stacked with baskets of root vegetables and wrapped parcels of dried meat.

I move quickly.

For the next hour, I work in silence. My fingers sting from the cold when I wash vegetables in the half-frozen basin. My wrists ache from slicing and chopping. But I don’t complain. I focus. I listen.

Wolves talk around me, not to me.

I hear them whisper.

“Why would the Alpha even let an omega into Bloodstone?”

“She won’t last a week.”

“She’s a risk. Ronan must’ve felt sorry for her or something.”

And then

“I bet Jax will try something.”

My chest tightens at the sound of that name.

I’ve heard whispers of him—the younger son, the wild one, the flirt, the chaos that balances Ronan’s calm. Apparently, he’s rarely where he’s supposed to be, speaks in grins and dares, and has a reputation for challenging everything.

I don’t expect to meet him.

So when the door slams open behind me and a burst of laughter chases in a gust of cold wind, I freeze.

“Jax,” someone says, a mix of warning and amusement.

He’s already inside.

I don’t even have to turn to feel it the shift in the room, the low stir of excitement and exasperation.

He strides in like he owns the place, boots crunching with leftover snow, a black hoodie half-unzipped, hair tousled and falling into his storm-blue eyes. He tosses something—an apple?—into the air, catches it, bites into it with a loud crunch.

“Smells good in here,” he says, mouth half-full. “Who do I have to charm to get a plate early?”

A girl near the bread station giggles.

Someone else tosses a towel at him, which he dodges with an over dramatic spin and a flourishing bow.

It’s all show. All easy chaos.

Until his eyes land on me.

And then he stops.

Just for a second.

Just long enough to let me know he saw me.

I try to duck my head, but he’s already moving.

He saunters over, standing just a little too close, leaning against the table like this is a game and I’m a new piece he hasn’t figured out yet.

“You’re new,” he says. “And not bad with a blade, from the look of that pile.”

I glance down at the perfectly sliced vegetables stacked beside me.

My voice is quiet. “I’ve done kitchen duty before.”

He lifts a brow, still watching me like I’m a riddle wrapped in bruises and frost.

“Name?”

“Lyra.”

He says it once, testing it.

“Lyra,” he echoes. “Pretty. You one of the new recruits?”

I hesitate. “I was given a chance to prove myself.”

Jax smiles slowly. “Ah. You’re her. The one who crossed into our land. The omega.”

I go still.

“I don’t mean it like that,” he adds, hands raised in mock innocence. “Omega’s just a rank. Doesn’t define you, right?”

“It does in most packs.”

He tilts his head. “Maybe in most. Not always here. Depends who you ask.”

“And what would you say?” I ask before I can stop myself.

Jax’s smile sharpens not cruel, just curious.

“I’d say sometimes the strongest wolves come from the lowest places. You’d be surprised what a cornered creature can do when it has nothing left to lose.”

Something flickers behind his grin like he’s not just teasing. Like he’s been in that corner before.

Before I can reply, the kitchen leader yells from the back.

“Jax! You’re not even assigned here today.”

Jax shrugs. “I got hungry.”

“Well, get out of my kitchen or start chopping.”

He gives me a wink. “Nice meeting you, Lyra.”

And then he’s gone.

Like wind.

Like trouble.

Like a spark flickering through dry leaves.

But his scent lingers smoke, pine, something reckless.

And for the second time in two days, I find myself standing completely still, heart racing from the attention of an Alpha’s son.

7 Mate?

As I leave the Alpha’s cabin, I cut through the side of the compound to avoid the main crowd. The sky is starting to dim, streaks of orange melting into ash-gray clouds. My fingers brush over the folded task sheet in my pocket, but my mind is elsewhere.

The words “You did good today” still echo faintly.

I round the corner near the training lodge, where two younger wolves—probably no older than eighteen—are sitting near a fire pit, warming their hands and whispering like the whole world’s a secret.

I wouldn’t have noticed them if I hadn’t heard my name.

“Did you see her?” one says, her voice sharp with interest. “The omega girl. Lyra?”

