Morning came softly.
No alarms. No urgency. Just the slow brightening of the sky and the quiet certainty that I was no longer alone in the world.
I woke before the others, the fire reduced to glowing embers, the grass cool beneath my palms. For a moment, I lay still, listening to the rhythm of breathing around me—three distinct patterns, three presences that felt different even in sleep.
The bond stirred faintly.
Not pulling.
Observing.
I sat up carefully, slipping free of borrowed cloaks without waking anyone. The valley stretched out below us, mist curling low like something half-asleep itself.
I needed air.
Not distance—space.
I moved away from camp, far enough that the sounds softened but close enough that I didn't feel exposed. My thoughts felt clearer here, unknotted.
"You always wake early?"
Silas's voice came from behind me, low and even.
I turned.
He stood a few paces back, already fully alert, posture relaxed but ready. He didn't approach until I nodded.
"Usually," I said. "It's when my head's quietest."
He considered that. "Mine too."
We stood side by side, watching the mist burn away as the sun climbed.
"You didn't hesitate," Silas said after a while.
"About what?"
"Facing the Alpha," he replied. "Setting boundaries."
I shrugged lightly. "I hesitated plenty. I just didn't let it stop me."
His gaze flicked to my hands, then back to my face. "That's rare."
"Is that a compliment?"
"Yes."
I smiled faintly.
Silas wasn't intense in the way Kael had been. His presence didn't press or test. It anchored. Like a quiet certainty you didn't notice until it was gone.
"I don't offer things lightly," he continued. "Protection. Loyalty. Attention."
"I wouldn't want them lightly," I replied.
Something eased in his posture.
"You don't ask for reassurance," he said. "Most people do."
"I've had enough promises," I said quietly. "I want consistency."
Silas nodded once.
"If I stand beside you," he said, "it will be because I chose to—and because I won't leave."
The words weren't dramatic.
They didn't need to be.
The bond pulsed softly.
Not possessive.
Recognizing.
Silas inclined his head slightly, then stepped back. "You should eat. Rowan's useless before food."
I laughed softly. "Thank you… for the honesty."
He met my gaze. "Anytime."
By the time I returned to camp, Rowan was already awake, sitting on a rock and attempting to flip a piece of bread with a stick.
"Ah," he said brightly. "The mysterious morning wanderer returns."
I raised an eyebrow. "You watch everyone like that?"
"Only the interesting ones," he replied easily.
I sat opposite him, accepting the bread when he handed it over. "And what makes someone interesting?"
"Edges," Rowan said. "You've got them. You just stopped cutting yourself on them."
The words caught me off guard.
He noticed.
"Too much?" he asked lightly.
"No," I said. "Just… accurate."
Rowan leaned back, hands braced behind him, gaze on the sky. "I won't pretend I don't enjoy tension. I do. But I don't enjoy being the only thing someone reaches for."
I studied him. "You don't want exclusivity."
"I want enthusiasm," he replied with a grin. "Big difference."
The honesty was refreshing.
"You flirt," I said, "but you don't push."
"Because pushing ruins the fun," he said. "And because watching someone choose is… intoxicating."
The bond flickered—curious.
Rowan's eyes softened slightly. "If you ever choose me," he added, quieter now, "I want it to be because you want to laugh with me. Not because you need someone."
Something warm settled in my chest.
"I like that," I said.
Rowan smiled—not sharp, not teasing. Genuine.
"Good," he said. "Because I like you."
Simple.
Uncomplicated.
When Alaric joined us later, the energy shifted without anyone saying a word.
He didn't announce himself. Didn't interrupt. Just became part of the space—like gravity recalibrating around him.
Rowan glanced between us and stood. "I'm going to check the packs. Suddenly feel very productive."
I shot him a look. He winked and walked away.
Alaric sat across from me, posture relaxed but attentive.
"You're thinking too hard," he said gently.
I huffed. "Is it that obvious?"
"Yes."
I studied his face—the calm lines, the steadiness in his eyes. "You don't seem bothered by… any of this."
"I am," he replied. "I just don't let it rush me."
"That sounds like control."
"It's patience," he corrected. "There's a difference."
The bond pulsed.
"I don't want to be the center of conflict," I admitted. "I don't want people fighting over me."
Alaric nodded. "Then don't be."
I frowned. "That's not always something you get to decide."
"It is when you refuse to reward it," he said.
I considered that.
"You don't assume anything," I said. "About me. About where this goes."
"I assume," Alaric replied softly, "that you'll choose what aligns with you."
"And if that isn't you?"
His gaze didn't waver.
"Then I will still respect the woman who made the choice."
The words struck deeper than any declaration.
The bond reacted—not loudly, not violently.
Steadily.
Like something finding its rhythm.
Alaric stood, offering his hand—not to pull me up, just to offer balance.
I took it.
The contact was brief.
Intentional.
Charged.
Not because of hunger—but because of trust.
As the day unfolded and we prepared to move on, I felt it clearly now.
Silas offered stability.Rowan offered light and choice.Alaric offered depth and presence.
None of them demanded.
None of them diminished.
And somewhere far away, the Alpha felt the truth settle like stone.
She is no longer orbiting you.
She is being met.
As we walked on, the bond hummed softly—not dominant, not fractured.
Adaptive.
Aware.
And for the first time, I wasn't overwhelmed by the idea of wanting more than one thing.
Because I wasn't being torn apart.
I was being understood—from different directions.
And that, I realized, was what made this dangerous.
Not because I might choose wrong—
But because I might finally choose freely.