Chapter 7 Chapter 7
MIRA
I didn’t sleep. The ceiling stayed a dull grey blur until morning light started leaking through the blinds, slicing across the wall in thin bars. Every blink pulled another memory out of the dark: the lock turning, three shadows filling the doorway, the sound of their breathing in the room.
The handle clicked again.
Zane slipped inside like he expected me to throw something. Hoodie, damp hair, coffee cup—too normal for what we’d lived through. Steam coiled up from the mug and caught the sunlight between us.
“You’re up.” His voice was soft, like he was testing the air.
I sat there, back pressed to the headboard. The quiet buzz of the radiator filled the space where an answer should have been.
He moved closer, hesitating near the desk. “Alpha said you can go to class today. Someone’s packing your things from your old place.” His thumb traced the rim of the cup. “You’ll be staying here now.”
The words fell like a chain around my ankle. Go to class, but live with your captors. Freedom with a curfew. My laugh came out dry.
Zane’s gaze flicked up at the sound. For a heartbeat he looked like he wanted to say something else, something that would fix it, but nothing came. He only added, “It’s temporary. Until things calm down.”
They never would. Not with them. Not with the ghosts in my head whispering that this had all happened before.
I pushed the blanket aside and swung my feet to the floor. Cold wood bit at my toes. My shoes waited by the door, exactly where I’d left them last night.
Zane’s reflection hovered in the mirror while I tied the laces—tall, still, unreadable.
“Mira—”
“Don’t.” My voice cracked halfway through the word. I didn’t look up.
His footsteps crossed the room. “We’re not trying to make this worse.”
That almost made me laugh again. I glanced at him instead, the corner of my mouth tilting into something that wasn’t a smile. “You’re doing great then.”
He flinched like the line had landed somewhere he didn’t expect. The silence stretched. Then he reached out, fingers brushing mine—barely there—and my body locked. A flash, sharp and fast: blood, cold air, that same hand in another life.
He pulled back instantly, muttering, “Sorry.” His jaw flexed. “Force of habit.”
“From what habit exactly?” I managed, but he didn’t answer.
He shifted his weight, voice lower now. “I’ll drive you.”
“I can walk.”
“It’s twenty minutes, Mira. You look like you’d blow away in five.”
I didn’t argue. It wasn’t worth the energy.
———
The car smelled like rain and coffee. Zane drove with one hand on the wheel, eyes on the road, knuckles pale from how tightly he held it. My phone buzzed in my lap with three missed calls from Sophia, a flood of messages I couldn’t face.
Outside, morning rolled past in streaks of gold and blue.
He looked over once. The way his eyes softened made my chest ache and I hated that. I hated that a piece of me still wanted to believe him.
When we pulled into the campus lot, heads turned like a wave following us. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. A girl on the steps nudged her friend and whispered. They all knew. Of course they did. The pack never kept anything quiet.
“Ignore them,” Zane murmured, shoulders tightening.
Easy for him. He’d grown up with those stares. I’d only ever been the thing they pointed at.
I stepped out, letting the cold air slap colour into my face. The smell of coffee and asphalt felt almost safe for a second. Then someone called my name.
Sophia.
She came running, ponytail swinging, sunshine breaking through a storm. Relief hit me hard enough to sting.
“Hey!” She caught my arm and smiled too brightly. Then her eyes flicked to Zane. “Alpha Zane.”
He gave a small nod. “Sophia.”
“I’m stealing her,” she said, already tugging me toward the cafeteria walkway.
Zane didn’t stop her. He just watched, expression unreadable, before turning back toward the car.
We ducked into the side hall near the vending machines. The hum of the soda fridge filled the pause between us. Sophia’s smile faded the second we were alone.
Sophia’s whisper scraped the quiet. “Okay…” She leaned in until her hair brushed my arm. “Are you actually okay?”
Her voice cracked on the last word. It slid under my ribs. I tried to smile, but it felt like pulling glass across my mouth.
“Define okay.”
Sophia bit the inside of her cheek, the motion small and nervous. “Everyone’s talking—the ceremony, the bond, the whole fated mate thing.”
“I noticed.” My fingers worried the edge of my sleeve. The smell of coffee and disinfectant made me want to crawl out of my skin.
Her eyes darted toward the hallway as if gossip itself might walk through the door. “So… did you guys—” She stopped herself, throat bobbing. “You don’t have to tell me.”
Heat crawled up my neck. I stared at the floor tiles until they blurred. “You know how much I hate them. I’d rather die than let them touch me again.”
The word again tore free before I could catch it.
Sophia’s brow folded. “Again?”
My pulse stuttered. I laughed, too high, too fast, one hand cutting through the air as if that could erase the slip. “I mean ever. I just—don’t want them.”
She didn’t move. Her gaze searched my face like she was reading something written under the skin. The hum of the soda machine filled the gap between us.
“Mira,” she said quietly, “what happened?”
“Nothing.” My nails dug crescent moons into my palms. “I just want out.”
Her shoulders sank; a sigh slipped out. “Out how?”
“I don’t know.” I dragged both hands through my hair. “Maybe I should run. Just disappear.”
Sophia’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am.” I caught her hands before I could lose my nerve. They were warm, trembling slightly against mine. “Please. You’re the only one I trust. Help me.”
She hesitated, eyes flicking down to our fingers, then to the door. Her breath hitched. “Mira, if the Alpha finds out—”
“I don’t care.” The words cracked; my throat burned. “I can’t do this again.”
For a moment she just stared. Then something gave way inside her—fear bending into something like resolve. Her fingers tightened around mine.
“Okay,” she whispered. “We’ll figure something out. I’ll help you.”
The air left my lungs in a shaky rush. Hope—small, dangerous—fluttered against my ribs for the first time in days.
Then a voice slid into the space between us, smooth and too close to be safe.
“Help you with what?”
My breath caught. Every muscle in my body went still before I even turned around.