“What about her?” the other asks.

“She’s been around both of the Alpha’s sons.”

That makes the second girl sit up. “You think she’s trying to find out?”

A pause.

“You know that’s how it works, right? You can’t know until the kiss.”

My feet freeze in place, hidden just behind the cabin corner.

One of the girls scoffs. “Ugh, I’d die if I kissed someone and nothing happened. Talk about embarrassing.”

“But what if something did happen?” the first says in a breathy voice. “Imagine the spark? The pull? The bond forming right there.”

“And you’re stuck with them forever,” the other laughs.

“Only if it’s real. The old wolves say it’s instinct. You can kiss a hundred wolves and feel nothing—but the moment you find your true mate, your body knows.”

A pause. A dreamy sigh.

“Still,” one of them says, voice lower now, “if I had to kiss Ronan or Jax just to find out…”

They both giggle.

I walk away before they notice me.

But their words stick like frost on skin.

A kiss. That’s how it’s done here.

In my old pack, mates were rare, and most pairings were arranged. Love wasn’t even a question especially not for omegas. We didn’t get choices. We didn’t get fate.

But here…

What if fate actually works here?

What if that spark does exist?

My chest tightens. My thoughts race. And suddenly, I can’t stop replaying the past day—Ronan’s sharp eyes watching me in the snow. The coolness in his voice.

And Jax… smiling like he saw something no one else did.

A kiss.

I’ve never kissed anyone. Never been allowed to.

And now?

That simple act holds too much weight.

Too much danger.

Too much possibility.

I continue to walk towards my cabin when I saw

Ronan and Jax.

Standing barely ten feet apart, facing each other in the glow of a side lantern. Neither of them has seen me yet.

Jax is pacing restless, cocky. His hoodie sleeves are shoved up to his elbows, and his hands are moving as he talks.

Ronan is the opposite still, arms crossed, gaze like granite.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Ronan says, voice low but sharp.

Jax scoffs. “Do what? Say hello? Talk to someone?”

“You were testing her.”

“I was talking to her.”

“She doesn’t need games right now.”

“I wasn’t playing,” Jax says, stepping closer. “You think just because you watched her run a loop and toss her a water bottle, you’ve got her all figured out?”

“She’s barely standing,” Ronan replies, flat. “You know what kind of pressure she’s under right now. You don’t need to make it harder.”

Jax’s eyes flare slightly. “And you don’t need to protect her like she’s breakable.”

“She is breakable.”

“Then let’s see what happens when she starts fighting back.”

The silence that follows is thick.

Neither one moves.

And that’s when Jax’s eyes flick past Ronan directly to me.

“Speak of the wolf,” he says with a grin. “And there she is.”

Ronan turns, his eyes meeting mine.

Tension crackles instantly. Three wolves, frozen in a triangle of unspoken things.

I open my mouth, unsure what to say.

Jax beats me to it. “Hey, Lyra. How was peeling potatoes and surviving social exile?”

His voice is light, teasing.

But Ronan’s sharp stare cuts through it. “Go back to your den, Jax.”

Jax holds his gaze for another beat.

Then turns to me.

“I’ll see you around, Lyra.” His grin softens slightly. “You ever get tired of being quiet, come find me.”

Then he walks off, hands in his pockets, whistling.

Ronan doesn’t watch him leave.

His eyes stay on me.

“You’re pushing too hard,” he says, voice low. “I saw your stride on the way back. You’re injured.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. But you’re trying anyway.”

I nod once. “What else can I do?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he steps forward, and for a moment just a moment I feel the full heat of his presence. Strong. Solid. Commanding. And completely unreadable.

He turns and walks into the shadows, leaving me alone with nothing but the sound of the wind.

My heart felt like it was about to explode thankfully i could breathe now that he was gone.

8 What the Heart Knows

The cabin feels too quiet when I return.

I close the door behind me, lean against it for a moment, and just breathe. My body aches in places I didn’t even know could hurt. My hands are chapped. My legs burn. My head is spinning with too many names, too many eyes, too many expectations.

