The pack's settlement wasn't loud, but it was never silent either. Voices carried through the woods like smoke, curling in places Adanna didn't want them to reach. She heard them even when she tried not to. Especially when she tried not to.
At the food hut, two women were scrubbing pots, their elbows deep in soapy water.
"She's the one from Hyde Park, isn't she?" one muttered, not bothering to lower her voice.
"Mm. I heard the Alpha tossed her out. Called her cursed," the other said, drying a plate a bit too hard.
Adanna kept her head down, clutching her wooden bowl like a lifeline. She had come for porridge, not an ambush, but gossip didn't need an invitation.
"Still, Leander brought her here," the first woman whispered, her eyes flicking to Adanna like a knife point.
"That's the only reason she hasn't been thrown out already."
Adanna's throat tightened. She wanted to say something—anything—but the words stuck. She wasn't going to give them the satisfaction. She walked away, the whispers chasing her like shadows.
Later, at the water well, she wasn't so lucky.
Three young wolves lounged there, shoulders broad, grins sharp. One leaned on the wooden frame, his smirk daring.
"Well, if it isn't our little ghost," he drawled.
"Don't call her that," another snickered. "Ghosts have power."
The third one just stared at her bowl, at the way her hands gripped it too tightly. "Heard you lost your wolf. Heard you begged your Alpha to take you back and he laughed."
The words stung more than the morning air. She kept her voice low, rough. "Get out of my way."
They didn't move. One stepped closer, close enough she smelled the cheap liquor on his breath. "Why should we? You don't belong here. You're just Leander's charity case."
Something hot coiled in her chest, ugly and sharp. For weeks, she'd swallowed her pride, but this—this was too much.
"Better a charity case than a coward hiding behind a pack," she snapped before she could stop herself.
The smirk slipped. His jaw clenched, but before he could spit back, a voice cut through the tension. "Enough."
Leander's tone wasn't raised, but it carried like a blade. The three wolves stiffened, their bravado shrinking.
"Back to training. Now."
The boys slunk off, muttering under their breath but not daring to look back.
Adanna exhaled shakily. Her hands trembled around the bowl.
Leander stepped closer, his storm-grey eyes unreadable. "You can't bite back at everyone. It'll only make them circle tighter."
She let out a harsh laugh. "So I should just let them tear me apart with their words?"
"Words won't kill you," he said flatly.
"No, but they feel like they could." Her voice cracked despite herself.
For a moment, silence hung heavy between them. The pack's chatter drifted from a distance, muffled by trees.
Leander shifted, almost restless. "They don't know what it costs to lose a wolf. They don't know what you've survived. So they talk. That's all they can do."
Adanna stared at him, searching for something in his face. "And you? What do you know?"
His jaw tightened. He looked past her, toward the trees. "Enough."
That was it. No explanation. No comfort. Just that one word.
Adanna wanted to scream at him, to shake him, to force him to say more. But his face had closed off, stone-hard again.
She pressed her lips together, swallowing everything she wanted to spill. "Fine," she muttered, turning away.
But his presence lingered like fog at her back. Watching. Waiting. A weight she couldn't shake.
That night, alone in her corner of the communal lodge, Adanna lay awake. The laughter of the younger wolves still echoed in her head. The pot scrubbing whispers still burned in her ears.
But louder than all of it was Leander's voice.
Enough.
Enough of what?
He carried secrets like armor, but why did she feel like they had something to do with her?
Her chest ached with the not-knowing. And for the first time, she realized the whispers didn't just hurt. They made her desperate—desperate for answers, desperate for a truth only he seemed to carry.
Sleep never came. Only questions.
Morning came heavy. