Plans in the Shadows.

Abbey’s Point of View

I kept tossing and turning where I lay, my once peaceful expression twisted with fear. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I jolted awake, eyes wide and breath ragged. I clutched the blanket tighter, trying to convince myself it was just a nightmare — but it wasn’t. Every cruel detail was my reality. I was still trapped in this room, still wearing the same filthy clothes, my hair a tangled mess.

I flicked on the light, heart hammering when I noticed the empty tray was gone. Someone had come in while I slept. My skin prickled as I checked myself over, half-expecting to find something missing or changed. But everything seemed untouched — except the tray. I swallowed hard, reminding myself the girl had said someone would come for it. Still, unease coiled in my gut.

Hours passed. No footsteps. No voices. Nothing. I sat with my back pressed against the wall, eyes locked on the door. The silence made my thoughts scream louder.

Finally — knock, knock.

I knew that scent instantly — chocolate and caramel. It was her. The girl from last night.

She stepped inside, balancing a tray just like before. “Good morning, miss.” She placed it on the small table.

“Good morning,” I answered softly.

“When you’re done, leave the tray by the door. I’ll be back with proper clothes. Alpha Jemery wishes to see you.”

My eyes snapped up. The Alpha?

“Yes,” she confirmed calmly. “Alpha Jemery and Beta Eric want to discuss… the situation with you.” She turned to leave, but her words echoed in my mind.

The situation. As if I wasn’t the situation. A bitter laugh bubbled out of me after she closed the door. Someone listening would think they wanted my opinion on pack politics — not the fact that I was the pack’s biggest problem wrapped in torn clothes. But maybe… maybe this was my chance. I’ll kill him, I promised myself again. But how? I had no weapon, no plan — just anger and the instincts of a Beta’s daughter. It wasn’t enough. I’d have to be smart. Patient.

While my mind spun, I ate — pancakes, bacon, fruit. Sweet grapes and tart berries. I’d eaten more in twenty-four hours than I had in a month. But every bite made my stomach twist. My thoughts drifted to Kane — Tit’s brother — and the others who’d fought that night. Where are they now? Are they alive? And Charity… my chest ached at her name. She was probably still locked in that cell, alone. The food turned to ash in my mouth.

The next knock came sooner than I expected. I was still pushing the last of the berries around the plate when the girl appeared again, patient and quiet as ever.

“You can follow me now, miss,” she said.

I stood, studying her. She still didn’t address me like a prisoner — but not like a Luna either. Just miss. Neutral. I followed her out into the hall.

“Wait,” I said softly. “What’s your name?”

She glanced back, a hint of surprise in her eyes. “Aira. You can call me Aira, miss.”

We walked in silence through the long corridor. I caught glimpses of the pack house — sterile halls, polished floors, dark wooden doors. It felt empty, too quiet for what a pack house should be. No pups laughing, no families milling about — only guards training outside on the yard, about fifty of them, moving in perfect, lifeless drills. Security cameras dotted some corners but not others — gaps that lodged themselves in my mind like seeds of possibility.

We stopped at a wooden door. Aira gestured for me to step inside.

“This room has everything you need. When you’re done, change into these clothes,” she said, pointing to a simple gray sweatshirt and black joggers folded neatly on the bed.

I nodded. She stepped back — but didn’t leave. She just turned her back to me, facing the door like a sentinel. I let out a quiet sigh and stepped toward the bathroom.

The warm water wrapped around me like a memory. I sank deeper, letting the steam soften the tension that had lived in my bones for weeks. For a few stolen minutes, I was just Abbey again — not a prisoner, not a mate to my parents’ murderer — just a girl who missed feeling clean. I scrubbed myself twice, scraping away the grime of my old life. I stared at my reflection — pale skin, haunted eyes — and barely recognized the wolf staring back.

When I stepped out, Aira turned. “You look much better, miss.”

I gave a weak smile. It wasn’t the compliment I wanted, but it was true. I dressed in the soft clothes, combing my wet hair with my fingers until it lay flat.

“Ready,” I murmured, clearing my throat. She nodded and opened the door.

“Please, do not stray,” she warned, her tone gentle but sharp.

I almost laughed at that. Run away? Where would I go? I didn’t care about escape — not yet. I’m not leaving until I kill him, I reminded myself. I’ll kill him or die trying.

We walked the halls in silence. I made a point to study every turn, every door, every blind spot. The guards trained relentlessly in the yard outside. This pack house was all hard edges and cold stares — no warmth, no life. It wasn’t right. A pack should breathe — this place felt like a mausoleum.

At last, we stopped at a pair of towering double doors flanked by two stone-faced guards. They crossed their spears as we approached.

“State your name, rank, and business,” one barked.

Aira stepped forward. “Aira, healer. Beta Eric asked me to bring her here. She has pack business to discuss.”

A healer, I noted. Not just a caretaker, but a wolf with magic — a counselor, a guide, a quiet power in any pack. She was worth watching.

The guard’s eyes slid to me. “Name. Rank. Business.”

Before I could answer, Aira cut in smoothly. “She’s not part of the pack. She’s a guest.”

Guest. I nearly snorted. Prisoner or hostage would be more honest. But I held my tongue.

After a moment, the guard gave a curt nod and pushed open one side of the door. I stepped forward — and froze. The scent hit me first — fresh wood and leather. His scent.

He’s here. My pulse thudded like a drum in my ears.

That bastard is here.

And if the Moon Goddess gave me even one chance — I would end him.