Light slips through the thin curtains, soft and pale across the floorboards. It’s early—too early for anyone to be up, too early for the world to start moving again. Everything feels hushed. Still.

  I don’t move.

  It’s not pain that keeps me still—though there’s still a dull echo of it under my skin—but something else. Something I can’t name. The room is quiet in a way that feels delicate, like breathing too hard might shatter it.

  That’s when I see him.

  Slouched in a chair across the room, his head tipped forward, arms crossed over his chest like even in sleep he’s bracing for something. Apolloh. His legs are tangled awkwardly beneath him, and his broad shoulders look far too big for the chair he’s tried to curl into. It doesn’t look comfortable.

  But he stayed.

  I don’t know what to do with that. I thought he’d leave after last night—after I shut down, after I gave him nothing—but he’s still here. Asleep. Watching over me without watching at all.

  I stare at him longer than I should.

  The door creaks.

  My body tenses before I can help it, instinct sharp and sudden. But it’s only Kira. She slips in with a tray in her hands, her eyes flicking toward the bed—toward me—then away again. She moves quietly, careful not to disturb him, like this moment is something sacred she doesn’t want to ruin.

  Warm bread and ham. The scent hits me before she even reaches the nightstand, and my stomach twists with a soft, unexpected ache. Hunger. I didn’t think I’d feel that again so soon.

  Kira sets the tray down without a word. Her eyes find mine again—just for a heartbeat. There’s something behind them. Curiosity. Worry. Maybe even guilt.

  She opens her mouth, like she wants to ask something. Her gaze flits toward Apolloh, then back to me.

  And then—nothing. She closes her mouth again, gives me this tiny, almost apologetic smile, and turns to leave. As quiet as she entered, she slips through the door and shuts it behind her with a soft click.

  I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

  The silence returns—but now it feels heavier. Not peaceful anymore. Not soft. Just… waiting.

  I shift under the blanket, slow and careful, though there’s no real reason to be quiet. He’s still asleep, breathing steady and deep, head tilted just enough for a loose curl of dark hair to fall across his forehead.

  He looks… different like this.

  Not softer, exactly. But quieter. Less like someone who could tear down walls and more like someone who might hold them up, just to keep the roof from falling on you.

  I don’t understand him.

  I told him not to stay. I pushed. I was cruel, even if I didn’t raise my voice. But he stayed anyway. Sat there in that stupid chair and—

  Watched me?

  Guarded me?

  I pull the blanket tighter around myself and sit up slowly. The tray Kira brought is still warm. The bread is soft and fresh, and the ham smells like it was sliced from something cooked just this morning. It’s not a lot, but it’s more than I’ve had at once in a long time.

  I reach for a piece, then stop.

  Something shifts under my skin.

  It’s not pain. Not fear.

  It’s… warmth. A gentle pulse. Like a breath from inside me that isn’t mine. I freeze, fingers still hovering above the tray.

  I’ve felt this before. Once. A long time ago. Before it was taken from me.

  No. Not taken. Commanded.

  The word tastes bitter even in my mind. I don’t remember all the things he told me—too many, too fast, twisted around punishment and reward until the only thing left was obedience. But I remember the feeling. The cold snap of his voice, the weight that settled in my bones after. The silence inside me.

  And now?

  Now there’s a whisper. A flicker of something alive, something old. Something that doesn’t feel like it’s come from him or from Apolloh or from the pack.

  It feels like it came from me.

  I drop my hand, pressing my palm flat against my chest like I can hold it down, keep it quiet.

  Apolloh stirs. I go still.

  He shifts in the chair, his eyes fluttering open, unfocused at first. Then they find me. The tension in my shoulders coils tighter, but he doesn’t say anything right away. Just looks at me like he’s trying to read something I haven’t written down.

  His voice is quiet when it comes. Rough from sleep.

  “You slept.”

  It’s not a question. He sounds… relieved?

  I nod once, unsure what to say. It’s true. I slept. And for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t a restless kind of sleep. No dreams. No whispers. Just silence.

