CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE:DREAMING.

       DREAMING

The dreams followed me into the morning.

Not in a dramatic, cinematic way. They clung instead, like a smell on clothes that refused to leave even after washing.

I woke up staring at the ceiling, my chest rising too fast, my hands curled into the sheets like I had been holding onto something and lost it.

I stayed still for a while, enjoying the quiet.

No shouting. No alarms. No sudden rush of pack noise outside my window.

Just birds. Wind. The distant sound of the pack members laughing somewhere far away.

This was what normal looked like.

I swallowed and pushed myself up slowly, bracing for the dizziness that had become familiar these past few days. It came, but weaker this time. That felt like progress, even if it was the kind no one clapped for.

I rubbed my face and muttered, “You’re awake. That’s good.”

My wolf shifted faintly inside me, as if informing me of her presence not still not being active.

That alone steadied me.

I pulled on a sweater and padded out of my room. The hallway felt wider than usual, or maybe I was just less folded in on myself today. Halfway down the stairs, I paused, fingers tightening around the railing.

Voices drifted up from below.

“Did she eat yesterday?” Grandma asked.

A chair scraped softly. Grandpa answered, quieter. “A little. She came down on her own.”

There was a pause, the kind full of words no one wanted to say out loud.

“She doesn’t look at the windows much anymore,” Grandma said. “That’s good progress. Lena’s child has gone through a lot.”she sighed.

I leaned back against the wall, suddenly very aware of my breathing.

“I can hear you,” I called down.

Silence.

Then Grandma sighed. “Well, that saves us the trouble of pretending.”

I forced myself to keep moving.

The kitchen smelled like tea and bread. Grandpa sat at the table with a stack of papers he was not reading. Grandma stood at the counter, her hands busy with nothing in particular.

They both looked up when I entered.

“Good morning,” Grandpa said cheerfully.

“Morning,” I replied, sliding into a chair.

Grandma placed a mug in front of me without comment. I wrapped my hands around it, grateful for the warmth.

“You slept?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Another pause.

“And the dreams?” Grandpa asked.

I stiffened, then relaxed when I realized I had already told them about the dreams yesterday. About the running. The voices. The feeling that something was waiting for me just out of sight.

“They’re still there,” I said. “They don’t feel bad exactly. Just loud.”

Grandma nodded like that made sense. “Dreams have a way of speaking when we stop drowning them out.”

I took a sip of tea. “They talk too much.”

That earned a small smile.

After breakfast, I stood at the sink longer than necessary, staring at my reflection in the glass. My eyes looked more like mine again. Still tired, but not empty.

That mattered.

When I turned, Grandpa was watching me.

“You don’t have training today,” he said.

I blinked. “I don’t?”

“No,” he replied. “Not unless you ask for it.”

That surprised me enough to make my shoulders loosen. “Okay.”

“What of Elio?” I asked.

“Who?”

I squinted carefully, “Elio? Your other grandchild?”

“Oh.” Grandma laughed, patting the back of her neck, “He stepped outside early today. I keep forgetting things often these days.”

I paused to look at her, “Do you need to see a doctor?”

“Not necessarily”, she laughed, “I’m just getting old.”

I lingered near the doorway, unsure what to do with unstructured time. That uncertainty used to satisfy me. Now it just felt unfamiliar.

Outside, the courtyard buzzed quietly. People passing. Life moving on without checking if I was ready to join it.

Daniel crossed the path near the fountain and spotted me.

He lifted a hand. “Hey.”

I hesitated, then stepped forward. “Hi.”

He studied my face without being obvious about it. “You look better.”

“I feel less like I’m hiding from the walls,” I shrugged refusing to meet his eyes.

“That’s an improvement,” he replied. “We’re setting up equipment later. No pressure. Just letting you know.”

I nodded. “Thanks for telling me.”

He shifted his weight. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” I said. “I might anyway.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, but he did not comment. “I’ll be around.”

After he left, I sat on the edge of the fountain and let the sun warm my hands. The dream tugged at my memory again. The way the ground had felt under my feet. The way my wolf had moved with me instead of against me.

I closed my eyes.

This time, when the images came, I did not push them away.

I let them sit and I studied them.

And for the first time, I did not feel terrified by them because on a deeper level they felt like invitations, proddings into my future.

I opened my eyes slowly, heart steady, breath even.

Whatever was coming, it was not something I had to face alone inside my room anymore.

And that realization stayed with me long after the sun dipped lower, quiet and unassuming, waiting for the moment it would matter.