The Morning After

Sophia moved immediately, her body lurching forward as Orion crumpled to the ground. She tried reaching for him, her fingers stretching toward his still form, desperation clawing at her chest.

But before she could, her body gave out, and she too collapsed.

Unlike Orion, however, she didn’t hit the floor. Madam Tyler was there, her arms catching Sophia before she could fall, lowering her gently to the ground.

“Help me,” Madam Tyler called out, her voice sharp and commanding. “Get them to the medical facility. Now.”

The shrine workers moved quickly, their hands steady as they lifted Orion and Sophia. They carried them out of the shrine and headed back to the compound.

The pack members they passed stopped and stared, their expressions a mixture of concern and curiosity.

Madam Tyler walked beside them, her expression tight with worry. But beneath it, there was something else.

Relief.

The hold Victoria had on Sophia was gone. The binding had been broken. The curse that had clung to Sophia for so long had finally been severed.

And soon, Sophia’s hair would return to its natural colour.

—

Things continued in the pack.

Ronan and the council of elders took over since Orion and Sophia were indisposed. The weight of leadership settled on Ronan’s shoulders. He moved through the compound with purpose, his gaze sharp and his jaw tight.

The placement test for the healers was hard, but they pushed through. The trainees worked tirelessly, their hands steady despite the pressure, their minds sharp despite the exhaustion. Some of them had been up for hours, and it showed in the dark circles under their eyes.

But they didn’t complain.

They knew what was at stake.

Mary informed him of how many weapons had been created, making sure he was up to date with everything. The craftsmen had been working day and night, their hands calloused and raw, their bodies aching from the relentless labour.

The crack in the fence had been fixed too. The carpenters had worked through the night, their hammers ringing out in the cold air, their breath fogging as they reinforced the weak spots.

Every few minutes, and whenever any of them had the opportunity, they checked up on Sophia and Orion. Ronan found himself walking past the medical facility more times than he could count, his feet carrying him there without conscious thought.

Lysander had assured them that they were okay. It was just the effects of the ritual, he said. They needed rest. Their bodies had been pushed to their limits, and they needed time to recover.

But even with Lysander’s reassurances, the worry didn’t fade. It lingered, a constant weight in the back of everyone’s minds.

It wasn’t until the next day that Sophia woke up.

She blinked slowly, her eyes adjusting to the dim light of the medical facility. The familiar scent of herbs and clean linen filled her nostrils, and she could hear the distant murmur of voices somewhere nearby.

Lysander was there, a smile on his face when he saw her eyes open.

“Welcome back, sis,” he said softly.

Sophia tried to speak, but her throat was dry. She swallowed, wincing slightly.

Lysander reached for a cup of water and held it to her lips. She drank gratefully, the cool liquid soothing her throat.

“How long was I gone for?” she managed to ask.

“About a day,” Lysander said. “You needed the rest.”

Sophia nodded slowly, her gaze drifting to the mirror on the table beside her bed. Lysander followed her gaze, then reached for the mirror and handed it to her.

“Here,” he said. “Take a look.”

Sophia took the mirror, her hand trembling slightly. She raised it slowly, her reflection coming into view.

Her hair was still black.

But there was white mixed in.

Strands of white were woven through the dark. Her original colour was finally returning. It was still faint, still fighting against the black that had covered it for so long, but it was there.

Sophia smiled, her fingers reaching up to touch her hair. It had been years—decades, even—since she had seen herself with her natural colour. Since she had seen the white that had been taken from her by Victoria’s cruelty.

Lysander spoke up then.

“Madam Tyler said you would still need to meet with Olga so she can wash your hair and care for it until everything is back to its original colour. But yeah, Orion and Noctis did it. They broke the binding.”

“Is he awake?” Sophia asked him.

Lysander shook his head.

“No, but there’s no cause for alarm. He’s just exhausted. Like before. But Madam Tyler did say that, given how intense the ritual with you was, perhaps that’s why he’s out of it.”

Sophia remembered.

The blood trickling from his nose.

His eyes rolling back.

His body hitting the ground.

“I saw him bleed,” she said quietly.

Lysander nodded.

“Madam Tyler told me. She said it was probably the effects of the ritual. He pushed himself too hard, but he’ll recover. He just needs time.”

Sophia nodded slowly, relief flooding through her.

Just then, her wolf senses picked up a familiar scent. She turned toward the door just as Ronan and Brynhild walked in, smiles on their faces.

Ronan crossed the room in three quick strides and pulled Sophia into a gentle hug.

“I am so fucking glad you’re okay,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “You have no idea how worried we were.”

Sophia laughed softly, hugging him back.

“I’m okay. I’m fine.”

He pulled back, his eyes scanning her face, then his gaze drifted to her hair. He reached out and touched a strand of white, his expression softening.

“It’s not even finalized yet,” he said, “and it already shows that it belongs to you. That it’s rightfully yours.”

Sophia’s throat tightened.

“Orion and Noctis helped me.”

Brynhild stepped forward, her eyes fixed in Sophia’s direction.

“You helped too,” she said firmly. “You fought. You held on. That was all you. Don’t ever forget that.”

Before Sophia could respond, Brynhild closed the distance between them and pulled her into a tight embrace.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Brynhild whispered. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Sophia hugged her back, her eyes closing.

“I’m glad too.”