Chapter 2

“The Days Left”

Amara’s POV.

Starting my day like any other day, I quickly grab the faded black leggings and a sports bra. I put them on then wrapped my shoulder length, raven colored, curly hair into a bun. Looking at the clock it’s now 5:05 in the morning. I have 2 hours to complete what little bit of training I can get done and get my chores done with breakfast made. For “a human", I am stronger and faster. It takes me about an hour and a half to stretch and run 5 miles. Every day I do something different and today I'm running. Once my run was complete, I rushed over to the showers with only twenty-five minutes to wash, get dressed and start my daily duties.

As I padded down the hall, the weight of unspoken words and yesterday’s dreams seemed to press in on me from every direction. Yet there was no time to linger in my own head. Duty called louder than any private sorrow, loud enough to drown out even the persistent ache in my chest.

I dressed quickly, fingers moving with muscle memory, and tightened my shoelaces with a practiced tug. The hallways echoed with the familiar shuffle of bodies waking and moving toward their appointed tasks, a rhythm as relentless as the sunrise. I passed a few others—some merely nodded, others didn’t bother to look up. There was no warmth in those exchanges, no sense of kinship, only the acknowledgment of shared obligation.

In the bathroom’s stale light, I splashed cold water over my face, willing it to wash away the heaviness. The reflections staring back at me—tired, wary, yet stubbornly holding onto something that resembled hope—offered no comfort, but I refused to look away. I studied my deep brown and golden skin, the way my long, raven-colored curls framed my face, and the intensity of my dark brown eyes. There, in the glass, I noticed a single, slender silver streak woven through my hair, glinting under the harsh fluorescent glow. My eyes, too, seemed to play tricks; for a fleeting moment, I caught a hint of ember coloring outlining my irises. I pulled down my lower eyelids, searching for that strange glow, but it faded as quickly as it appeared—gone, as if it had never been there.

Carefully, I tucked the silver strand beneath the rest of my hair, hiding the evidence of something I couldn’t explain. Maybe it was just my imagination, nerves twisting my perception, or perhaps it was something more—a sign of change, or a warning. Drawing in a deep breath, I let it out slowly, letting the tension drain from my shoulders. The world outside the bathroom door waited, indifferent as always. Still, I squared my shoulders, forcing myself to believe in the sliver of hope I carried. Today, I would face whatever came my way, even if it meant doing so with a heart full of questions and a spirit not yet broken.

Exiting the bathroom, the scent of bread and breakfast mingled with a sharper tang of anticipation and nerves. I pulled my thoughts into focus, ticking off the tasks ahead: another day of chores, of blending in, of holding myself together for just a little longer. Each step was propelled by the knowledge that soon, in three days, everything could shift.

I stretched, rolled my shoulders, and pressed my hands flat against the worn doorframe, grounding myself. The air was thick with expectation; even the house seemed to breathe with it, ancient floorboards creaking beneath the collective anxiety. Somewhere in the distance, laughter rang out, sharp and fleeting, a reminder that life could still hold small joys.

Above all, the question pulsed in my mind: What would it feel like to be free, to step beyond these walls as more than a shadow? I tucked the thought away, letting it rest beside my growing resolve. Today, I would keep my head down, do what was expected, and wait. But tomorrow—and the day after that—who knows what might happen?

With a final glance back at the narrowing shaft of sunlight on the stair, I moved forward, ready to face the day, uncertain but unwilling to give up the dream of something more.

Dashing down the stairs making sure to skip a few steps, I ended up in the kitchen just on time with the other omegas. Lead omega Cassie gives us a list of breakfast dishes that will be presented at this morning’s breakfast. We all scan over the list then we all get to work. Since there is a good number of omegas and our kitchen is overly large breakfast is done for the entire pack house in about forty-five minutes. By the time we are finished setting the large cherrywood stained table Alpha Victor and Luna Lina appear at the dining room entry way.

We all bow our heads out of respect and the Alpha and Luna take their seats. Beta Dimitri and his wife Beta Female Celia are seated not to long after. Caden the next alpha and his sister Leona, accompanied by Alex, the next beta in line of the Munnin Pack is coming down the stairs. I of course wasn’t included because im not blood related to them.

You always know when they are coming because Caden and Alex are always rough housing or testing each other’s strengths and weakness playfully while Leona is always threatening them. Yelling that they watch where they are going as she doesn’t want her mood or outfit ruined for the day. As we all know she is easily annoyed, I say to myself while rolling me eyes.

