Chapter 3 - The Weight of Woodcrest

The last echoing words of the sentence still vibrated in my ears as I left the courthouse.

The heavy iron doors swung shut behind us with a resonant thud, sealing away Atticus, but not the chilling memory of his final gaze.

My parents, both top-ranking warriors in Woodcrest, walked beside me, their powerful presences a familiar comfort, yet miles away in the silence. Their footsteps were heavy, deliberate, a stark contrast to the lightness they usually carried.

The walk home to our house, nestled at the edge of the pack land, was short.

My mother, typically so verbose, kept her comments to herself. My father, usually stoic, offered no words of false comfort. They respected my need to process everything, to navigate the churning storm inside me all by myself. They understood that some wounds were too deep for words, too raw for unsolicited advice.

Their quiet presence was a testament to their love, a silent acknowledgment of the void Axel's death had left. The familiar scent of pine and damp earth, usually so grounding, now felt suffocating, each breath a struggle against the weight of shared grief that hung over the entire pack.

Once we reached our home, a sturdy, comfortable house that had always felt like a sanctuary, I walked straight into the living room. The large, open space, usually filled with laughter and the quiet hum of family life, felt cold and hollow.

I turned to my parents, who had followed me in, their faces etched with worry. I saw the questions in their eyes, the unspoken anxieties, but I had to say what needed to be said. My voice, when it came, felt surprisingly steady, though it trembled slightly at the edges.

"Mom, dad, you see Woodcrest..." I began, the name of our home, our pack, suddenly tasting bitter on my tongue. "It brings up too many memories."

My gaze swept around the room, settling on the worn armchair where Axel always sat when he visited, on the framed picture of us laughing at the last Spring Festival, a picture that now seemed a cruel mockery of what once was.

"Every corner, every scent, every face ... it's all Axel. It makes processing this ... this nightmare impossible."

My mother's eyes softened, though a new line of concern appeared between her brows. My father remained still, his strong hands clasped in front of him, his silence a deep well of support.

"I have to get out," I continued, the words gaining a desperate urgency. "I need to live freely, unconstrained for a while. Just away from all of this."

My gesture encompassed not just the house, but the entire pack, the expectations, the grief, the palpable absence of what should have been.

"Before I can come back, before I can even begin to plan a future without Axel, I need space. I need to breathe without feeling choked by what I lost."

My mother stepped forward, her hand reaching out, then hesitating, hovering near my arm as if unsure if even a touch would be too much.

"Anna, my brave girl," she murmured thickly with emotion. "We understand. We truly do. This place, right now, is a cage of memories for you. We know, sweetie."

My father finally spoke, his voice low.

"Where will you go, Anna? And for how long do you plan to be away?" His questions were practical, grounded, a warrior's concern for logistics, but I knew the love and fear that lay beneath them.

I shrugged, a vague gesture.

"I don't know exactly. Wherever the wind leads, I suppose. I don't have a plan beyond just... going. And as for how long? I honestly can't say. Until I feel like I can breathe again, until I can look at a red dress without wanting to scream, until I can think of Axel and not feel like my heart is being torn in two." The raw honesty of my words seemed to hang heavy in the air.

My mother’s hand finally settled on my arm, a gentle, soothing squeeze.

"We will support you fully, my love," she promised, her gaze unwavering. "Whatever you need. We'll make sure everything is taken care of here. You just focus on yourself. Focus on healing."

My father nodded slowly, his disappointment unmistakable, though acceptance settled in his gaze.

"Your mother speaks for both of us. Go, Anna. Find your peace. And know that Woodcrest, your home, will always be here waiting for you. We will be here." His words were a lifeline, an anchor in the storm of uncertainty.

A small, almost imperceptible nod was all I could manage in response.

Gratitude swelled in my chest, a rare, fragile emotion amidst the desolation. They understood me. They truly did. And in that understanding, there was a faint flicker of hope, a tiny spark in the vast darkness that had become my life. The unspoken promise of their unwavering support was the only thing that allowed me to take the first tentative step towards an unknown, uncertain future.

All that remained now was to inform Amy and Jor of my decision.

Just the thought of it was suffocating, pressing down on my chest like an unbearable weight. I knew it would shatter all of us completely. We were more than best friends, we were a trio bound by something deeper, something unbreakable. Never had we spent more than a few hours apart and talking about leaving for an indefinite period of time would be crushing.

Even though they were still unmated at twenty, my own mating with Axel had never been an obstacle in our friendship. Axel had fit perfectly into our circle, his easygoing nature and quick wit making him an instant favorite. We had simply become four instead of three, our bond expanding to include him seamlessly.

I walked out of the living room, through the quiet house, and onto the back balcony.

The scent of familiar gardenias hung heavy in the evening air, usually a source of peace, but now just another reminder of a life that felt a million miles away. I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone.

The two of them hadn’t been at the sentencing, they simply couldn't handle it, they stated. I knew for sure that they were together now, probably at Jor's house, still in tears, still in disbelief at what had happened, clinging to each other for comfort.

They would need me, but I needed to leave.

The irony was a bitter taste on my tongue. I took a deep, fortifying breath and dialed Jor's number.

This was going to hurt, without a doubt.