  Except now, the silence isn’t empty anymore.

  It’s watching me from the inside. Waiting.

  He doesn’t move right away. Just blinks the sleep from his eyes and watches me like I might vanish if he blinks too slowly.

  I look away first.

  The tray on the nightstand is still warm, steam curling gently from the bread. My stomach twists again, but I don’t reach for it. I’m not sure I could eat with him watching me like that.

  The silence grows.

  Not tense. Not exactly. Just full—like there’s too much unsaid between us and we’re both trying to choose the right place to start.

  I tuck my hands into the blanket, fingers curling against the soft weave. I can feel him still watching. I can feel him—like the bond between us is a thread tied tight around my ribs, tugging, tugging, tugging.

  He shifts in the chair, the creak of wood soft beneath him.

  “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he says after a while. His voice is low, still rough with sleep, but there’s something steadier beneath it. “Didn’t want to leave you alone.”

  I swallow, unsure what to do with that.

  He stayed. On purpose.

  “Why?” The word slips out before I can stop it.

  He lifts an eyebrow slightly, like the question surprises him. “Because you were scared.”

  That knocks the air from me. Not because it’s wrong—but because it’s too right.

  I hate that he saw it. Hate that he knew. And more than that, I hate that part of me—deep, buried—felt safer with him in the room. Like his presence carved out a small piece of the world where I could actually rest.

  “I didn’t ask you to,” I murmur.

  “I know.”

  “But you did it anyway.”

  He nods once. Doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t explain.

  He just meant it.

  The silence settles again, but it’s changed now. Warmer, maybe. Or just heavier with the weight of that truth sitting between us.

  I glance at the tray. Then back at him.

  “She brought food,” I say quietly. “Kira.”

  “She worries about you,” he says, just as quiet. “They all do.”

  I tense at that. “They don’t even know me.”

  “They don’t have to,” he replies. “They know who you are to them.”

  They know who you are to them.”

  The words sink into me like stones dropped in water—quiet at first, but spreading ripples I can’t stop.

  I want to scoff. To roll my eyes. To tell him how ridiculous that sounds. But I don’t. Because something in the way he says it… it doesn’t feel like flattery. It doesn’t feel like hope.

  It feels like truth.

  A truth I don’t want to touch.

  I wrap my arms around my knees beneath the blanket, drawing them in close to my chest. My voice comes out smaller than I mean for it to. “They’re wrong.”

  “They’re not.”

  I grit my teeth. “You don’t know me.”

  He’s quiet for a moment. Long enough I think maybe he won’t answer at all. But then—

  “I know the way you moved to protect Kira before you even knew her name. I know you didn’t hesitate to take pain that wasn’t yours.” He pauses, eyes steady on mine. “I know what kind of wolf does that.”

  My heart stutters. My chest tightens.

  “I don’t have a wolf,” I whisper. “Not anymore.”

  The words feel like splinters in my throat. I don’t look at him. Can’t.

  He doesn’t correct me. Doesn’t tell me I’m wrong. But something shifts in the air between us, heavy with unspoken things. My skin prickles. That faint warmth inside me flickers again, like a breath brushing against my ribs.

  He saw it, didn’t he? The night we met. The pull between us. The thing I’ve been trying to ignore. Maybe he doesn’t understand what was done to me, but he knows something is there—waiting.

  And maybe… maybe I do too.

  I close my eyes for a moment and breathe in the scent of bread and morning and him.

  “You don’t have to stay,” I say softly.

  “I know,” he says again.

  But he doesn’t move.

  I don’t look at him. I just hold the blanket tighter, pulling it up around my shoulders. I’m afraid that if I look at him again, I’ll see something in his eyes that’ll make this moment feel too real—too heavy. And I’m not ready for that. Not yet.

  The silence presses in again, thick and deep, but it’s broken when the door creaks open. Not Kira this time, but a low voice—one I recognize, but don’t want to.

  “Eli wants to speak with you about Laika’s progress,” the voice says, its tone flat and neutral.

