They returned me to isolation at dusk.
The chamber felt smaller now, as though the stone walls had shifted inward while I wasn't looking. The air hummed faintly—not with magic exactly, but with awareness. The pack knew. The land knew. And somewhere deep inside me, something ancient had finally stopped sleeping.
I paced.
Every step stirred my wolf, her presence no longer a distant pressure but a living weight beneath my skin. She moved when I moved. Breathed when I breathed.
You're agitated, she observed.
I froze.
The voice wasn't instinct this time.
It was clear.
"You—" My throat tightened. "You spoke."
I have been speaking, she replied calmly. You were not listening.
My knees weakened. I sank onto the bed, hands shaking. "That's not fair. I've been surviving. That's not the same as silence."
No, she agreed. It is not.
The bond stirred in response, reacting to the steadiness in her tone. I felt the distant flare of three separate presences—alert, restrained, aching.
"They can feel you," I said.
Good.
The word carried quiet satisfaction.
I exhaled slowly. "What are you?"
Her presence shifted, unfolding like a stretch after a long confinement.
I am your wolf.
"That's not what I meant."
A pause. Then warmth—not mocking, not cruel.
I am not weak, she said. That is what you are asking.
Tears burned behind my eyes. "I never thought you were."
You were taught to.
The truth of it landed hard.
Silence stretched between us, but it wasn't empty. It was full—of memories, of moments I'd buried because remembering them hurt too much. Every insult. Every shove. Every time I'd been told to lower my gaze, to be grateful I was tolerated.
"They're afraid of me," I whispered.
They should be careful instead.
I frowned. "That doesn't sound reassuring."
Fear and caution are cousins, she replied. Only one leads to survival.
Power stirred beneath my ribs—not explosive, not wild, but controlled. Waiting.
"What about the bond?" I asked quietly. "It hurts when they pull."
Because it is unbalanced.
I swallowed. "Am I… supposed to want them?"
Her answer came without hesitation.
You are supposed to choose.
The word echoed.
"I don't know how," I admitted. "Every time I look at them, I see who they were."
And every time they look at you, she countered, they see what they tried to destroy.
A sharp knock struck the door.
I stiffened instantly.
"Stay quiet," I whispered.
No.
The knock came again, more urgent.
"It's the Alpha," a voice called. "Open the door."
My wolf rose closer to the surface—not threatening, but present. Anchoring.
I opened it.
The Alpha stood alone this time, gaze sharp but… wary. Not angry. Calculating.
"You felt it," he said instead of greeting.
"Yes," I replied.
His eyes flicked briefly to my chest, as though he could see through skin and bone. "Your wolf has awakened fully."
I didn't deny it.
"That hasn't happened in generations," he continued. "Not without bloodshed."
"Then maybe it's time it happened without cruelty," I said evenly.
Something like surprise crossed his face.
"You're changing," he observed.
"So is the pack," I answered. "Whether you like it or not."
The bond stirred sharply—three reactions overlapping at once. Concern. Approval. Restraint stretched thin.
The Alpha's jaw tightened. "They're struggling to maintain distance."
"I know."
"They won't hold forever."
"I know," I repeated.
Silence pressed between us.
Finally, he asked, "Does your wolf have a name?"
The question startled me.
I hesitated.
Inside, she lifted her head.
Tell him.
"My name is—" I paused, listening inward. "Astraea."
The Alpha went very still.
"That name belongs to judgment," he said slowly. "To balance."
Astraea's presence warmed.
It belongs to truth.
The Alpha exhaled. "Then this bond is more dangerous than I thought."
"No," I corrected. "It's more honest."
Footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor—guards, maybe, or council members. Or them.
The bond pulled—harder this time, urgent, unsettled.
"They're close," the Alpha said grimly.
"I won't hide," I replied.
Astraea surged just enough for me to feel her strength fully, steady and unafraid.
Let them come, she said. We are done being quiet.
As the first presence reached the door—familiar, turbulent, tethered by more than fate—I understood something with absolute clarity:
This wasn't about mates.
This was about power.
And for the first time in my life, it was mine.