Maria.
"So, Galen… how do we sleep here?" I asked lightly, forcing a small laugh as I glanced around the cramped room. My gaze lingered on her face as I tried—clumsily—to lift the mood, to make the space feel less suffocating than it was.
Every movement sent a sharp reminder through my body. Pain throbbed beneath my skin, deep and relentless, but I ignored it. I had learned to. My wolf stirred quietly inside me, already working, already knitting torn flesh and bruised muscle together inch by inch. It wasn't fast, but it was something I could rely on when everything else failed.
"Are you okay?" Galen asked.
Her voice was soft, genuine. The question caught me off guard, slipping past the walls I'd built so carefully. For a split second, I forgot to hide the truth, and I knew she saw it—the flicker of exhaustion, the strain in my eyes.
I straightened immediately.
"Yeah, I am," I replied quickly, forcing a smile onto my lips. It felt stiff, unnatural, but I held it there anyway. "I'll be fine."
She didn't push. Instead, she nodded slowly, as if she understood more than she said.
Together, we began to rearrange the room. It wasn't much—pushing the bed slightly, folding blankets, aligning the few belongings in the room —but the effort made a difference. The space started to feel less like a holding cell and more like somewhere people actually lived. I noticed how naturally Galen moved, how she paid attention to colors, placement, balance. From the way she folded fabric to how she positioned the small items in the rooml, it was obvious—fashion and aesthetics mattered to her.
Time passed easier than I expected.
We talked. About everything and nothing. Dragons. Vampires. Old legends whispered through packs and territories. At some point, we were laughing—real laughter, loud and unrestrained. For a few precious hours, I almost forgot where I was. Almost forgot what had been done to me.
Then came the knock.
Sharp. Firm. Final.
The sound sliced through the room, stealing the laughter from our lips. I looked at Galen, and she looked back at me, her smile fading instantly.
"Rogue 456!"
My chest tightened.
That was me.
I moved quickly to the door and pulled it open. Beta Torin stood there, expression unreadable, authority rolling off him in quiet waves.
"Beta Torin," I greeted, lowering my head respectfully as I bowed.
"Task 101 has been assigned to you," he said curtly. "You are needed at the garden."
With that, he turned and walked away.
No explanation. No concern.
I stood there for a moment, stunned. I had been whipped fifty times just hours ago, my body still screaming beneath the surface—and now I was being sent to work. A bitter thought crossed my mind.
They really were determined to kill me.
I reached behind the door, grabbed my slippers, and slipped them on. Without another word, I followed him, forcing my legs to move no matter how badly they protested.
I arrived at the garden just as the morning light settled over the grounds. The place was already busy. Many other rogues were there, spread across the area, cleaning and clearing as they had been ordered to do. Some were pulling weeds, others trimming grass or gathering fallen leaves into piles. The air smelled of earth and damp greenery, and the quiet sounds of work filled the space.
As I moved farther in, I overheard a conversation nearby.
"It's Ms. Vanessa's birthday in three days," someone said casually, their voice carrying over the low noise of labor.
"Yeah," another replied. "The Alphas are very strict about things like this. They love Ms. Vanessa so much."
Their words lingered in my mind longer than I expected. As they continued talking, laughing softly among themselves, I felt a strange, heavy sensation form in my chest. It wasn't pain exactly, but it was uncomfortable, like something tightening slowly inside me. I didn't understand why their conversation affected me so much, so I pushed the feeling aside and focused on my task.
I got to work, bending down to clear the grass and pull stubborn weeds from the soil. My hands moved steadily as I tried to lose myself in the routine. I swept away debris, gathered tools, and did whatever else needed to be done. Time passed without me noticing, measured only by the growing ache in my muscles and the gradual shift of the sun overhead.
Eventually, the work came to an end. I straightened up, brushing dirt from my hands and clothes, and turned to leave the garden. My body felt tired, but my mind was elsewhere, still distracted by thoughts I didn't want to face.
As I stepped forward, I suddenly collided with someone. The impact wasn't hard, but it was enough to make me stumble slightly. I quickly lifted my head to apologize, and that was when I saw him.
It was Damien.
He stood directly in front of me, tall and unmoving, his expression unreadable. His eyes were cold, sharp, and fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath catch. For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us felt tense and heavy, as though something unspoken hung there.
Behind him stood Adrein, silent and watchful. He didn't say anything either, but his presence only added to the pressure of the moment. I felt suddenly small, painfully aware of myself and my place.
Damien continued to stare at me, his gaze unwavering, and I found myself unable to look away. The garden, once full of quiet activity, now felt distant, as if everything else had faded into the background. All that remained was the cold weight of his eyes on me and the uneasy silence that followed.