“Trinity?”Peyton’s voice, warm and gentle.“May I come in?”
I hesitate, then cross the room and open the door a crack.Peyton stands alone in the hallway, her posture relaxed, eyes kind but observant.She’s not armed or with a guard and that’s almost worse.She trusts me.
“Sure,” I say, stepping back.
She enters without scanning the corners.Without assessing threats.She looks at the bed, the window, the small dresser and smiles faintly.
“I remember my first night here,” she says.“I didn’t sleep.I kept waiting for someone to tell me it was a mistake.”
My chest tightens.“Did it feel like one?”
“No,” she says honestly.“It felt unreal.”
She sits on the edge of the bed, leaving me space.That seems to be the theme with this pack, they leave room to breathe, to choose.
“Caine told me you came alone,” she continues.“That takes courage.”
Or desperation.“I didn’t have a choice,” I say.
She nods, accepting that answer without probing.“It still counts.Most shifters who end up here didn’t have a choice, but they do once they get here.”
We sit in silence for a moment.Peyton studies me, not like a threat and not like a puzzle.But like I’m a person.
“You don’t have to stay,” she says finally.“But while you are here, you’re under our protection.”
The words echo dangerously close to the ones my old Alpha used to say right before he took it all away.
“What happens if you decide I’m a problem?”I ask.
Peyton doesn’t flinch.“Then we talk.We don’t cast people out for being different.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
Her gaze sharpens, not offended that I don’t trust her—them—yet, but understanding.“And it didn’t end well.”
“No.”
She reaches out slowly, giving me time to pull away.I don’t.Her hand settles lightly on mine, warm and grounding.
“You don’t scare me,” she says.
My laugh is brittle.“You don’t know me.”
“I know fear,” she replies.“And I know when it’s been used as a weapon.”
Something in my chest cracks.Just a little.
“Rest,” Peyton says softly, standing.“Tomorrow, we’ll see where you fit in.Training, chores, whatever you want to try.No pressure.”She pauses at the door.“And Trinity?”
“Yes?”
“You don’t owe anyone your truth until you’re ready.But if you decide to tell it this pack listens.”
The door closes behind her with a quiet click, and I sink onto the bed and stare at the wall long after her footsteps fade.The ghosts don’t come and the silence remains peaceful.
Sleep sneaks up on me instead, heavy and unwelcome.I fight it at first, but lose, my body giving in despite every instinct screaming that this is how you die.
I dream of my pack.Of standing in the clearing under a full moon, the air thick with judgment.Of my mother’s tears and my Alpha’s cold eyes.Of the dead crowding behind me, their whispers swelling into a roar.