But I made it through the first day.

Just barely.

I strip off my boots, shrug out of the borrowed flannel, and head into the bathroom. The hot water takes forever to warm up, but when it does, I step into the small shower and let it wash everything away—the mud, the grease, the sweat, the clinging scents of wolves who looked at me like I didn’t belong.

The bruises from my exile are fading. But the ache under my ribs—that’s still there. The one you can’t heal with soap or time. The one that comes from never being wanted.

Until now.

Maybe.

When I step out and wrap a towel around myself, the mirror is fogged. I wipe it clear and stare at my reflection.

My lips are dry. My eyes rimmed with exhaustion. But something else looks back at me now.

A flicker of strength.

Or maybe just stubbornness.

I dress in soft clothes, eat a small portion of stew and bread left in the warming tray near the fire, then climb into bed with a blanket tucked to my chin and the moon casting pale light across the wooden floor.

But I can’t sleep.

My mind drifts.

To mates.

To kisses.

To the bond that’s only revealed when skin meets skin, when lips touch lips, and the soul answers something ancient.

I’ve never been kissed. Not once. Never even allowed to hope for it.

And now I know here, in Bloodstone—that one kiss can change everything.

Not because it’s romantic.

Because it’s fate.

I close my eyes and feel the ghost of eyes watching me.

Ronan, standing in the snow, unreadable and calm, the weight of power on his shoulders.

Jax, all smirks and boldness, with that glint in his eye like he wants to pull secrets from my skin.

What if it’s one of them?

What if it’s neither?

What would it even mean… to be someone’s mate?

To be chosen by the bond, not rejected by a rank?

Would they still want me?

Would I be allowed to want them?

The questions wrap around me like vines, pulling tight, even as I finally drift into uneasy sleep.

---

The Next Morning

I wake stiff and sore. Again.

The fire’s burned low, but someone—maybe one of the patrol wolves—has left a folded slip of paper under my door.

Today’s Task: Storage – South Barn. Report after breakfast.

I sigh.

Storage duty. Wonderful.

I pull on thicker clothes this time—rugged pants, a fitted thermal shirt, my worn coat. My hair goes into a quick braid. I eat fast, boots already half-laced, and head toward the barn on the southern edge of the compound.

The building is wide, with rust-colored siding and a crooked tin roof. Inside, it smells like cedar, dust, and wolves—sweat, leather, fur. Barrels line the back wall, crates stacked in uneven towers, some marked with red tags. It’s colder here, with no fire or heating rune.

Three other wolves are already there.

None look happy to see me.

The tallest a thick-armed boy with a jagged scar down his neck sneers when I enter. “They sent you to help?”

“I was assigned,” I say quietly.

He snorts. “Figures. Can’t trust an omega with anything important, so they stick you with us.”

Another boy thinner, fast-twitch energy in his fingers leans against a crate and tosses a knife in the air lazily. “Try not to drop anything. Or cry.”

I say nothing.

But the third wolf a girl with short dark hair and arms folded tight—stares at me without speaking. Her eyes follow my every move. Judging. Waiting for me to fail.

We start lifting crates, organizing tools, restacking weapons into ordered shelves. My arms scream with each movement. I keep pace as best I can, even when they grunt or shove more weight toward me.

It’s tense. Ugly.

Then someone drops a barrel on purpose, scattering dried herbs across the floor.

“Oops,” the scarred wolf says. “Clean it up, omega.”

I kneel, silent, sweeping it with my hands. Rage boils under my skin, but I shove it down. Just like always. Due to my rank my wolf wouldn’t allow me to speak up no matter how hard i tried to talk back

That’s when the door slams open.

And the cold comes with it.

“Patrol needs backup,” a breathless boy pants from the doorway. “Southwest pass. Wolves down. Unidentified threat in the trees.”

Everyone freezes.

The scarred wolf curses. “Now?”

The messenger nods. “Alpha’s orders. Ronan said send whoever’s standing.”

Without thinking, I stand. “I can help.”

