She paused, her expression softening as she looked at me — really looked, past the fear and exhaustion and the walls I'd spent so long building. "Your mother chose to break her bond because she didn't want it. She looked at her soulmate and saw a cage." Jeni's voice dropped to barely above a whisper, intimate and urgent. "But maybe you could look at yours and see something different. You won't know until you actually look."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to explain why she was wrong, why the danger was real.I was so tired. So scared. So sick of carrying this weight alone. Some part of me — the part that had felt those bonds trigger, that had felt warmth and completion before the fear drowned it out — whispered that maybe Jeni had a point.
"They're going to find me," I admitted quietly, the words feeling like surrender. "The other three. Pack bonds are drawntogether. Sooner or later, the remaining bonds will trigger whether I want them to or not."
"Then stop running and start preparing," Jeni suggested gently, her thumb brushing across my knuckles in slow, soothing strokes. "Figure out what you want. What your limits are. So when they find you, you're making a choice instead of just reacting."
A choice. My mother had made a choice — she'd broken her bond because being bonded to that particular alpha felt worse than dying. But that was her choice about her situation.
What if I made a different choice?
"I don't know if I can do this," I whispered, tears finally spilling down my cheeks. "I don't know if I'm strong enough."
"You're the strongest person I know," Jeni said firmly, releasing one hand to brush tears from my cheek with gentle fingers. "You can do this. You can write your own story."
My own story. Not my mother's tragedy repeated.
"I'm scared," I admitted, my voice barely audible.
"That's okay," Jeni murmured softly, her eyes bright with tears of her own. "Being scared doesn't mean you can't be brave too."
I sat there for a long moment, tears streaming, my best friend's hands warm in mine. Somewhere beneath the fear, something else was stirring. Something that felt almost like hope.
We can do this, my omega whispered.We don't have to be her.
"Okay," I said finally, my voice rough with tears. "I'll try. I'll try to stop running."
Jeni smiled, watery but genuine. "One step at a time."
One step at a time.
I could do that.
Maybe.
Chapter Nine
KEIRA
Three days passed, and I got worse.
Not dramatically, not all at once — the soul sickness crept through me like poison seeping into groundwater, slow and insidious and impossible to stop. Each morning I woke up a little weaker than the day before, a little more feverish, a little less like myself and a little more like something hollowed out and burning from the inside. The two bonds in my chest pulsed constantly now, golden amber and violet twined together like ribbons of fire wrapped around my heart, reaching for alphas I was trying so hard to prepare myself for.
I'd promised Jeni I would try to stop running.
I was trying. Really trying. But trying didn't mean I was ready — and I'd thought I would have more time. More days to build up my courage, to dismantle the walls I'd spent twelve years constructing, to figure out what I actually wanted before the universe forced my hand again.
Three days wasn't enough.
The distinction felt important, even if my omega disagreed. She'd grown stronger over the past three days, her presence a constant pressure at the back of my mind, no longer content to whisper from the shadows. The suppressants had stopped working entirely — I'd given up taking them after the second day, when swallowing the bitter pills had done nothing but remind me of how thoroughly my body had betrayed me.
We're not betraying you, my omega murmured, her voice soft but insistent.We're trying to save you. There's a difference.
I didn't ignore her this time. I was learning not to ignore her. But learning and doing were different things, and old habits died hard.
The convenience store was three blocks from my apartment, a small Family Mart tucked between a dry cleaner and a phone repair shop. I'd been avoiding going out as much as possible — every trip into the city felt like walking through a minefield, never knowing when I might turn a corner and find another member of SIREN waiting to trigger another bond. But I'd run out of water and instant noodles and the energy bars that were the only thing I could force myself to eat when the fever made everything else taste like ash.
So here I was, shuffling down the sidewalk like an old woman, my oversized hoodie pulled up to hide my face and my scent blockers applied so thickly I could barely smell anything through the chemical haze. The afternoon sun was weak and watery, filtered through clouds that threatened rain, and I was grateful for the grey light that didn't stab at my sensitive eyes the way direct sunlight did.
