We didn't make it far before the world reminded us that nothing powerful stays invisible for long.
The land changed first.
The grass thinned into scrub, the soil turning pale and dry beneath our boots. Old stones jutted from the ground at odd angles—markers of something abandoned, something once important and now half-forgotten. The air felt different here, charged in a way that prickled against my senses.
Silas noticed it immediately.
"Slow," he murmured.
We did.
Rowan stopped joking. Alaric's posture shifted—not aggressive, not defensive, but alert in the way of someone who knew how quickly balance could tip.
I felt it too.
Not danger exactly.
Attention.
The bond stirred—not the Alpha, not the old pull—but something new, external. Like a ripple traveling outward instead of in.
"We're being watched," I said quietly.
Rowan exhaled. "You're getting very good at that."
"Not wolves," Silas added. "People."
We crested a low rise and saw them.
A small caravan—five figures gathered near a half-collapsed stone structure, packs and beasts tethered nearby. Traders, by the look of them. Armed, but not heavily. Wary in the way of those who survived by reading others quickly.
They noticed us at the same time.
Hands went to weapons—not raised, just ready.
Alaric lifted a hand slowly, open-palmed. "We mean no harm."
One of the traders stepped forward—a woman with sun-darkened skin and sharp eyes that missed nothing. Her gaze swept over Silas, Rowan, Alaric—
Then stopped on me.
Lingering.
Assessing.
Something shifted in her expression.
Recognition wasn't the right word.
Interest was closer.
"You travel guarded," she said. "Or protected?"
Rowan opened his mouth.
I spoke first.
"Accompanied," I said.
The woman's eyes sharpened slightly, as if she'd just been handed a more interesting answer than she expected.
"Huh," she said. "That's a rare distinction."
She circled slowly, gaze flicking between the men and back to me—not disrespectful, not intrusive. Curious.
"You're the center," she observed.
The words landed with weight.
Rowan glanced at me, then grinned. "Told you it was obvious."
Silas shot him a look. "Quiet."
The woman smiled faintly. "He's not wrong."
Alaric didn't move—but I felt his attention shift subtly, tuned to me rather than the potential threat.
"Are we welcome to pass?" he asked calmly.
"Yes," she said, then paused. "But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious."
"About what?" I asked.
She met my gaze directly. "About what kind of woman walks with three very different men—and doesn't trail behind any of them."
Silence followed.
Not tense.
Expectant.
I felt it then—the subtle tightening in the air, the way Rowan's humor stilled, the way Silas's presence grew heavier, the way Alaric waited.
Not for permission.
For choice.
"I walk with them," I said slowly, "because they walk with me."
The woman's mouth curved. "That answers more than you think."
She stepped back, gesturing for us to pass. "Safe travels."
As we moved on, Rowan let out a low whistle. "Well. That was flattering."
Silas didn't look amused. "It was a warning."
I glanced at him. "Of what?"
"That others will see what's happening," he said. "And some will want it."
The bond pulsed softly—not alarmed, but attentive.
"I don't belong to anyone," I said.
"I know," Silas replied. "That won't stop them from trying to place you."
Rowan scoffed. "People love labels."
Alaric spoke quietly. "And they love power even more."
We walked in silence for a time after that, the caravan fading behind us. I could feel the shift settling—not inside me, but around me. Like the world was recalibrating its expectations.
Rowan broke the quiet first.
"So," he said lightly, "anyone else notice how she didn't even hesitate?"
I raised an eyebrow. "About what?"
"About standing as the center," he replied. "Most people would've denied it. Or deflected."
"I didn't see a reason to," I said.
Silas glanced at me. "You're comfortable with attention."
I thought about it.
"I'm comfortable with honesty," I said. "Attention follows."
Alaric's gaze lingered on me—thoughtful, unreadable.
As the afternoon wore on, the tension shifted again.
Not external this time.
Internal.
Rowan drifted closer than usual, his shoulder brushing mine more often—not accidental, not insistent. Testing. Curious.
Silas noticed.
He didn't intervene.
But when the path narrowed, he adjusted his position so that Rowan was forced slightly to the other side, creating space without confrontation.
Rowan noticed that too.
He shot Silas a sideways grin. "You're territorial today."
Silas replied evenly. "I'm observant."
"Same thing sometimes."
"Not here," Silas said.
I felt it then—the subtle pull, the undercurrent of rivalry that wasn't about possession, but about position. Not who owned me—but who stood closest when it mattered.
Alaric remained steady, walking just behind and to my right, not competing, not withdrawing.
That unsettled both of them more than any challenge could have.
We stopped again near evening, this time by a cluster of weathered stones that formed a natural windbreak. As camp was set, I sat on one of the stones, stretching my legs.
Rowan plopped down beside me without asking. "You okay?"
"Yes."
"You've been quiet."
"I'm thinking."
"Dangerous habit."
I smiled faintly. "You don't seem jealous."
Rowan blinked. Then laughed softly. "Oh, I am."
I looked at him.
"Not in the ugly way," he clarified. "More like… curious. I want to know what makes you lean toward one of us in a moment. I want to earn those moments."
"That's not jealousy," I said.
He shrugged. "Call it competitive enthusiasm."
Across the camp, Silas watched us—not with anger, but focus. When my gaze met his, he didn't look away.
Later, when Rowan wandered off to help with the fire, Silas approached.
"You don't owe him distance," he said quietly.
"I know."
"But you also don't owe anyone proximity," he continued.
"I know that too."
He nodded, satisfied.
"And you?" I asked. "Do you feel the need to compete?"
Silas was quiet for a moment. "No. I feel the need to be reliable."
The words settled deep.
When night fell and the fire burned low, Alaric finally spoke again, voice calm but weighted.
"You understand what's happening, don't you?"
"I think so," I replied.
"Others will start to test this," he said. "Your independence. The way bonds respond to you. The men around you."
"I expected that."
He studied me. "And you're not afraid?"
I shook my head. "I spent too long afraid of being unwanted. This doesn't feel like fear."
The bond hummed softly, almost approving.
Alaric nodded. "Then we'll adapt."
We.
The word mattered.
As we settled into rest, the dynamic felt clearer than ever.
Silas stood guard—quiet, unyielding.Rowan lingered close—warm, attentive.Alaric watched over the whole—steady, unshaken.
And I lay between those truths, not torn, not overwhelmed.
Centered.
Somewhere far away, the Alpha felt it—not as pain, not as loss.
As inevitability.
The world had begun to see her.
And once seen—
She would not be unchosen again.