After breakfast has been set, the omegas return to the kitchen to procced with cleaning up. Instead of me following suit I decided to stay a listen in on the conversation. Eves dropping never hurt anyone before I say to myself while shrugging my shoulders.  "Now that everyone is seated, and breakfast has started I have an announcement to make" Luna Celia gracefully stands and states. " As everyone knows, Caden will be the next leading alpha when he turns 21 in three days. however, he must find his mate." Caden inhales and lets out a huff. the Luna gives him a death stare for being so rude. "As I was saying," luna Celia added emphasis to her voice, letting Caden know she was displeased with his exertion, then she started her sentence again. "The Munnin Pack will be hosting a mating ceremony on Caden’s birthday. We will be inviting all unmated Females and males to the event in hopes of every unmated pack member will find their mate also." Quickly I stopped eavesdropping, turning around, placing my back up against the wall, covering my mouth. Thinking to myself, I don’t want to meet my mate. I just want to choose my own place in the world and that won't happen if I am mated to someone in THIS pack! Not to mention, the Luna is the event planner and she always, when I say always, she always goes above and beyond. This only means more work for the omegas here. I for one do not plan to work my ass off for an event that isn't even mine or a pack that doesn’t even care about me. Considering Caden and I both share the same exact birthday! No one even took the time to notice after I turned 12, probably because I didn't get my wolf or Lycan.  Just for me to find my mate and lose my freedom. Most importantly I could lose my chance to be free and figure out who I truly am.

I made my escape to the kitchen just as the conversation was turning toward details, I wasn’t ready to hear. My heart hammered in my chest—not from the run to the kitchen , but from the overwhelming dread of the coming ceremony. Ducking quickly into a side hallway, I pressed myself into the shadowed alcove near the stairwell, forcing my breath to slow. The air here was cooler, tinged with the ever-present scent of pine and old wood that seeped from the house itself.

The minutes crawled by. I could hear the distant shuffling and clinking of dishes, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or sharp exchange from the dining room. My thoughts tangled with themselves: plans for escape, the weight of tradition, the ache of wanting to belong somewhere else—anywhere but here.

At last, the breakfast chatter faded enough that curiosity got the better of me. I crept up the hidden staircase at the back of the house, each step groaning under my weight, half-expecting someone to call out, to notice, to drag me back into the fold. But the hallway above was empty, the soft light slanting through dusty windows creating patterns on the worn floorboards. This part of the house always felt like another world—untouched, secret, as if it waited for something or someone to breathe life into it once more.

I let myself into my tiny room, closing the door with careful quiet. Here, at least, I could think. Here, I could fight for breath. Sitting cross-legged on the stiff bed, I tried to shake off the restlessness that clung to my brown golden colored skin. I glanced at the cracked mirror, seeing the flash of stubbornness in my eyes—just enough to push me onward.

Time blurred as I sat there in my quiet sanctuary, the steady thump of my heartbeat rattling in my ears. I pressed my forehead to my knees, letting the anxious energy settle into something sharper—determination. I would have to be careful. Every move from here on out mattered. The day spun onward, marked by the distant clangs of silverware and the occasional voices drifting up from below. The other omegas would be cleaning, laughing, gossiping, their world spinning in a rhythm I no longer fit.

A light knock snapped me from my thoughts, but when I waited, breath held, no one entered. Cautiously, I stood and moved to the cracked window, peering down at the grounds stretched out beyond the pack house. I watched as the sun caught on semi dew-laced grass, turning each blade into a sliver of gold. Somewhere, a hawk screamed its wild note, and I envied the freedom in its call.

But it was no use. If I lingered too long, suspicion would root itself, and I could not afford questions—not now, not with my plans so close to hatching. Sighing, I changed into fresh clothes and slipped from my room, moving like a shadow through the maze of hallways. I timed my steps with the settling quiet, careful not to draw attention as I sought out a place to train, to burn off the restless hope that pressed against my ribs.

Finding myself at the edge of a forgotten corridor, I hesitated. Here, the air was cold and silent, thick with secrets. For a moment, I simply listened: the house breathing, the world spinning, and my own resolve growing stronger. Then, steeling myself, I dropped to the floor and began my workout—movements precise, each repetition a small act of rebellion. I pushed past the ache, counting quietly, letting sweat bead and drip, grounding myself in the burn of muscle and the promise that soon, all of this might change.

A sudden prickling sensation ran down my spine, the kind you get when you know someone is watching you—except, in this labyrinthine house, it was impossible to tell if it was real or just the side effect of too many secrets. I moved through my exercises, each movement a silent plea for strength, not just in muscle but in resolve. My breaths grew ragged, matching the frantic pace of my thoughts, my palms pressed hard to the worn floorboards that, just for a moment, felt like the only thing anchoring me to this place.

Somewhere below, a door creaked then slammed, and the hush that followed was almost eerie. I finished my last set, stretching my arms overhead, willing the nervous energy to melt away. In the dim light, I caught a glimpse of myself—sweat-slicked and unbowed, determination burning in my eyes. I had no illusions about what it would take to leave, but I refused to let fear be the thing that trapped me.

As I gathered myself, heart still racing, the sound of footsteps—light and measured—echoed from the stairwell. Instinctively, I pressed back into the shadows, listening, muscles coiled and ready to flee if anyone discovered my sanctuary. The footsteps paused outside the door, hesitation hanging in the air, thick as fog. For a heartbeat, I wondered if someone had finally caught on.

My hand hovered near the only exit, prepared to bolt, when the door eased open with agonizing slowness. A faint, unfamiliar scent drifted toward me, mingling with the pine and dust, and I froze—caught between curiosity and dread.