  I stiffen at the mention of Eli, the pack’s healer. It’s too early for this. I haven’t even begun to piece myself together, not properly. I don’t need anyone else to see me—especially not Eli, with his eyes that see everything.

  Apolloh doesn’t seem to mind the interruption. He stands, stretching his stiff limbs with a quiet groan. His eyes flick to me, and I see that familiar flicker of concern—or maybe it’s just the weight of what he knows. Either way, it makes my chest tighten, the space between us suddenly feeling smaller than it did a moment ago.

  “I’ll be back,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “Don’t… don’t leave this room, alright?”

  I want to argue. I want to tell him I can take care of myself. But something stops me—something soft and tight inside me. So I nod. It’s barely enough to be noticed, but it’s all I can manage.

  He hesitates for a moment, his gaze lingering on me for a second longer than necessary. Then he turns to the door.

  “We’ll be right there.”

  The door clicks shut behind them, leaving me alone again.

  I exhale sharply, the tension in my limbs suddenly unbearable. It’s like the air shifted again, pulled taut, and now I can’t breathe quite right. I sit there for a moment, my fingers lightly resting on the blanket, trying to still the tremor that’s building in my hands.

  ~~~

  The sun has risen higher now, spilling more light through the window. But I haven’t moved. I haven’t touched the food Kira brought. I’m not ready.

  I glance at the mirror above the nightstand, and for a moment, the face staring back at me doesn’t seem familiar. Too pale. Too broken. Too empty. The scars are still there, proof of what’s been done to me, what I’ve survived. I trace a finger along one of the deeper marks near my neck, my stomach tightening with the memory of how it felt when they first burned into my skin.

  I’m still not whole. I’m still too far from what I could’ve been. What I should’ve been.

  I swallow, fingers trembling as I reach for the tray of food. I take a bite of the bread, but it tastes dry. Stale, almost, like I’m eating something that doesn’t belong to me.

  Eli’s coming. He’ll know what’s wrong with me. And I’ll be forced to face it—face everything that’s been done to me, the things I’ve shoved down so far inside, the parts of myself I’ve kept locked away.

  I can’t think about it. Not yet. I’m not ready.

  A little while later, the door creaks open again.

  Apolloh steps inside, his eyes scanning the room briefly before landing on me. I can’t quite read his expression—not fully. His presence is still heavy in the room, but there’s something else in the air now. Something waiting.

  “Eli’s here,” he says, his voice just low enough to sound almost like a question.

  I nod, my fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket. I don’t want to face him—not yet. But I know I don’t have a choice.

  The door opens fully, and Eli steps in. Tall, with a quiet authority that fills the room without him even needing to speak. His sharp eyes land on me immediately, assessing. The healer doesn’t miss a thing. He never does.

  “Good morning, Laika,” he says softly, his voice carrying the weight of someone who’s seen too many wounds and too many scars to flinch at any one of them.

  I don’t reply at first. I can’t. The words get stuck in my throat.

  Apolloh stands off to the side, his posture casual but with something protective in the way he watches the interaction.

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  Eli doesn’t seem bothered by my silence. He walks to the nightstand, then glances at me again. “How are you feeling?”

  I want to say something—anything. Something that doesn’t make me sound weak or broken. But the words won’t come.

  Eli sighs quietly, sensing my hesitation. “You’ve been through a lot,” he continues, more to himself than to me. He steps closer, just enough that I can feel the weight of his gaze. “But you’re healing. You’re stronger than you realize.”

  I want to scoff. Healing? Stronger? The thought feels almost laughable, but I don’t say it. Instead, I just look away.

  The silence stretches on, and finally, Apolloh breaks it. His voice is firm, but there’s an edge of something softer beneath it. “She’s not ready for much more, Eli. Let her take her time.”

  Eli doesn’t argue, but I can feel the weight of his concern. “We’ll take it slow,” he agrees. “Just… let me know if you need anything, Laika.”

  I nod, still unable to speak. Instead, I focus on the food Kira brought, hoping it’ll anchor me in the present moment, grounding me away from the strange pressure building in my chest.

  I’m still sitting on the bed, lost in my thoughts when the sound of footsteps in the hall catches my attention. I look up to find Apolloh standing in the doorway, a letter in his hand. His brow is furrowed, and there’s something in the way he holds it—tight, like the words inside are weighing him down.

  He doesn’t say anything. Just stares at the letter for a moment before he looks up, meeting my gaze.

  “They’re in trouble,” he mutters under his breath.

  Without waiting for a response, he crumples the letter in his fist and storms out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

  I don’t know what’s going on, but something in the tension that’s suddenly filled the air tells me it’s serious. I hesitate for a moment, then follow him.

  I find him not far from the door, moving quickly toward the training grounds. My heart starts to beat faster as I catch the sound of raised voices and the clash of weapons ahead. It’s chaos. Something has gone terribly wrong.

  By the time I reach the edge of the training area, I can see it: a group of wolves, half-trained and out of control, brawling with each other in the center of the field. Weapons are drawn, and it’s clear that no one is stopping them. The disarray is growing worse by the second.

