[POV: Atlas]
For the first time in what felt like years, I could breathe.
The air in the Crimson Fang pack no longer carried the weight of my family's voices, of their judgments or their shadows. The halls of the packhouse were lighter, the woods less suffocating. I was free.
And yet the ache in my chest never left.
The prophecy haunted me like a whisper at the back of my mind, persistent and cold, curling through my thoughts at the worst possible moments—during training, during meals, during the quiet hours before sleep when my defenses were lowest.
Two brothers born under the moon's shadow. One destined to bring ruin…
I couldn't stop wondering which one I was. I told myself I didn't believe in old prophecies, in fate carved in stone.
But doubt had a way of clinging to the edges of truth, and Dominic's words gnawed at something deep and unhealed inside me. A wound that had never fully closed because my family had spent years pressing their fingers into it.
What if they had been right? What if I was the ruin? What if my very existence here—my bond with Draven—was a threat waiting to unfold?
And Draven…
I closed my eyes, pressing the heel of my hand hard against my sternum where the mate bond pulsed like a second heartbeat.
Goddess, I loved him.
I didn't know when it had happened—if it had been a slow blooming or an instant spark—but I knew now, fully and fiercely. With every fiber of muscle and bone and whatever broken parts of me still functioned.
He had seen me when I couldn't see myself. Held me when I was falling apart, his arms wrapped around my shaking body like he could physically hold the fractures together. Touched me like I was something precious, not something damaged.
And the more I loved him, the more I feared what that love might cost.
I couldn't let him suffer because of me. I couldn't let him pay for choosing me—not with his pack's trust, not with his authority, not with the safety of the territory he'd bled to protect long before I'd stumbled into it.
I needed to find a way out. A way to undo whatever this curse might be before it took root in the very place I now called home. Before it hurt the people I cared about—my friends, my mate.
My pack.
So I trained harder and hunted a bit longer. Pushed my body past exhaustion just to quiet my mind.
I ran patrol routes twice over, sparred until my knuckles split and my arms trembled, collapsed into bed each night with muscles burning and lungs raw, hoping the physical pain would drown out the noise in my head.
It didn't work, and Ava noticed like she always did.
She watched me like a hawk during training, her sharp eyes narrowing every time I stumbled or pushed too far past the point of diminishing returns.
She pestered me over dinner, followed me during breaks, and huffed audibly every time I avoided answering her very pointed questions about why I looked like I hadn't slept in a week.
And finally—after what must have been her thousandth attempt—she cornered me behind the weapons shed.
"You're not okay," she said, arms crossed, hip cocked against the doorframe in a posture that made it clear she wasn't moving until she got answers.
I tried to smile. "I'm fine."
"Nope," she said. "Try again."
I sighed. "It's nothing."
"Atlas." Her voice dropped the usual teasing lilt. It was serious now, soft, but firm. "You're my friend. You don't get to carry all of this alone. Not anymore."
I stared at her, the words I'd kept buried clawing at my throat like living things trying to break free. And something in me gave way—some wall I'd built out of habit and survival just crumbled, quiet and complete, like sand collapsing under its own weight.
So I told her. All of it.
I told her about my childhood. The suffocating expectations and the cold glares. The way my parents measured my worth in silence and obedience while Dominic basked in their praise.
I told her about the cruel training sessions that crossed into punishment, the nights I didn't sleep because I couldn't stop flinching at every sound outside my door, the moments I felt like nothing more than a ghost haunting their halls.
I told her about the prophecy. The words whispered in secret—one to bring ruin, one to bring glory. I told her how they'd always believed I was the destroyer.
How I feared they might be right.
And then—hesitantly, my voice dropping to something barely above a murmur—I told her about Draven.
About the kiss in the woods, the night he'd held me through my first shift, the way he made me feel like I was worth something for the first time in my entire life. How I'd fallen for him so hard it terrified me.
And how I was certain I was going to lose it all.
Ava didn't interrupt once. She stood there, listening, eyes wide, her expression shifting with every truth I laid bare.
When I finally stopped, throat raw and chest tight, she blinked slowly.
Then she said, "Holy shit."
I let out a breathless laugh, half a sob. "Yeah. That about sums it up."
She moved to sit beside me on the bench outside the shed, her shoulder pressing lightly into mine. The warmth of it was grounding—simple, human, real.
"That's a lot," she said softly. "And I'm sorry you went through all that. Truly. I wish I could've been there to punch your brother in the throat."
I smiled, tears stinging my eyes. "You probably would've."
She nudged me with her elbow. "I definitely would've."
Silence stretched between us for a beat before she added, "But Atlas, I don't care what some dusty prophecy says. I don't care what your family believed."
She turned to face me fully, her eyes fierce.
"You're not a curse."
My breath hitched.
"To me?" she said, voice thick with emotion. "You've always felt more like a blessing."
I looked at her, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay.
"I'm serious," she continued. "You're strong. You're loyal. You fight like hell for the people you care about. And you make this pack better—stronger—just by being in it. If that's ruin, then maybe we need more of it."
I laughed, tears slipping down my cheeks anyway. "You're going to make me cry harder."
"Good," she said, wrapping her arms around me. "Then maybe you'll finally get it through that thick skull of yours—you belong here. Prophecy be damned."