The pack house was warmer than usual that morning, the windows fogging slightly with the steam from the kitchen. A stew simmered slowly on the stove, filling the space with the comforting scent of herbs and roasted root vegetables. Outside, the trees were deepening into their summer green, the early July sun spreading soft gold through the windows.
Scottland walked barefoot down the main hallway, her long cardigan swishing at her calves. She passed several younger Omegas curled up on the couches in the living area—Evie asleep on her side with a blanket over her, and Lila reading quietly beside her. It was a calmness Scottland never took for granted.
She entered the kitchen to find Wren already at work, sleeves rolled and cheeks flushed from chopping vegetables.
"Morning," Scottland murmured as she reached for a mug of tea.
"Morning," Wren replied. "You sleep alright?"
Scottland gave a one-shoulder shrug, sipping. "Weird dreams. But not bad."
Wren paused. "The kind with shadows, or the kind with symbols?"
Scottland glanced up at her, surprised. "Symbols."
Wren smiled faintly. "That's the kind you write down. They usually mean something."
Scottland let the thought linger in her mind as she settled at the small table, sipping her tea. Her dream had been about the forest again—but this time, she wasn't running. She was planting. Laying seeds carefully into the soil, her fingers stained with earth, a strange calm in her chest.
She made a mental note to write it down later. Something about it stayed with her, even now.
By midday, Elise—the Omega mother who had arrived the day before—joined Scottland in the sitting room, her expression tight but eyes a little less guarded.
Scottland offered her a seat and a fresh cup of tea.
"I can help with meals," Elise said quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Or chores. I don't like to be idle."
Scottland offered a small smile. "You don't need to earn your place here, Elise. You already have one."
Elise hesitated. "It feels wrong. Not doing anything."
Scottland understood that. Deeply.
She leaned forward. "If you want to help, you can. But not because you need to prove your worth. You're safe now. This isn't the Roger Pack. We don't measure people by how much they suffer."
Elise's eyes filled, but she blinked the tears away fast.
Scottland sat beside her. "We're all learning how to just… be. You don't have to rush it."
"I don't know how," Elise whispered.
Scottland reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Neither did I."
That afternoon, Grant invited several of the older pack members to a meeting in the old barn behind the main house—a place that had become their informal gathering spot when privacy was needed. Scottland went with him, not because she had to, but because she was invited.
The barn was cool and open, hay still faintly scented in the rafters. A few benches had been arranged in a circle, and candles burned on the window sills, softening the shadows.
Grant opened the meeting by addressing concerns about new arrivals—Omegas fleeing from nearby territories now that word of the Gray's Pack sanctuary was spreading.
"We're receiving more requests than we've ever seen," he said calmly. "We have the space. But we need structure."
"We'll need more housing," one Beta said. "And more protection."
Grant nodded. "We'll arrange for new homes to be built outside the western fence line."
Scottland listened, thoughtful. When there was a pause, she finally spoke.
"I think we also need to think beyond buildings," she said quietly, all eyes turning toward her. "It's not just shelter they need. It's care. Community. Someone to help them unlearn the fear they were raised in."
There was silence. Then Grant nodded.
"She's right," he said. "That's part of what makes this pack strong. Not just walls—but the people inside them."
A quiet murmur of agreement rippled through the room.
Later, as they walked back to the main house, Grant gently touched her back.
"You spoke with clarity," he said. "Like a leader."
Scottland looked up at him, a little shy. "I'm still learning."
"We all are."
He brushed a kiss to the top of her head.
That evening, Scottland found herself sitting in the Omega wing with Clara, Wren, and a few of the younger girls. They'd started a tradition of "soft circle nights"—evenings where no agenda was needed. Just being together.
Tonight, Clara was braiding hair. Wren passed out tiny bowls of berries. The girls sat curled up on pillows and throws, feet bare and laughter easy.
Scottland rested back on her hands, watching the flicker of candlelight bounce along the walls.
"Do you remember your first day here?" Lila asked suddenly, looking at Scottland.
She nodded. "I remember the quiet the most. It didn't feel empty—it felt… like I was allowed to breathe for the first time."
The room grew still.
Evie spoke next, her voice small. "I used to pretend I couldn't smell anyone's scent. Because it made me feel wrong."
Scottland reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. "You never were."
"Do you think the world will ever stop treating Omegas like we're fragile or dangerous?" Clara asked, her voice a little raw.
"I don't know," Scottland said honestly. "But I know we're building something here. And it's real."
Wren nodded. "The circle holds."
The others echoed it softly, the words rippling through them like a blessing.
"The circle holds."
Later that night, Scottland sat alone on the front porch, knees pulled to her chest, a blanket around her shoulders. Fireflies flickered across the lawn, blinking gold among the darkened trees.
Grant joined her, holding two mugs.
"Chamomile," he said as he passed one to her.
She took it gratefully. "Thank you."
They sat in silence for a while, the kind that came easy between them.
Eventually, she asked, "Do you think we're doing the right thing? Taking more in?"
"Yes," he said without hesitation.
"Even if we become a target?"
Grant's voice was steady. "We protect. That's what strength is for."
Scottland nodded slowly. "You know… some nights, I still expect to wake up and find it all gone. That this was just a dream."
He turned to her, his expression tender. "It's not a dream, love. It's yours. It's ours."
She rested her head against his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her.
"I want to make it last," she whispered.
"We will."
That night, Scottland returned to her dreams. She stood once again in the forest, this time surrounded by blooming wildflowers. The seeds she'd planted had begun to sprout.
She knelt to touch them and felt warmth rise through her palms—like the forest recognized her. Accepted her.
From the trees, she heard soft voices—not threatening, but welcoming.
And this time, she didn't wake with fear.
She woke with hope.