  Apolloh’s eyes flash with anger as he steps onto the field, his gaze cutting through the chaos like a blade. He’s clearly enraged, his body taut with the promise of violence if this isn’t fixed.

  “Stop!” he roars, his voice commanding. The sound of his voice cuts through the frenzy, and the fighting slows. The wolves halt, confused, until Apolloh’s presence forces them to shift back, though no one dares to make a move in his direction.

  That’s when I see them.

  Jaxe and Zia.

  They step forward from the edge of the group, looking almost unfazed by the tension. Jaxe’s posture is relaxed, but there’s something about the way he stands—his eyes soft, yet focused—that tells me he’s fully aware of the mess around him. Beside him, Zia’s eyes are wild, her hair a mess of tangled curls, but there’s a sharpness in the way she observes everything. It’s hard to tell if she’s amused or just waiting for something to happen.

  Apolloh’s jaw tightens. “What happened?”

  Jaxe looks at him with an easy smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “A few of the new recruits thought they’d test themselves. Guess they didn’t realize the training part wasn’t optional.”

  Zia rolls her eyes. “It’s not like they can’t handle it,” she mutters, but there’s something in her voice that makes it clear she’s not all that concerned with the damage done.

  Apolloh growls low in his throat, clearly not amused. “It’s a mess. Fix it.”

  Zia grins, stepping forward with a twinkle in her eye. “We’ve got it. Don’t worry. They’ll be in shape by sundown.”

  Jaxe gives a soft chuckle at that, then looks at Apolloh. “You sure you don’t need help cleaning up? You look a little angry.”

  Apolloh doesn’t respond at first, his gaze fixed on the field and the fighters still standing awkwardly, waiting for their next command.

  “They’ll be fine,” Apolloh mutters finally, a hint of tension still in his voice. “Just—keep it under control next time.”

  Jaxe steps forward, his easy smile returning. “We always do.”

  Zia tilts her head, her lips curling into a wicked grin. “Mostly.”

  Their gazes look around. Stopping on me, both come up to me with startling speed.

  Jaxe’s smile widens as he approaches, and though there’s a relaxed air about him, I can tell he’s sizing me up, curious. “Well, look at you,” he says, his voice warm with a genuine enthusiasm that catches me off guard. “You’re the one Apolloh’s been keeping an eye on, aren’t you? You’ve got that look about you.”

  Zia’s next to him in an instant, her expression bright and full of energy. “I’ve heard so much about you!” she exclaims, practically bouncing on her feet. “The Alpha’s been talking nonstop. It’s been forever since someone new joined the pack—especially someone who’s got his attention.”

  I can’t help but feel a little uncomfortable under their gaze. The way they look at me… it’s not with suspicion or judgment. It’s more like they’re eagerly trying to figure out who I am, what I’m about, as if it’s some kind of fun puzzle.

  Jaxe’s grin softens, noticing my unease. “Hey, don’t worry. We’re not going to bite.” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s a warmth behind it that makes me think he genuinely means it.

  Zia, still bouncing, leans in closer, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’re lucky,” she says, almost conspiratorially. “I bet being around Apolloh is pretty… interesting.” She pauses, her smile turning sly. “I bet things are never boring with him.”

  I glance over at Apolloh, still tense with his anger from earlier, and feel my stomach twist in an odd mixture of unease and something else I can’t place.

  Before I can respond, Jaxe claps me lightly on the shoulder. “You’ve got a lot of potential. I can see it already.”

  Zia throws a wink in my direction. “Just wait, the fun’s only just started.”

  I nod at her in acknowledgment.

  The chaos of the training field fades into the background as I move toward Apolloh. My feet feel heavier than they should, like the distance between us has grown, even though it’s only a few steps. But something inside me—something I can’t quite name—compels me forward.

  When I reach him, I don’t say anything at first. I just place my hands gently on his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips. It’s a subtle gesture, but it’s enough to make him stop, his body tensing for the briefest of moments before he turns to face me.

  As I stand there, I feel a firm bulge press against my leg. My breath hitches in surprise. My body responds before my mind can catch up, a heat flooding my face that has nothing to do with the training field around us. I try desperately to push the blush down, hoping it won’t be obvious, praying no one sees. I shift slightly, trying to subtly move away, but the warmth of his touch lingers on me, and I can’t quite shake the sensation.

  “Apolloh,” I say softly, my voice quieter than I expect, his name leaving my lips with ease, like it’s something I’ve said a thousand times.

  His eyes soften as he looks at me, his expression unreadable but intense. The tension in his posture doesn’t ease, but there’s something in the way he watches me that makes me feel like we’re sharing a quiet moment amidst the storm.

  “I want to talk,” I continue, my voice steady despite the fluttering in my stomach. “In the woods… away from all of this. It’s important.”

  He studies me for a moment, his gaze flicking between my face and the subtle pressure of my hands still resting on his arm. It’s a small thing, but I can feel the weight of his attention on me. And for some reason, I don’t feel the need to explain further. I just wait.

  Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Apolloh nods, a silent agreement. “Alright. Let’s go.”

  Without another word, I let my hands fall from his arm, though the touch lingers in my mind. Something has shifted, and though I can’t fully understand it, I don’t want to question it—not now.

