Chapter 8- The Alpha's Measure

Snow fell in slow, lazy spirals the next morning, blanketing the camp in silence. The flakes clung to the roofs of huts and softened the hard lines of the palisade, but the beauty of it didn’t reach me. Beauty never lasted long in Silvermoon.

I was in the woods behind the storage shed, splitting kindling for the kitchen fires. The axe’s handle was rough against my palms, my breath pluming in sharp bursts as I swung. The cold bit at my fingers, stinging until they went numb, but I welcomed it. Pain was easier to bear when it came from frost or wood instead of people.

The steady rhythm of the axe striking kept me grounded. Chop. Crack. Split. Gather. Repeat. It was the only music I had left.

I didn’t hear him approach.

“You work alone often,” Damien’s voice came from behind me, low and even, like the rumble of distant thunder.

The axe paused mid-swing. My pulse leapt. I straightened slowly, turning to face him. The Shadowfang Alpha stood half in shadow, half in light, snow dusting his shoulders as though even the storm bowed to his presence.

“I’m given tasks that need doing,” I said carefully. “Most people prefer to… keep their distance.”

His gaze flicked to the axe in my hands, then to the neat pile of kindling at my feet. “You’re efficient.”

“Efficient,” I echoed, unsure if it was a compliment or just an observation. With him, it was hard to tell. His words were never wasted, and that made each one heavy.

“Come with me,” he said.

I hesitated, clutching the axe like a lifeline. “Alpha”

“That wasn’t a request.”

The weight of command in his tone pressed down harder than the winter sky. I set the axe aside and followed.

He led me deeper into the woods, the snow muffling our steps. The camp disappeared behind us, replaced by the vast quiet of trees bending under frost. The further we walked, the sharper the air grew. Every breath stung like needles.

Finally, he stopped beside a fallen pine, its trunk thick as my torso, half-buried in snow.

“Cut it,” he said simply.

I blinked at the massive log. “It’ll take hours.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “Then you’d better start.”

I wanted to refuse, to tell him it was pointless. But something in his eyes something unyielding, immovable made refusal impossible. So I set my jaw, dug my boots into the snow, and raised the axe.

The first few strikes echoed sharply through the woods. Chips of frozen bark flew, the impact jarring my shoulders. Damien stood nearby, arms crossed, watching. He didn’t interfere, didn’t offer advice or correction. He just watched, still as the trees.

Minutes stretched into nearly an hour. My shoulders ached with fire, my breath misting heavy in the freezing air. Sweat prickled beneath my cloak despite the cold. My hands slipped once, the axe biting the trunk at an awkward angle. Pain lanced up my wrist. I bit back a curse and reset my grip.

Damien said nothing.

I kept swinging. The sound grew ragged axe, breath, axe, breath. The world narrowed until there was only the log in front of me and the man watching behind me.

When my arms trembled with exhaustion and my vision blurred with sweat and frost, the log finally split with a sharp crack. The halves fell apart with a hollow thud.

I staggered back, chest heaving, my knees threatening to buckle.

His expression didn’t change, but in his eyes… there was the faintest flicker of something. Approval, maybe. Or interest.

“You don’t quit,” he said.

“I can’t afford to,” I replied between gasps.

“Most can’t,” he said, voice low, thoughtful. “But they still do.”

We walked back toward the camp in silence, snow crunching under our boots. My body ached, but I refused to limp. If he wanted to see how far I could bend before breaking, I would show him.

Near the edge of the woods, voices drifted toward us Garrick and two of his lieutenants. Their tones were low, bitter.

“…don’t know why Shadowfang is still here,” one muttered.

“And spending time with her of all people”

The words cut off when Damien stepped into view. His presence was like a sudden wind, sharp enough to slice through the air.

“If you have questions about my reasons,” Damien said calmly, “ask me directly.”

The two men stiffened, their bravado dissolving. Garrick’s jaw tightened, but he forced a smile, thin as paper. “We’re only concerned for our guest’s time.”

“I’m capable of managing my own time,” Damien said. His gaze slid to me, then back to them. “And my company.”

The silence that followed was louder than any insult.

Back in camp, he stopped in front of me. Snow dusted his dark hair, melting into drops that clung to his lashes like stars.

“Tomorrow,” he said, “meet me at the ridge at dawn.”

My brow furrowed. “Why?”

His mouth curved slightly not a smile, not exactly, but the barest suggestion of one. “To see how far you can climb before you fall.”

And then he was gone, his steps measured, his shadow long against the snow.

The unsettling feeling clung to me long after he disappeared into the hall. That day, whispers trailed me like smoke.

“Why her?”

“Did you see that?”

“What could he want with Selene?”

No one spoke to me directly, but I felt the weight of their stares on my back as I worked. Every glance was a question, every smirk a blade.

I kept my eyes on the wood, kept splitting, kept stacking. My movements were steady, mechanical, but inside, everything trembled.

That night, long after the fires had burned low and the camp had gone silent, I lay awake staring at the ceiling of my hut. The thin walls groaned with the wind. Shadows stretched across the wooden beams like claw marks.

I told myself it was nothing. A passing curiosity. The way one might notice a strange mark on a map. Alphas did not look at strays twice.

But the memory of his eyes gnawed at me.

Because when Damien had looked at me, I hadn’t felt invisible. He hadn’t looked at me like dirt, like a tool, like a burden. He had looked as if he saw through the shell I had built, through the bruises I hid, through the silence I carried.

He had looked at me as though I were something worth seeing.

The weight of it was unbearable. I wanted to shut my eyes and drive the thought away, but it clung to me tighter than frost.

And for the first time in years… I wasn’t sure I wanted to be invisible anymore.