The scarred one laughs. “You? We need fighters, not strays.”

“I said I can help.”

They ignore me.

Until the messenger’s eyes land on me.

“You’re cleared to shadow, right?”

I nod. “Yes.”

He throws me a weapon belt.

“Then move.”

---

The Forest

The snow is deeper near the ridge, the trees taller, thicker. I follow behind the patrol team, heart pounding, breath fast. They spread out quickly, and I lose sight of them within minutes.

Something’s wrong.

Too quiet.

Then—

A low growl.

I spin—

A flash of gray.

A rogue wolf slams into me from the side, knocking me down hard against the frozen ground. My head snaps back, vision swimming.

Pain.

Hot and fast, blooming down my shoulder.

I roll, barely dodging another bite. My hand scrambles for the knife at my belt.

Too slow.

The rogue lunges—

And a blur of motion barrels into it midair.

Ronan.

His wolf crashes into the rogue with brutal force, teeth sinking deep. They roll through the snow, snarling, claws raking.

I try to sit up, but pain lances through my ribs.

More footsteps—fast, sure, familiar.

Jax.

Human form, two knives drawn, sliding in beside me.

“Hey, you alright?” he says, voice sharp.

I nod, barely.

He growls low. “You really don’t know how to take a break, do you?”

I try to answer, but blood drips down my arm.

Ronan finishes the fight—his wolf standing over the rogue, chest heaving, fur streaked with crimson. He shifts mid-step, moving toward me, eyes burning with fury.

“You shouldn’t have been here,” he growls.

“I—”

“You’re bleeding.”

Jax crouches beside me, tearing the sleeve of my shirt to expose the wound. “Not deep, but it’s gonna scar if you don’t fix it fast.”

Ronan glares. “Why didn’t anyone stop her from joining the patrol?”

“I volunteered,” I snap, breathless, pained.

That stops both of them.

I push myself to sit upright, even though my vision blurs.

“I’m trying,” I whisper. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Jax and Ronan exchange a glance something unreadable passing between them.

And in that moment, I realize something

Neither of them expected me to last this long.

But now that I have…?

They’re not sure what to do with me anymore.

9 consequence

My legs barely hold me upright.

Every step jostles the wound on my shoulder, sending a fresh jolt of pain through my side. I’ve been injured before—worse, even—but never in front of others. Never like this.

The snow crunches under my boots as we move.

One brother on either side.

Jax, all low curses and easy steps, his arm steady around my waist even though his movements scream that he doesn’t take things seriously.

Ronan, stiff, silent, walking slightly ahead, tense in every line of his body—like the fury hasn’t drained out of him yet.

“You’re bleeding onto me, you know,” Jax mutters with a lopsided grin, glancing at the crimson spreading through my torn sleeve. “Kinda rude.”

I shoot him a look, but I’m too tired to reply.

He chuckles anyway.

We reach the central clearing where the pack doctor’s cabin sits, tucked beside a small greenhouse and half-shielded by trees. The windows glow warm amber, but even from here, I can feel eyes on us.

Wolves pausing mid-step.

Heads turning.

Whispers starting.

“Is that the omega—?”

“She got injured?”

“She was on patrol?”

“They found her with both of them—”

The buzz of attention presses in from all sides.

Jax opens the door before I can react and guides me inside.

The scent of herbs, antiseptic, and damp linen fills the air. The room is warm and softly lit, lined with shelves of jars, labelled tinctures, and bundles of drying roots. A long wooden cot sits in the centre, and a tall woman with streaks of gray in her hair steps forward immediately.

“Sit,” she orders, voice sharp.

Ronan disappears without a word. The door shuts behind him with a firm click.

The doctor pulls up a stool and rolls up my sleeve, examining the wound with quick, efficient hands.

“Claw wound. Not deep, but angled wrong. You’ll scar.”

I nod, quiet.

“Lie back. This will burn.”

She cleans the wound, and it does more than burn—it sears. My jaw clenches, but I don’t cry out.

Jax watches, leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, something unreadable in his eyes now. Not teasing. Not wild.