  ~~~

  The walk is quiet—too quiet. The air between us is thick with unsaid words, and my heart pounds in my chest like it’s trying to escape. I keep my gaze ahead, focusing on the path beneath my feet, trying to ignore the warmth that lingers from the touch we shared earlier. His presence is constant, a weight on my skin, pulling me toward him in a way that makes every step feel heavier.

  Why? Why does this have to be so hard?

  I try to force my mind back to the reason we’re here. I know what I need to do. I have to do it. I can’t let this bond change me, can’t let it control me. If I give in to it, if I let myself get too close to Apolloh, I’ll lose myself completely. I can’t let that happen.

  But as I walk beside him, my breath coming a little too fast, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m running out of time. Every moment with him is another moment I lose the chance to fight this.

  We reach a small clearing in the woods, the trees parting to reveal a quiet, peaceful space. The light filters through the branches above, casting a soft, dappled glow over the ground. It should feel like a sanctuary, but instead, it feels like a stage, and I’m the only one here playing a part.

  I stop, standing still in the center of the clearing, and turn to face him. My heart races as the words form on my lips, the weight of them pressing down on me.

  “I, Laika, daughter of Alpha Neas, reject you, Apoll—”

  Before I can finish, he interrupts, his voice harsh, filled with something raw and desperate.

  “No,” he snarls, his eyes blazing with pain and anger. “I love you! And I do not accept your rejection.”

  His words cut through the air, a declaration that shakes me to my core. I stumble back slightly, my legs growing weak as his gaze pins me in place. There’s no hiding from the intensity of what he just said, the depth of his feelings for me, for the bond that’s tethering us together. His wolf roars in the background of his emotions, a deep, guttural sound that adds to the overwhelming weight of his words.

