Chapter 1: Jasmine
It’s been ten days.
Ten days since I found out what they were hiding from me. Ten days of knowing I’m bound to them. And every day, I feel myself slipping into something I don’t recognise.
Into something I don’t like.
I think Kacey sees it. I knew she was a nervous, skittish thing, a fuzzy ball of warm anxiety. But give her someone else to worry about and she morphs into something relentless.
During those first few days, she tried to explain bonds, but her answers were always patchy or too gentle. And I didn’t want vague possibilities or comfort.
I need the truth.
So with a laptop Kacey reluctantly gave me, I turned to research.
Ten days later, and I’ve consumed everything I can find. Articles, blog posts, scientific theories. Even reality TV. It didn’t matter the format, I read and watched until differentiating between opinion and fact became nearly impossible.
What’s strange is that I’ve looked before. Back in The Inferno, when I was told August had to find a mate, I tried to learn more about bonds. But the things I’m finding now, these detailed personal accounts, studies, even entire discussion boards—I could never access them then.
It’s as if someone had placed invisible blocks on what I could see.
Just another lie to add to the pile.
And still, I can’t get any real answers. The lockdown on the district means I can’t post, can’t message, can’t contact anyone who might know more. All I can do is read scraps ofold conversations, watching other people get the answers I can’t have. And the only other people who might have answers are the last ones I want to speak to.
But after days of digging, I’ve found four consistent truths:
Bonds are rare, mostly found in shifters.
Bonds can form between two people, but more is common. Four is the average.
Bonds are permanent. Even if rejected. Even if ignored.
Bonds can be familial, platonic or... intimate.
It’s the last two pieces that haunt me. Because it means not only are we forever connected, but it means my attraction to them, the way my body reacts, the way I ache when I think of them—is mine.
Not influenced by the bond, not magic, not a side effect, not a curse, not manipulation.
Just… me.
And I hate that.
I hate that I can’t make it go away, this hollow ache tugging at my chest. I hate the way their faces come back when I close my eyes. The way they looked at me before I left.
I hate that I flinch when I remember what I said to them. That I meant it… and didn’t.
Ineedto hate them. For keeping this from me, for taking away my choice. But with or without the bond, I was drawn to them. I liked how being near them felt.
Wanted them.
And if that was real, if it was mine, then I don’t know what to do with it.
So I lie to myself.
I pretend I haven’t come to the same conclusions a hundred times over the last ten days. I bury myself in research, chase the answers I want, try to explain it away, label it, reduce it.
Make it not mine.