Quiet.

Almost thoughtful.

“Your file says you’re not trained for active patrol,” the doctor mutters.

“I volunteered,” I rasp.

She doesn’t comment. Just sews.

Stitch by burning stitch.

By the time she finishes and wraps my shoulder, I’m half-drenched in sweat and shaking.

Then the door opens again.

And the room stills.

Alpha Kade.

He steps inside, broad and silent, gaze sweeping over me, then Jax.

“What happened?”

“She was on-site when the call came in,” Jax says. “She followed a patrol out to the ridge. Ended up facing a rogue.”

Kade’s stare sharpens. “Alone?”

“For a few seconds,” I croak, voice raw. “Then Ronan came.”

Kade turns to me.

The weight of his silence is heavier than anything I’ve carried all day.

“Why were you there?”

“I was working storage. Someone called for help. I was told to go.”

“I didn’t authorize your involvement in any combat situations,” he says.

“I didn’t go there looking for one,” I say quickly. “But I wasn’t going to stand back and do nothing.”

Kade takes a slow breath.

Then he steps forward.

“You were reckless,” he says coldly. “You’re injured because you don’t yet understand your limits. You could’ve died.”

My chest tightens. “I was trying to help.”

“You want to prove yourself? Fine. But next time you act without thinking, you endanger not just yourself, but the wolves who have to come drag your bleeding body out of the woods.”

Silence.

Jax’s brows furrow slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.

Kade stares at me for a long, frozen moment.

And then, softer—just a fraction:

“You’re lucky Ronan was nearby.”

Something flickers behind his eyes.

Respect?

Reluctant acknowledgement?

I can’t tell.

He turns to the doctor. “She’s not to be put back on patrol until I approve it personally.”

Then to me, sharp again:

“Tomorrow, you rest. After that, you’ll be reassigned to noncombat duties until further notice.”

I nod, throat tight. “Yes, Alpha.”

Kade leaves without another word.

The door closes, and silence settles like dust.

The doctor moves away to tend her shelves.

And Jax?

He walks over slowly, crouching beside the cot.

For a moment, we just stare at each other.

His voice drops. “That was a hell of a thing, you running off like that.”

“I didn’t mean to,” I whisper. “I just… wanted to do something useful.”

He looks at me for a long time. “You think bleeding out in the snow is the only way to matter?”

“No,” I murmur.

But part of me wonders if it is.

Jax doesn’t grin.

Instead, his gaze flickers to the bandage, then back to my eyes.

“I’ll say this,” he murmurs. “You may be an omega. But you’ve got teeth.”

I huff a weak laugh. “Apparently not sharp enough.”

A flicker of a smile. Not his usual cocky smirk—something smaller. Realer.

He leans in, just slightly.

I go still.

Not because I think he’ll kiss me.

But because I don’t know if I want him to.

And suddenly, that feels like a dangerous, impossible question.

“Get some sleep,” he says, voice low. “You look like hell.”

He stands, stretching, and heads toward the door. Just before he leaves, he glances back over his shoulder.

“You get one stupid hero moment,” he says. “Don’t make it a habit.”

Then he’s gone.

And I’m left alone.

Bleeding. Tired.

But somehow, still standing.

And maybe—just maybe—being noticed.

10 Whispers and Shadows

The next morning, I wake to a dull, throbbing pain in my shoulder.

For a few seconds, I lie still in bed, wrapped in warmth and silence, hoping it was a dream.

But then I shift slightly and the pain answers.

Not a dream.

The bandage itches beneath the sleeve of my shirt. Every breath reminds me of yesterday’s mistake.

Not just the fight.

The attention.

The whispers. The Alpha’s fury. Ronan’s glare. Jax’s smirk. The way the pack stared as I was led into the healer’s cabin like something halfway between a threat and a child who wandered too close to fire.

I swing my legs out of bed and sit on the edge, breathing slowly through the ache.

My cabin feels smaller today.

Not because the space has changed—but because everyone else has.

They saw me bleed.

They saw me rescued.