  I try to push past it, to steady myself, but my body betrays me. The exhaustion from everything—the physical and emotional toll of everything that’s happened, of everything I’m trying to hold back—overwhelms me. I feel the darkness creeping in at the edges of my vision, and my knees buckle beneath me.

  Just as I start to lose my balance, I feel him catch me, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me against him. His touch is solid, grounding, but it only makes everything worse. I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t escape the sensation of being too close, too entangled in something I don’t fully understand.

  He lowers me gently to the ground, his eyes never leaving mine. The heat in his gaze burns through me, but I can’t respond. I’m fading, slipping out of consciousness.

  “No,” he murmurs softly, his voice laced with frustration, as if my weakness is the last thing he wanted to see. “Don’t leave me now, Laika. I can’t lose you.”

  And then, before I can stop him, before I even fully understand what’s happening, I feel his teeth graze my skin—sharp, sure, and deeply intimate. The mark.

  It’s not just physical. I feel it deep inside me, as if he’s carving a piece of himself into my soul. The pain is sharp, but there’s something else beneath it, something I can’t explain. It’s a connection—an unbreakable bond that pulls me further into him, further into something I’m not ready for.

  Betrayal laces my voice. “You marked me.”

  ~~~

  I wake up in the dimly lit room, the softness of the bedding unfamiliar beneath me. My head is heavy, my thoughts a haze. My body aches, but there’s something else—something more insistent, pulling at me. The dull throb at my neck catches my attention, and I bring a hand up to touch the skin there, my fingers brushing over something unfamiliar, something marked.

  A sharp breath catches in my chest, and everything floods back in an instant. The woods. The words. The mark.

  I try to sit up, but my body protests, still weak from the exhaustion, from the overwhelming mix of emotions I can’t seem to escape. I feel the weight of the bond pressing in on me like a vice, tightening with every breath I take. The mark is a silent accusation—his claim on me. Apolloh’s claim. My mate’s claim.

  Why?

  I want to scream, but my throat feels dry, the sound caught somewhere between my heart and my mouth. Anger simmers beneath my skin, the heat of betrayal burning through me. How dare he? I never agreed to this. I never asked for it. I never wanted it.

  I hear movement outside the door, the soft creak of the floorboards, and I freeze. My instincts tell me to close myself off, to retreat deeper into the confusion and fury swirling inside me. I don’t want to deal with anyone—not with Apolloh, not with anyone else.

  The door creaks open, and Kira steps in. Her presence is gentle, tentative, like she’s unsure of what to do or say. She pauses when she sees me, her eyes scanning me with concern.

  “Laika?” Her voice is soft, as though afraid of startling me. “Are you okay?”

  I don’t answer immediately. I don’t know how to answer. The last thing I want right now is to talk about what happened—about the mark, about Apolloh, about the bond that’s choking the life out of me.

  But there’s something about Kira that’s different. Her sincerity, her warmth, is a comfort I can’t ignore, no matter how much I want to push it all away.

  I sit up more fully, pulling the covers around me tightly, as though they could shield me from the confusion and rage tangled inside me.

  “I’m fine,” I lie, my voice hoarse.

  Kira hesitates, her eyes flickering between concern and curiosity. She takes a careful step closer, her gaze drawn to my neck, where the mark is still fresh, the skin tender. She doesn’t say anything at first, but I can see it in her eyes—the unspoken question, the realization of what must have happened.

  The silence stretches between us, heavy and thick with all the things left unsaid. But Kira doesn’t push. She doesn’t ask about Apolloh, or about the mark. She simply sits down beside me, offering her presence without pressing for more than I’m willing to give.

  I finally meet her eyes, my anger still simmering but held in check by the unspoken understanding between us.

  “Stay,” I say, the word more of a command than a request.

  She nods without hesitation, sitting quietly beside me, offering the kind of comfort that doesn’t require words.

  And for now, that’s enough.

  The silence between Kira and I feels more comfortable now, like a quiet understanding has settled between us. But as the minutes tick by, a discomfort lingers. The exhaustion from everything—my body, my mind—presses down on me, and I can’t ignore it any longer. I need to wash away the remnants of the day, the confusion, and the overwhelming sense of wrongness still hanging on my skin.

  I push the covers back and swing my legs over the side of the bed. The cold floor beneath my feet is a sharp contrast to the warmth I’ve grown used to, but it helps clear the fog in my head. I stand, and my legs feel unsteady, like they’re still recovering from whatever happened before. But I force myself to take a step, then another.

  I glance at Kira, who’s watching me, concern still evident in her eyes.

  “I need to clean up,” I murmur, my voice quiet but steady. “I can’t do it alone… I…” My throat tightens, and I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the vulnerability, or maybe it’s just everything else that’s too much right now. But I can’t let anyone else see me like this—not in the state I’m in, not after everything.

  “I can help,” Kira says without hesitation, as though the request is simple, like I’m asking for something small, something easily done. She rises to her feet, moving toward me with a grace that makes it seem like it’s no trouble at all.

  I don’t look at her as she moves toward the small washbasin in the corner. My eyes are fixed on the floor, as if I can escape the reality of what’s happening if I just look away long enough. But it doesn’t work. Nothing will.

  Kira moves with purpose, silently preparing everything I’ll need, and I can feel the weight of her gaze on me now and then, but she doesn’t push. She’s patient. I wish I could be as patient with myself.

  When she finally turns back to me, I give her a small nod, signaling that I’m ready.

  Her hands are gentle, warm, as she helps me wash away the grime of the day, the sweat, the emotions that have clung to me. I don’t speak much—can’t, not with the pressure building in my chest—but every moment, every touch, makes something inside me ache. Not physically, but emotionally. It’s a slow, soft unraveling that I can’t quite fight.

  I feel both exposed and strangely safe, all at once.

  After a few minutes, I finally let the silence fall between us again, and I find that I’m not as bothered by it as I thought I would be. With Kira’s presence, it’s different. It’s quiet in the way that matters, the kind of quiet that lets me breathe without suffocating.

  When it’s over, and I’m as clean as I can be, I take a deep breath, finally meeting her gaze. “Thank you,” I whisper, the words simple but heavy with the weight of what I feel right now.

  She smiles, a soft, understanding smile, and nods. “Anytime.”

  And for the first time since I woke up, I feel like maybe, just maybe, I’m not completely alone in this.

