The dining hall was quiet now, long after the pack had finished their meal. The grand tables were cleared of the feast, save for a few scraps left to be swept into bins for the pigs outside. Abigail moved on her knees, scrubbing the wooden floor where grease and spilled wine had stained the planks. Her arms ached, and the coarse brush burned against her blistered hands, but she pushed through the pain. Work was the only thing keeping her from being noticed and when she was noticed, it was never for good.
The faint laughter of wolves drifted from outside, where the younger warriors gathered around a fire, enjoying roasted meat and mugs of ale. Abigail paused for a moment, her chest tightening. She imagined what it might feel like to sit there with them, to be welcomed, to belong. But the thought made her lips tremble, so she quickly shook it away and returned to her scrubbing.
A shadow crossed the doorway. Abigail's head snapped up, expecting another cruel command or mocking smile. But instead of Lyra, Selene, or one of their friends, it was Elenora Alpha Steve's sister.
Elenora carried a small lantern, its golden light soft against her pale hair. She hesitated in the doorway, her gaze falling on Abigail hunched over the floor. "You're still here?" she asked gently, her voice a whisper that contrasted with the usual harsh tones Abigail endured.
Abigail quickly lowered her eyes, bowing her head. "Yes, my lady. I was told not to leave until the floors were spotless."
Elenora stepped inside, her delicate slippers making little sound on the wood. She stopped a few feet away, watching Abigail work. For a moment, Abigail thought she saw pity in her eyes a dangerous thing. Pity drew attention, and attention meant trouble.
"You'll make yourself sick working like this every night," Elenora said softly.
Abigail shook her head quickly, clutching the brush tighter. "I… I don't mind. It's my duty."
The silence stretched, filled only by the scrape of the brush against the floorboards. Abigail's heart pounded, fearing she had said something wrong. Then, Elenora knelt down and reached into the folds of her dress. She drew out a small bundle wrapped in linen and held it toward Abigail.
Abigail froze. "What is it?"
"Bread," Elenora whispered, glancing toward the door as though afraid someone might see. "And a piece of cheese. I saved it from supper."
Abigail's throat tightened painfully. Her stomach growled at the scent, but her trembling hands refused to move. "I… I can't. If anyone finds out....."
"No one will find out," Elenora said firmly, pressing the bundle closer. "Take it. Please. You look like you haven't eaten in days."
Tears stung Abigail's eyes as she slowly reached out and accepted the bundle. The warmth of the bread seeped through the cloth, making her chest ache with longing. She wanted to thank Elenora properly, to say something beyond the whispers she usually forced out. But all that escaped was a hoarse, "Why… why are you being kind to me?"
Elenora's lips curved into a sad smile. "Because you deserve it. Because no one should be treated the way they treat you."
Abigail's breath caught, and for a moment she couldn't speak. All she could do was clutch the bread to her chest, afraid the kindness might vanish if she let go.
The door creaked suddenly, and both girls stiffened. Voices echoed from the hallway Selene and her friends, laughing as they passed. Elenora quickly rose to her feet, smoothing her dress to appear composed.
"If they see you with that, they'll take it from you," she whispered urgently. "Hide it until you're alone."
Abigail nodded quickly, tucking the bundle beneath her worn apron. Her heart hammered in her chest as Selene's laughter faded down the hall.
Elenora lingered for a moment longer, her eyes soft with something like sisterly concern. "Be strong, Abigail. You're not as alone as you think."
And with that, she slipped back into the shadows, leaving only the glow of her lantern behind.
When Abigail was sure the coast was clear, she sank to her knees and let out a shaky breath. She pressed the bundle of bread and cheese close, tears spilling freely now. It wasn't just food it was proof that someone had seen her. Someone cared enough to give, even if it was in secret.
For the first time in a long while, Abigail felt a flicker of warmth in her chest. A kindness, however small, had pierced the endless night of her suffering. She clutched that feeling as tightly as the bread, vowing she wouldn't let it go.
Because maybe just maybe there was hope after all.