Chapter 36 – Strength in Shadows

(Ella’s POV)

The first light of dawn seeped into my room through the thin curtains, a pale promise that the day had begun whether I was ready or not. I lay for a moment, eyes tracing the patterns of sunlight on the walls, listening to the quiet hum of the pack stirring beyond the cabin. Even through the thin veil of morning, the bond pulsed faintly—a reminder that Cole’s emotions, sharp and restless, still brushed against mine.

I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the faint tug of his turmoil. Guilt. Anger. Frustration. A tangled mess that seemed to shift every time I blinked. It was his chaos, and yet, in some inexplicable way, it had begun to press against me, urging me to react.

But I didn’t.

I rose slowly, stretching my arms above my head, letting the small creaks of muscle and tendon ground me. I decided that today I would not let the bond dictate my day. I dressed in simple training gear, a soft blouse and leggings that would allow my allow my movement flow freely. My reflection in the mirror met me with pale eyes, faint shadows beneath them from restless nights. I studied the face staring back, it was strong, unbreakable and all mine.

Even the bond isn’t able to take that away from me.

Breakfast in the hall has become a quiet affair. Instead of the usual murmur of conversation that carried across the long wooden tables all there was now was a new tension in the air. Pack members stole glances at me, some curious, some pitying, others whispering low enough that only ears trained to the subtleties of pack dynamics could catch what they were saying.

“For now, she’s holding her head high,” I heard a young female mutter, her tone sharp.

Mia nudged me under the table. “Just ignore them. They don’t know what they’re looking at.”

Jasper scribbled a note across the napkin: Every step you take, they’ll watch. But their eyes can’t touch your soul.

I gave a small smile, careful not to betray the churning thoughts beneath my calm. I wasn’t going to give anyone, not Cole, not Sasha, not the pack, the satisfaction of seeing me falter or cower.

Sitting at the far end of the hall was Cole, his shoulders tight, his jaw clenched. He avoided my gaze, but the bond still carried along the weight of his unrest straight into my chest. The sensation pressed at me, heavy and insistent, but I focused only on my own breathing, allowing it to pass without drawing me into the storm.

In the practice yard, Morning training began. The sun climbed higher, dappling the ground through the thick canopy of trees. Cole was present but distant, his movements sharp and unfocused, it was as though he carried the weight of the previous days like a stone on his chest.

Sasha was also there, of course, watching every interaction made, her expression a mask of fake neutrality. Every so often, her gaze would flick to me, calculating, it was as if she were measuring just how much she could push before I finally break.

It started with whispers, subtle jabs. “She thinks she’s untouchable,” she murmured to a nearby wolf, loud enough for me to catch the words whispered. Then a deliberate spill of water near my feet. A snide comment about the futility of a human holding her ground in a pack filled with wolves.

For a moment, I paused. I let the water soak into the earth beneath my boots, and even met her gaze. “I am exactly who I choose to be,” I said quietly. No tremor in my voice, no voiced anger, just clarity. Her smirk faltered.

I returned back to my training, letting each movement center me. Each swing, each kick, each step reminded me that this still my body, my skill, my mind. I could not control Cole, I could not control Sasha, and I could not control the pack’s whispers. But I could control myself.

Later, when the practice ended, I found a quiet spot by the edge of the forest. My sketchbook was open, it’s pages fluttering in the light breeze. I drew again, I let the pencil trace the lines of wildflowers, the stems tall and leaves reaching, this time they were unchoked by the thorns. The flowers were upright, resilient, reaching toward light despite everything. Each stroke felt like I was making a promise to myself: I would grow. I would endure. I would not be broken.

Through it all, the bond faintly pulsed, carrying Cole’s turmoil, his guilt, his restlessness. I felt it as a distant storm rather than a tidal wave. I could sense the chaos he carried, but I refused to allow it to seep into me. I observed, acknowledged, but did not react to the emotions trying to drown me.

It was a revelation: the bond was not only a tether to him; it was a mirror, reflecting the strength I had been able cultivate in quiet moments, in whispered nights alone and in the shadows of the pack.

As evening fell, I returned to the woods beneath the moonlight. The air was cool and crisp, silver light filtering through the branches, painting the forest floor in dappled patterns. I sat on a low stone, hands resting on my knees, eyes closed.

The bond flared briefly, sharper this time, carrying Cole’s restless energy, but I breathed through it, centering myself. The pulse of his guilt, his longing, his confusion, it pressed against me, and yet I did not falter.

“I am not his,” I whispered, voice soft yet firm. “I am not the pack’s pawn. I am all mine to own.”

The wind rustled through the leaves, carrying my words into the night. I felt the bond respond, faintly, a gentle vibration that seemed to finally respect my resolve. I opened my eyes and gazed at the moon, tracing its pale arc across the sky.

Strength was not always in fire, in passion, in action. Sometimes it was also in quiet. Sometimes it was in endurance. Sometimes it was in the simple refusal to bend to forces beyond your own control.

I pressed my palms to the cool earth beneath me, grounding myself in that quiet power. Even if the pack doubted me, even if Cole’s emotions battered me like relentless waves, I could still stand.

The wildflowers I had drawn earlier that day now existed in my mind, growing upright, reaching for the light. They were fragile, yet persistent. I was fragile, yet persistent.

I whispered one last vow into the night: I will not broken. I am not his to destroy. I am all mine to own.

And for the first time in days, I felt a flicker of freedom. It wasn’t complete. It wasn’t total triumphant. But it was real.

The bond pulsed once more, insistent, aware, tethered—but I let it wash over me without fear. I was alive, I was here, and I would survive.