  ~~~

  The quiet in the room is soothing, though the tension from earlier still lingers in my chest. I’m still wrapped in a cloud of exhaustion, the kind that drags my eyelids heavy and slow, threatening to pull me under. But I hold on. I can’t let myself fall asleep just yet—not with everything still spinning in my mind.

  It’s then that the door creaks open again, and Jaxe and Zia step inside. I blink up, pushing back the exhaustion, and notice the way their presence fills the room. They move in with an energy that contrasts my current state of mind. Jaxe’s easygoing demeanor balances Zia’s electric enthusiasm.

  “Still awake, huh?” Zia grins, her eyes twinkling as she steps forward. “I was starting to wonder if you’d sleep the whole day away.”

  I offer a faint smile, the energy it takes to respond feeling like more than I have in me at the moment. Kira stays quiet, watching the pair but not intruding, as though she can tell I’m not quite ready for a full conversation.

  Jaxe surveys me for a moment before speaking, his voice steady and calm. “How’re you feeling? You’ve been through a lot, and we just wanted to check in.”

  Before I can answer, Zia jumps in, her tone teasing. “Not that you have much choice about the matter now, huh? Apolloh’s got big plans for you, Laika.” She smirks as she glances at Jaxe, but there’s an edge of curiosity in her voice. “It’s exciting, isn’t it? Knowing there’s something bigger out there for you?”

  The words hit me harder than I expect, a pang of frustration tightening my chest. Plans for me? I don’t even know if I have a say in any of this. The bond, the mark, everything about it feels like a whirlwind I didn’t want, yet can’t escape.

