POV: Adeline
Freya woke me with a knock that sounded far too pleased with itself for anything considered decent morning behavior. Before I could pretend to be asleep, she eased the door open, balancing a steaming mug in one hand and a folded sweater in the other.
“Good morning,” she announced, in the tone of someone who believed optimism could be forced upon others. “It’s time to become a contributing member of society.”
I blinked at her. “That feels like a personal attack.”
“It really isn’t,” she said, nudging the mug toward me. “If I were attacking you, there’d be more sparkle. Drink. Aiden gave you your first official task.”
I sat up slowly, accepting the mug. The warmth seeped into my palms, and the smell — cinnamon, honey, something soothing — drifted upward like a quiet kindness.
“And what does the Alpha require of me?” I asked. “Manual labor? Patrol? Kneeling in the snow until Luca stops glaring at me?”
Freya grinned. “Even better. Sorting the library.”
“Ah,” I said. “Punishment work.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll help. I know the library. The library knows me. We have an understanding: I keep it upright, it doesn’t collapse on unsuspecting wolves.”
She tossed the sweater onto the bed. “Put that on. It’s cozy. You look like you need cozy.”
And for a reason I didn’t want to examine too closely, I pulled it over my head and followed her downstairs.
The library smelled like dust, paper, and old wood — a strange kind of comfort. Shelves bowed under the weight of mismatched books. Some leaned, others slumped, all looking vaguely ashamed of their condition. Sunlight filtered through the single window, casting pale gold across the scuffed floor and stacks of unsorted volumes.
Freya deposited a crate in the center of the room and clapped her hands. “Welcome to the pack’s intellectual center,” she said. “Please lower your expectations.”
“It’s not so bad.”
“That’s adorable,” she replied. “You think this is organized chaos. No. This is unorganized chaos wearing the trench coat of hope.”
She knelt and pulled out a stack of books. I joined her, brushing dust from a cracked spine. There was something soothing about the quiet — the soft rustle of pages, the distant murmur of wolves moving through the packhouse, the lazy crackle of the hearth on the far wall.
Then my hand closed around a small, dark green book. The cover was worn smooth, its edges softened by years of touch.
“This one?” I asked.
Freya glanced over and her expression gentled. “Aiden’s favorite.”
I looked down at the book, turning it in my hands. “I wouldn’t have guessed he was sentimental.”
“He’s not sentimental,” she said. “He’s dramatic. He reads that when he can’t sleep. Or when he needs to feel like the world is bigger than whatever problem Luca’s throwing at him.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You talk like you’ve known him forever.”
“I have,” Freya said lightly, though something deepened behind her tone. “I lost my parents when I was small. Pack took me in. Aiden’s mother practically raised me. Luca tried to toughen me up. Aiden tried to keep me out of trouble. It didn’t work. But the point is… they’re my family. They have been since before I knew what that meant.”
I nodded, feeling that truth resonate in a place under my ribs that had been empty for too long.
The word family scraped against something raw. I thought of Caleb, how he'd called me that once—you're my family now—and the memory surfaced before I could stop it, sharp and unwanted.
Before I could say anything else, a knock sounded at the doorway.
Jonah stepped in, rubbing his palms together. “Morning. I’m fixing the fireplace; it’s drawing weird again.”
Freya sighed dramatically. “Jonah, if you set anything on fire, so help me—”
He waved her off, already kneeling at the hearth. “It’s fine. Just rearranging the logs.”
Freya rolled her eyes at me. “He says that every time. Then something explodes.”
I almost laughed — and then it happened.
A log shifted as Jonah poked at it. It rolled faster than expected, striking another with a sharp crack that seemed to split the air. Sparks lifted in a shimmering burst, catching the light as they rose. One ember jumped from the grate, tracing a brief arc before landing on the edge of the carpet with a faint hiss.
Jonah stomped it out instantly.
Harmless.
And yet—
The smell reached me first—not woodsmoke, but something chemical, wrong, the way the tannery roof had smelled when it caught. I was back in the corridor outside the nursery. The door was already black with heat. I could hear them inside. I could hear—
My hand froze on the book. My throat tightened. The world blurred around the edges, and my vision narrowed to a point. The air felt too thin. My lungs wouldn't fill no matter how hard I tried.