They saw me escorted by both of the Alpha’s sons.

And now… they’ll talk.

I wash quickly, careful not to stretch the stitches, and dress in soft, fitted clothes that won’t aggravate the wound. When I open the cabin door, a folded parchment rests just outside.

Lyra — Report to the East Hall, Records Room. No physical tasks. Clean, sort, file. Speak only when spoken to. — A.K.

Records?

I’ve never been near the East Hall before.

That’s reserved for higher-ranking wolves. It’s where the council meets, where the Alpha’s advisors work, and where the pack’s decisions are archived.

I’m not sure if this is punishment… or an opportunity.

I step outside into the early frost.

And immediately feel it.

The change.

Wolves watch me differently now.

Not with open hostility. But with a kind of distance. Wariness.

The injured omega.

The reckless one.

The girl who bled and came back with two alphas at her side.

I hear fragments of whispers as I pass.

“She shouldn’t have been on patrol.”

“Did she ask to go?”

“I heard Jax carried her—”

“I heard Ronan tore a rogue apart for her—”

“She’s trying to climb too high. They always fall.”

I keep my head down and walk faster.

---

The East Hall is quiet.

Colder, too. Built from old timber and stone, it has a stern stillness to it. The scent of parchment, ink, and history clings to the air.

A tall man with wire-rimmed glasses and a tightly braided beard opens the door to the Records Room when I knock.

He barely glances at me.

“You’re the injured one.”

“I’m Lyra.”

He nods toward a long table covered in open scrolls and books.

“Catalogs. Patrol logs. Supply reports. Alphabetize, date, then file in the archive drawers to your right.”

I nod.

He says nothing else. Just returns to a desk in the corner, where he resumes scribbling with a long black quill.

I work in silence.

The room is lined with shelves, drawers, and heavy books bound in worn leather. Some are marked with red ribbons—pack laws, conflict records. Others are darker, unlabeled, dusty from disuse.

I try not to look too closely. But it’s hard not to notice certain words.

Exile reports. Bloodline mappings. Internal dispute files.

My old pack would’ve burned these kinds of records. Hidden them. Called it disobedience to ask.

Here… they keep everything.

The hours pass slowly.

Occasionally, a wolf enters to drop off a scroll or mutter a command. Most ignore me.

But one man walks in and pauses.

“You’re the one from the woods,” he says, voice calm, curious. “The omega.”

I straighten slightly. “Yes.”

“You fought?”

“I tried.”

“You’re still alive.”

He nods once, like that’s all the information he needs, and leaves.

---

By mid-afternoon, my back aches from standing, but I’ve filed nearly everything I’ve been assigned. I reach for the last stack and pause.

An envelope.

Heavier than the others. Not sealed with wax, but tied with black twine.

It’s marked:

“CONFIDENTIAL: Patrol Rotation Logs — Pier Watch.”

Pier Watch?

We’re landlocked.

I tuck the envelope into the “To Be Filed” pile—but the name stays with me.

Why would a land pack keep a pier rotation?

Before I can dwell on it, the door creaks open again.

And I freeze.

Ronan.

He steps inside without a word, a folder in hand. He nods to the scribe, who waves him in distractedly, then notices me.

A pause.

Ronan’s gaze settles on me.

“You’re here,” he says.

“I was reassigned,” I reply, voice quieter than I intend.

“Because of yesterday.”

I nod.

He doesn’t come closer. Just watches me from across the room. The sunlight catches the edge of his jaw, shadowing his expression.

“You shouldn’t have gone,” he says again.

“I know.”

“You nearly died.”

“I know.”

His eyes narrow slightly, but not in anger. More… in assessment.

“You don’t know how much that would’ve changed.”

“What do you mean?”

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he places the folder on the desk, turns, and leaves.

---

That night, I return to my cabin and find a small bundle left outside my door.

Inside: a healing salve. A folded linen cloth. And a pair of soft gloves.

No note.

No name.

But I know who sent them.

And I don’t know whether that terrifies me…

Or makes my heart beat just a little too fast.