CHAPTER TEN

The silence of the forest was no longer comforting—it was oppressive. The kind that made every step sound too loud, every snap of a twig echo like a warning shot. The sun filtered weakly through the canopy above, its golden light smothered by the dense tangle of branches and frost-dampened leaves. Wind whispered through the pines, tugging at Rhea’s threadbare cloak like a cold hand trying to pull her back.

She pressed on, boots aching and heavy from hours of walking. Her muscles ached with fatigue. The soles of her feet throbbed from blisters. Her hands, raw and red from the chill, trembled as she clutched the edge of her cloak tighter around her body.

She had stopped counting the days. Time blurred when there were no warm meals, no fireside comforts, no familiar faces. She hadn’t eaten since the night before, rationing a crust of bread like it was gold. Her stomach growled in protest, but she ignored it. Hunger had become a companion, much like the ache in her chest.

And the questions—always the questions—swirling inside her like a storm that refused to quiet.

Was this truly freedom? Or just another kind of cage?

She paused by a large fallen tree, resting her back against the moss-slick bark. Her breath came out in white puffs, catching in the pale morning air. The silence felt louder now. Like the world was holding its breath, waiting for her to fall apart.

She slid down the trunk until she was sitting on the cold forest floor. Pulling her knees to her chest, she buried her face in them and exhaled slowly.

All she had wanted was a choice. A life where she could decide who she was. But now that she had it—or some shattered version of it—doubt crept in like rot.

Was it worth it?

She had fled a fate she hadn’t chosen, yes—but at what cost?

Images of her father danced in her mind. Garrick Stormclaw: proud Alpha of the Bloodmoon Pack, feared across the northern territories. A man made of iron and old scars. His word was law, and she had broken it.

He would never forgive her.

She could still hear his voice: cold, commanding. “You are a Stormclaw. Your duty comes before your wants.”

Duty. Obedience. Sacrifice.

She had grown up in the shadow of those words. Her mother had lived by them too—until her heart gave out under the weight of years she spent being someone she never truly was.

Rhea’s throat tightened.

Her mother’s last words haunted her every step: “Don’t let the world cage you like it did to me.”

But maybe the cage had followed her. Maybe freedom was an illusion, one that vanished the moment she stepped into the cold, hungry wild.

And Branor...

She shuddered.

Even now, thinking of him made her skin crawl.

The older Alpha with sharp eyes and a cruel smile. She had only met him once, and even in that brief moment, he had made her feel like prey. His gaze had lingered too long, his words too smooth, his promises of power and protection too calculated.

But still... she couldn’t help but wonder.

Would marrying him have been easier than this?

At least there would’ve been food. A roof. Safety.

Maybe, over time, she could have learned to bear it. She would have had status. Influence. And her father’s pride.

The thought made her feel sick.

She looked down at her hands—mud-streaked, trembling. Her fingers still bore traces of ink from the forged letter, as if the lie had stained her skin. What if the academy discovered the truth? What if she failed? What if she was sent back?

Or worse, what if they handed her over to Branor?

A dry sob caught in her throat. She forced it down. She couldn’t afford tears.

Still, the questions came.

Had she doomed herself?

Was she just a foolish girl playing pretend in a world of monsters?

And Mira...

Oh, gods. Mira.

Her heart twisted painfully.

Mira had raised her after her mother’s health began to decline. She’d been there when Rhea scraped her knees, when the nightmares came, when she needed a voice that wasn’t soaked in command. The woman had risked everything to help her escape—risked her life, her home.

Had Garrick punished her? Had he known the truth before Rhea crossed the border?

She blinked hard, trying to force the tears back. They burned, but she refused to let them fall. Not here. Not when eyes could be watching. Not when one wrong move could lead her into the hands of a hunter.

“Please be safe,” she whispered into the wind, her voice hoarse. “Please…”

The wolf within her stirred but remained silent—uncertain. It had been that way for days now. Distant. Suppressed. Neither pushing forward nor retreating, as if unsure what to make of their shared path. The bond between them felt strained under the weight of deception and fear.

Rhea didn’t blame her.

The old Rhea—the one who had danced barefoot by moonlight and trained in secret under the stars—felt like a memory worn smooth by time. In her place stood this makeshift creature: a runaway in boy’s clothes, hiding behind a name that wasn’t hers.

Rian.

She had whispered the name so many times now that it almost felt like her own. Almost.

The wind howled through the trees, rustling the canopy overhead. Dusk wasn’t far off. She would need to move again. She couldn’t afford to linger in one place for too long.

But her legs refused to listen.

She leaned her head back against the tree trunk and let the silence wrap around her. For just a moment. A heartbeat.

“Did I do the right thing?” she whispered again, the question barely a breath.

No answer came.

Only the rustle of leaves. The distant call of a raven. The sound of her own heartbeat, steady but uncertain.

She closed her eyes and let herself imagine—for one fleeting second—a different life. One where her mother had lived, where her father had loved her more than his politics, where she had been allowed to choose.

But that world didn’t exist.

She had to make her own.

The path ahead was still uncertain, dark and twisted with fear. But somewhere, at the end of it, was the Alpha Academy. A place that could teach her how to fight. How to survive. How to never be caged again.

Slowly, Rhea stood. Her knees wobbled, but she planted her feet firmly on the ground. She took one shaky breath. Then another. And another.

“I don’t know if this was right,” she said softly. “But I won’t turn back.”

She looked toward the west, where the academy lay beyond the mountains.

And she walked.