We leave.

Rose's POV

He smiled then—that rare, devastating one that softened the sharp lines of his face and made my wolf melt inside me like snow under spring sun. “Every single one. Your fear didn’t weaken me, little one. It reminded me why I chose this. Why I’ve been preparing for months. Councilor Elara still remembers the winter I pulled her unit out of that northern pass—half-frozen, outnumbered, but alive because of the claiming rites I taught them on the march. She owes me her life, and she’s already signed the statement swearing she witnessed the moment the bond formed. Dean Hargrove owes me for keeping his son’s indiscretion with that delta omega quiet last term—no scandal, no headlines, just quiet handling. One word from him and any anonymous scent complaint vanishes from the records. Professor Thorne in Advanced Shifting will swear these ‘tutoring’ sessions are purely academic support for your Lore papers on bond law—gaps in your last submission that only the department head could address after hours.”

He paused, silver eyes searching mine, the bond carrying a gentle wave of his confidence—like warm pine smoke wrapping around the raw edges of my heart. “If whispers reach the board before we’re ready, we walk in together. Hand in hand. Your mark on my throat for the entire assembly to see. Mine on yours like a crown. We present the documents—mutual, informed, adult choice. A sovereign bond older than their charter by centuries. They can’t touch what the old rites already blessed. And if they still try to separate us…”

His voice dropped lower, firmer, the alpha resolve threading through every syllable. “Then we leave. Together. I have land in the northern border packs—untouched forest where the claiming rites are still the old ways, a cabin overlooking the river where the pines sing at night. Room for pups with your stubborn russet curls and my silver eyes tumbling across the floor while I teach them to shift under moonlight. Whatever comes, Rose—we face it *together*. No more running. No more cold sheets at dawn. Just us. Always us.”

The words sank into me deeper than any knot ever could. I clenched my fingers around the folder, the parchment crinkling softly, and felt the last jagged edges of my fear smooth out—not gone, but reshaped. Something we could carry. Something we could wield.

“I still don’t know how we’ll survive the whispers tomorrow,” I admitted, voice small but no longer fractured, leaning my forehead back against his. “Marcus mouthed ‘changed scent’ at dinner with that predatory smirk. If he reports it to the board before we’re ready… if my little sister’s letters start arriving with questions about why everyone at the academy is talking about Professor Voss and the omega who ruined him…”

Jason’s arms tightened around me, one hand stroking slow, soothing circles on my back while the other cupped the nape of my neck, fingers brushing the bite mark with reverent care. “Then we handle it. Together. I’ve faced border skirmishes with worse odds than a jealous pup and a stuffy council full of crimson robes. You’re not facing any of this alone anymore, Rose. Never again. The bond chose us both. The old rites blessed us both. And if the academy tries to burn us for it…” He pressed a slow kiss to my forehead, then to the claiming bite—soft, lingering, a vow pressed into skin. “We’ll rise from the ashes. Side by side. Mates. Whatever comes next—hearings, exile, new beginnings in the border packs—we face it as Rose and Jason. Not professor and student. Not scandal and ruin. Just us.”

A strange calm settled into my bones at that. The fear was still there—sharp and real, whispering of assembly halls and public disgrace and my family’s letters of shame—but it wasn’t hollow anymore. It had structure now. Shape. A battlefield we could stand on together rather than a void that would swallow me whole.

My wolf shifted inside me again, no longer pacing restlessly but watching with pricked ears and a low, approving rumble. She sent me a flash through the bond: the two of us standing in the assembly hall, shoulders touching, marks on full display, the golden thread between us glowing bright enough to blind the elders in their crimson robes. *Together,* she echoed, voice warm and certain. *Always.*

I stepped back first this time. Chose it. My legs felt steadier than they had that afternoon in the empty lecture hall, when I had turned and fled with tears on my cheeks and his promise of 7pm burning in my chest. Not because the fear was gone. But because I wasn’t running from it anymore.

At the heavy oak door, my hand paused on the brass handle, cool and grounding under my palm. The corridor beyond was dimmer now—evening hush settling over the stone arches like a heavy cloak, torches flickering in their iron sconces and casting long shadows that danced like silent witnesses. A few students lingered near the stairwell two floors down, their laughter echoing faintly from the lower halls—light, careless, oblivious for now. No one looked twice at the omega slipping out of the faculty tower with flushed cheeks and a high collar pulled tight.

Not yet.

But I felt it. The shift. The undercurrent of whispers already stirring like wind through dry leaves. Marcus’s knowing smirk from dinner. The beta girl’s curious tilt of her head. The way alphas slowed their steps in the corridors, nostrils flaring. The changed scent was spreading, inevitable as the tide.

I walked forward anyway.

Each step measured. Controlled. Boots soft on the flagstones, hood pulled low but not hiding. The bond stretched behind me—not painfully this time, but aware. Connected. Like a golden tether that didn’t restrain, only reminded. A gentle tug, warm and patient: *I’m here. Ten minutes. Then I follow. Aligned.*

Ten minutes later, as I rounded the corner into the main cloister, I heard the faint echo of steady boots entering the opposite corridor—unhurried, deliberate, the stride of a man who had faced worse than rumors and still chosen this path with open eyes. Professor Voss returning to his quarters after a perfectly legitimate late tutoring session. Not chasing. Not hiding. Just existing. Aligned.

My wolf curled quietly inside me, brushing against his silver presence through the bond in a soft, certain nuzzle. Not desperate. Not pleading. Certain.

The academy might whisper louder tomorrow. The board might convene in hushed emergency sessions. Marcus might circle closer, testing the edges of what he thought he smelled. Lila would have questions the second I walked back into our dorm—eyes sharp, scent blockers already in hand, sisterly worry wrapped in practical advice.

But tonight, for the first time since I had slipped from his bed at dawn with guilt clawing at my ribs, the fear didn’t feel like something that would shatter us into pieces too small to find again.

It felt like something we would meet.

Head-on.

Shoulder to shoulder.

Mates.

Together.

I kept walking, the golden thread humming warm and steady at my back, carrying his quiet promise across the moonlit grounds: *Seven p.m. is not a hiding place, little one. It’s where we plan. Where we build. Where we win.*

And beneath the ancient arches, past the training fields where the last alphas were packing away their blades, past the library where scholars still bent over tomes by candlelight, I felt my own wolf answer with a low, hopeful whine that vibrated straight into the bond.

*Together.*

The word no longer tasted like surrender.

It tasted like dawn after the longest night.

Like home.