Punishments

Celine POV

Walking down the grand staircase with Sebastian at my side feels surreal. The Pack House, with its high ceilings and dark wooden beams, is warm and welcoming in a way I’m not used to. It still feels strange to be here, sleeping in a soft bed, wrapped in blankets, and surrounded by warmth. The faint scent of wood polish and cooked food lingers in the air, a stark contrast to the damp, cold cells I’d grown accustomed to.

Last night was the first time in years I wasn’t jarred awake by the endless noise of prisoners shouting, screaming, or banging on the bars. In the cells, silence was rare, and sleep was a luxury. Morning always came too soon, dragging me into the harsh reality of cooking for everyone else before I’d even eaten myself.

But today was different. I slept in—a small luxury that feels almost wrong. As Sebastian guides me toward the bustling kitchen, the murmur of voices grows louder. The Pack’s kitchen is full of people, the warm light from the windows casting long