Morning came softly, the sun rising through thin clouds that painted the sky in strokes of pale gold and pink. Calla sat on the edge of her bed, ring twisting slowly on her finger as if trying to find comfort in something familiar.
She hadn't slept well.
Her dreams were strange again—vague flashes of fire, eyes that glowed silver, and voices she couldn't place. She felt like she was being pulled toward something, but each time she got close, the ground shifted beneath her feet.
Mika entered the room, yawning.
"You're up early," she said, rubbing her eyes as she leaned on the doorframe.
"Couldn't sleep," Calla murmured.
Mika stepped in, tying her hair up into a messy bun. "Same. The air feels… off today."
Calla looked at her sharply. "You felt it too?"
"Yeah." Mika nodded. "Like something's crawling under my skin. But I thought it was just me being paranoid."
Calla didn't answer right away. She just stared at the ring again.
Mika sat down beside her. "Does your ring ever… feel weird?"
Calla turned. "What do you mean?"
"Like… warm? Or heavy?"
Calla nodded slowly. "Yes. Last night it pulsed again. Just for a second."
Mika's eyes widened. "Calla, that's not normal."
"I know," Calla whispered. "But I don't know what it means. And I can't take it off… you know what the elders said."
The rings weren't meant to be removed.
Not by omegas.
Not without permission.
The silver band was infused with a kind of suppressant—something given to every omega in the pack shortly after they turned twelve. A safety measure, they claimed. To keep emotions, instincts, and potential instability under control. It was supposed to protect the pack.
But lately, it felt like it was holding something in.
"It is."
Calla blinked. What do you mean?
"It holds what they fear. Not what you fear."
She sat up straighter. But what is it holding back?
There was no answer.
---
Later that afternoon, Calla volunteered to help with sorting supplies in the storage building near the center of the pack grounds. It was quiet work, repetitive, safe.
She needed safe.
The rows of shelves held everything from dried herbs to spare clothing, candles, tools, and packs for scouting parties. She was restocking when she felt it—that presence again.
Familiar. Heavy. Watching.
She turned.
Darien.
He stood by the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, eyes calm but focused. He was in his usual dark jeans and a clean black hoodie. His short, dark hair looked damp, like he'd just come from training.
"I didn't mean to startle you," he said.
"You didn't," she lied. "I'm just finishing up."
Darien stepped in, walking slowly down the aisle toward her.
"Do you like this kind of work?"
Calla looked up at him. "It's quiet."
He smirked slightly. "Quiet can be good. Or lonely."
She didn't answer.
He tilted his head. "You don't talk much."
"Most omegas don't," she said.
Darien raised a brow. "Is that what you believe?"
She hesitated. "It's what we're taught."
He was quiet for a beat. Then he said, "You're not like the others."
She froze. "What do you mean?"
He looked at her directly. "There's something different about you, Calla. I've seen it. Felt it. But I don't know what it is."
Her heart skipped. "You're imagining it."
"Am I?"
His eyes narrowed slightly, but not with anger—more like curiosity. The kind that made her feel both seen and exposed.
Calla looked away. "I really should finish these boxes."
Darien didn't move for a long second.
Then he simply said, "Let me know if you need anything."
And just like that, he turned and walked out again.
---
"He's getting closer."
To what?
"To you. But he doesn't know why. The bond sleeps because your power sleeps. The ring hides it. But not forever."
Calla stared down at her hands.
Something inside her was waking up.
And she didn't know if that should terrify her… or set her free.