Chapter 5

I opened my eyes slowly-though it didn’t make much difference. Darkness greeted me, as always. But this darkness was softer somehow, wrapped in warmth and silence instead of the cold and cruelty I had known for so long.

My body felt heavy, but not with pain this time. Just tiredness. My wounds were bandaged. The air smelled clean-fresh sheets, faint cinnamon, and something herbal.

I wasn’t home.

Not that my old pack house had ever felt like home. No, this place was different. Too still. Too peaceful. It made me nervous.

I turned my head slightly, wincing as my side ached. The bed beneath me was soft, layered with thick blankets. A pillow cradled my neck like a cloud. It was too much comfort all at once. My body didn’t trust it.

I didn’t trust it.

The door creaked open, and I tensed.

“Hey,” came a soft voice-female, warm. “You’re awake.”

I didn’t answer.

“I’m Tessy. Drey’s sister.”

Still, I said nothing. My voice had gone into hiding, the way it always did when I felt like prey. When too many eyes were on me. When I didn’t know what came next.

“I brought you some soup,” she continued, walking closer. “It’s chicken. Not too hot.”

She placed a tray gently on a nearby surface. I heard the clink of a spoon. Then nothing.

Silence stretched.

I could feel her watching me, but not in the cruel, judging way I was used to. It felt more like... concern.

“I don’t know what happened to you,” she said after a pause, “but you’re safe now. Nobody here’s gonna hurt you.”

I flinched anyway. Safe wasn’t a word I believed in.

“You don’t have to talk,” she added quickly. “Just... eat when you can.”

I waited until I was sure she’d gone before I dared to sit up. My body groaned in protest, but I managed. My hands found the edge of the tray. Slowly, carefully, I touched the bowl-warm, not scalding-and dipped my spoon in.

I ate in silence. Not because I was hungry, but because I needed strength. Because I didn’t know what tomorrow held, and I couldn’t afford to be weak again.

……………………………………………….

The next few days passed like a blur.

Drey came to check on me once or twice, though he never stayed long. He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t press. Just left food, sometimes spoke a few words, and left again.

Tessy was the one who stayed. She hummed when she cleaned, told me stories about her pack-even though I never responded. She’d sit near the window and talk like we were old friends. It should’ve annoyed me. But it didn’t.

Still, I didn’t speak. I couldn’t.

The words were there, buried beneath years of fear and silence, but they refused to come out. My throat closed every time I tried. I was stuck between wanting to thank them and wanting to vanish entirely.

On the third morning, Tessy brought in clean clothes.

“These might be a little big,” she said, placing them gently on the bed. “But they’re soft. Better than hospital gowns, I think.”

I touched the fabric. Soft cotton. Washed with lavender.

She didn’t comment on the bruises on my arms. Didn’t stare. Just smiled like I was whole.

When I didn’t move, she spoke gently. “I know it’s hard. I’ve been hurt too. But... this place is different. My brother-he doesn’t believe in ranks deciding worth. He believes in people.”

I turned my head toward her voice. My lips parted, but no sound came out.

She reached out slowly, giving me time to flinch-but I didn’t. Her hand touched mine, warm and careful.

“You don’t have to be okay,” she whispered. “You just have to stay.”

…………………………………………..

That night, I woke from a nightmare.

I was cold again, bleeding on the forest floor. Derek stood over me, eyes full of disgust. The pack surrounded me, chanting “cursed,” “worthless,” “blind rat.” I tried to scream, but no sound came. My mouth was full of blood.

I jolted upright, heart hammering.

Tears ran down my cheeks before I even realized I was crying. My hands trembled. My breath came in sharp gasps.

The door creaked again.

A pause. Then footsteps-slow, hesitant.

“Clarissa?” It was Drey this time.

I didn’t answer.

“I heard you cry out. Can I come in?”

I couldn’t speak. But I didn’t say no.

He stepped inside. The bed dipped slightly as he sat at the edge, leaving space between us.

“I used to have nightmares too,” he said after a moment. “When I was younger. After my father died, and... when the leadership was passed down, things got hard. I felt alone. Like I didn’t belong.”

I wiped at my face quickly, ashamed of the tears.

“I’m not comparing,” he said gently. “I just mean... I know that haunted feeling.”

I stayed quiet, but my shoulders relaxed slightly.

“We’re not like other packs,” he added. “And you’re not a burden. You’re not weak.”

He stood to leave.

But just before the door shut, I found my voice.

“Thank you,” I whispered, voice hoarse and cracked.

He paused.