Chapter 23 – A Quiet Strength

(Ella’s POV)

The pale light of dawn crept across the cabin floor, spilling warmth where Ella’s sketchbook still lay tucked beneath her pillow. She lay awake, staring at the beams of light, while listening to the hush of the waking forest. Her whispered vow from the night before still lingered in her chest, it was fragile but still alive: Even if he never chooses me, I refuse to falter, I will still stand my ground.

That was enough to give her enough strength to rise.

She dressed with deliberate care, she braided her hair back neatly, she pulled on boots, and tried smoothing the front of her simple dress. In routine, there was power, in making the chose to face the day instead of hiding from it. She had spent too many mornings curled up in shadows, but she wouldn’t do that today. But not anymore.

When she stepped outside, the air was crisp and sweet, the sky was still tinged with pale gray. She made her way toward the mess hall, her pace were steady, her shoulders squared. The usual murmurs followed her, the snickers tucked behind hands, whispers that were as sharp as claws.

“She doesn’t belong here.”

“She’s just the burden of the alpha.”

Ella’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t falter. For once, she thought to herself, to let them talk.

Inside the hall, the scent of roasted bread and herbs lingered. Wolves gathered in small groups, as they filled the plates, voices were low. She collected a bowl of porridge, carefully balancing it before sliding into a seat near the edge of the room. A mistake, perhaps—too visible, too easy to become a target. But she was tired of always shrinking.

Sasha noticed all of this.

Of course she did.

Sasha’s pale hair catching the light, her smile curving cruelly when her gaze fell on Ella. She crossed the room with deliberate grace, trailing behind her were her little entourage.

“Well,” Sasha said, her voice sweet as honey laced with venom, “if it isn’t the soon-to-be Luna, hiding in the corner like a mouse.”

A ripple of laughter followed afterwards.

Ella lowered her spoon, her heart hammering. Every instinct screamed at her to keep silent, to endure it all but something inside her finally shifted. It was a small, steady ember of defiance that burned in her chest.

She calmly met Sasha’s eyes.

“I’m actually not hiding,” Ella said, her voice quiet but steady. “I’m just eating breakfast, which is same as you.”

The hall stilled. A flicker of surprise crossed Sasha’s face, quickly masked by a smirk. “Careful, little human. You’re beginning to talk back now.”

Ella straightened her spine. “I’m not little. And I’m not yours to break.”

Just for a moment, the silence stretched taut. Then Mia appeared by Ella’s side, dropping into the seat beside her with a glare sharp enough to slice stone. “Unless your reason for being here is to apologize, Sasha, I’d suggest you walk away before I ruin your perfect hair.”

The laughter that followed this time wasn’t that of Sasha’s. Her jaw clenched, her nostrils flared up, but hen she spun on her heel and stalked away, her entourage all scrambling after her.

Ella let out a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her hands trembled slightly around the bowl she was holding onto, but Mia’s grin steadied her.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Mia whispered, bumping her shoulder.

Not so hard, Ella repeated to herself. But gods, it had felt terrifying, but at the same time it was liberating.

The day stretched on, filled with small tasks that with deliberate focus Ella threw herself into. When needed, she help to mend clothes for children, her fingers began to grow sore from the needlework. She swept the training yard after the younger wolves tracked mud across it. She even dared to assist in the kitchens, scrubbing pots until her arms ached.

Each act was a small, but each one a act of hers. A declaration that she belonged here not because the pack had been force to accept her, not because Cole had been force to bond with her, but because she chose to stand here.

Still, the bond tugged at her like an invisible leash. Every time she paused, every time she let her thoughts drift, Cole was there—his emotions pressing faintly at the edges of her mind. Restlessness. Guilt. Anger. Sometimes it flared so strong she had to grip the nearest surface just to be able to breathe.

She hated it. Hated how the bond could shove his storm into her veins without her permission. And yet, beneath the storm, she caught fleeting glimpses, there were moments of raw confusion, of guilt so heavy it almost choked her.

And those moments were what hurt the most.

By late afternoon, she found herself in the courtyard, she balanced a basket of folded laundry on her hip. When she saw Cole striding past, she took a pause. His movements became sharp, his jaw tight. He didn’t look at her, didn’t even slow down, but the bond crackled between them like a live wire.

For just a little while, her knees threatened to buckle.

But she steadied herself, lifting her chin. If he wanted to carry his storm, then she would let him. She had her own sky to stand beneath.

Back at the quiet of her cabin, that night. Ella sank onto her bed with a deep, weary sigh. Her muscles ached all over her body, her fingers were raw, but her spirit—though bruised—felt steadier than it had been in the past days.

She opened her sketchbook again. This time, all she drew was a single tree. Its branches reached high and wide, but its roots were all that mattered: they were thick, sprawling deep into the ground, anchoring it against any storm that pass through.

Her pencil lingered on the roots.

She thought of Sasha, of the whispers, of Cole’s storm pressing against her through the bond. All of it should have been able to uproot her, tear her down, scatter her into pieces.

But she refused to be moved.

“I am more than what they all see,” she whispered into the empty room.

This time the words felt heavier, not just fragile vows but truths she so much wanted to believe in, maybe even truths she was beginning to embody.

She gently closed the sketchbook, she slide it beneath her pillow once more. Tomorrow would bring more whispers, more storms, more trials. But for tonight, she had planted herself firmly in the soil of her own strength.

And that was all that matters.