  I don’t respond right away, not trusting my voice to betray everything I’m feeling. Instead, I just stay quiet, staring at the floor, as Zia continues with that same unfiltered energy.

  “I mean, look at you,” she says, her tone softer now, but still full of that wild spark. “You’ve got it in you. You’re strong—stronger than I thought you’d be. Apolloh won’t make mistakes with you. Not with someone like you.”

  Jaxe gives his sister a pointed look, but I see the warmth in his eyes as he turns back to me. “Take it easy. Don’t let the pressure get to you, Laika. You’ve got time. You don’t have to rush through this. We’re not going anywhere.”

  Zia chimes in again, her voice still light but sincere. “Whatever happens, we’ve got your back.”

  I finally look up, meeting their eyes. I don’t have the energy to say much, but I nod, appreciating the gesture even if it’s the last thing I ever thought I’d expect from someone in this pack.

  “Thanks,” I whisper, the words small but real.

  Jaxe offers a reassuring smile, and Zia gives me a thumbs-up, her grin wide and unshaken.

  With a final glance at me, they both turn to leave, and the door closes softly behind them. The room grows quiet once more, and I allow myself to settle into the silence. My mind drifts back to the whirlwind of thoughts, but for now, I have a few more moments of peace.

  The door closes behind Jaxe and Zia, and I’m left with the faint echo of their words still lingering in the room. The quiet feels different now, like the tension has shifted but not quite disappeared. My thoughts are still scattered, too many things pressing on me all at once.

  Kira remains by the window, her back to me for a moment as she watches the world outside. She doesn’t speak, but I can feel her attention, the weight of her quiet concern.

  I pull the blanket tighter around me, still trying to make sense of everything. It’s a futile task, really—everything’s too tangled, too much for me to untangle alone.

  When she finally turns toward me, her eyes soft, there’s a pause before she speaks, her voice quieter than usual.

  “You… seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” she says, as though it’s the simplest observation in the world. But it feels like more than that, like she’s waiting for me to say something, anything.

  I don’t know what to say to her, not about any of it. The bond. Apolloh’s mark. The growing knot in my chest that won’t loosen.

  “I’m… fine,” I say, the words falling from my lips as if they belong to someone else. “I just need to think.”

  Kira doesn’t push. She never does. She steps closer, and I notice the way her hands twist in front of her, like she’s not sure how to say what she’s thinking. She hesitates for a moment before speaking again, her voice quieter, tinged with something uncertain.

  “Do you… want to talk about it?” Her eyes flicker to the mark on my neck before quickly pulling away. “I know you don’t owe anyone an explanation. But if you ever need to, I’m here.”

  I feel my breath catch in my throat. She’s offering, as she always does. But right now, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to explain any of this. Not to her. Not to anyone.

  “I… I don’t think I can talk about it right now,” I manage, the words barely above a whisper. “There’s too much. And I’m… not sure what I’m feeling.”

  Kira nods, accepting my answer with the same quiet understanding that she always has. She steps back, glancing at the door. There’s something different in her eyes now, a flicker of something unspoken, but she doesn’t push. She’s learned to let me be when I need it.

  “I’ll be outside if you need anything,” she says, her voice soft and full of that genuine kindness that makes me feel both comforted and unsettled.

  “Thanks,” I reply, my voice thick, though I don’t trust myself to say more.

  She gives me one last look, her gaze lingering just a moment longer, before turning and heading toward the door. But just before she leaves, she pauses, as if she’s about to ask something else. Her fingers hover over the door handle, but then she releases it with a soft sigh, as if deciding against it.

  “I’ll be here, Laika. Whenever you’re ready,” she says, and then she’s gone, the door clicking quietly behind her.

  The room falls silent again, and I’m left alone with my thoughts. The day has worn me thin, and the weight of everything presses harder now that the others are gone. I lie back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, trying to clear my mind—but it’s hopeless. The confusion, the anger, the bond, Apolloh’s mark… it all swirls around inside me, a storm I don’t know how to weather.

  But for now, I let it be. I need the quiet. And maybe—just maybe—I’ll figure out what to do next.