The air shifted.
Something inside me began falling.
Freya said my name.
My wolf surged upward, frightened, frantic, trying to orient herself in a suddenly shifting world.
Then—
“Adeline.”
Aiden’s voice came from beside me, not from the doorway — close enough that I felt his presence before I turned my head.
He knelt across from me on the floor, movements quiet and unhurried, his expression carefully even.
His eyes — deep, steady, unflinching — held mine, making space in the panic for something anchored and real.
The faint scar tracing from his temple to his jaw caught the firelight, softening the sternness of his features without diminishing it.
I didn’t think.
My hand moved before thought caught up — fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt, gripping as if the room might fall away if I let go.
Aiden inhaled sharply at the unexpected touch — a breath of surprise — but he didn’t pull back. Instead, he lifted his hand slowly, giving me every moment to refuse, and set his palm gently against the side of my neck, thumb brushing the line of my jaw.
Warm. Steady. Real.
His voice softened. “You’re here. In the library. With me. You’re safe.”
My breath stuttered, caught between worlds.
“Let’s count,” he said quietly. “Just to ten.”
“I—”
“Just ten,” he repeated. “Together.”
“One,” he murmured.
“Two,” I whispered.
The violent edge of memory dulled.
“Three.”
My lungs began to unlock.
“Four.”
Freya was kneeling nearby, worry etched clearly into her face but her hands kept respectfully back.
“Five,” Aiden continued.
“Six.”
The ember on the carpet was gone. Only woodsmoke remained — real, present, gentle.
“Seven.”
My wolf steadied a little, pressed between instinct and safety.
“Eight.”
My fingers loosened on his shirt.
“Nine.”
My vision cleared.
“Ten.”
Aiden let the silence settle before slowly withdrawing his hand. The absence of warmth felt sudden, almost startling, but grounding in its own way.
He rose smoothly just as a new voice entered the room.
“Well,” Luca said from the doorway, tone dry as dust, “I see we’re having an event.”
Freya glared at him. “Luca, I swear—”
“What?” he replied. “I’m acknowledging the situation.”
Aiden didn’t look at him. “Not now.”
Luca’s gaze flicked to me. For the first time since I’d arrived, I saw no suspicion there — only something more complicated, like reluctant understanding.
“You all right?” he asked.
“I will be,” I said quietly.
Luca nodded once — stiff but genuine — then stepped aside as Aiden rose to his full height.
“Freya,” Aiden said softly, “take her upstairs. Let her rest.”
Freya was already moving. “Come on, Adeline. You’ve earned a nap and, frankly, an award.”
I followed her out, aware of Aiden’s gaze lingering on me — not pitying, not intrusive, but steady in a way that felt dangerously close to comfort.
Upstairs, Freya closed the door behind us and leaned her shoulder against it with a sigh.
“You know,” she said gently, “if you ever feel like talking, I’m here. If you don’t feel like talking, I’m still here. Also, for the record, I am deeply offended that you scared me like that without warning.”
A shaky breath escaped me, almost a laugh.
She smiled and sat beside me on the bed. “Hey… whatever happened back there? It doesn’t define you. And it doesn’t scare us.”
I stared at my hands, still faintly trembling. “I didn’t want anyone to see that.”
“I know,” she said softly. “Aiden didn’t see something broken. He saw someone trying not to drown.”
My throat tightened.
Caleb used to hold me like that, the thought came unbidden, when the nightmares got too loud. I pushed it down before it could take root.
She squeezed my knee lightly. “Rest. I’ll bring tea later. Strong tea. Emotional support tea.”
When she left, the silence that followed was soft enough to fall into. I lay back against the pillows, breathing slowly, the memory of Aiden’s voice and the warmth of his hand lingering with a strange, fragile clarity.
For the first time since the night everything burned, someone had reached through the smoke for me.
It was terrifying.
And it was something else too — something quiet, and warm, and impossibly new.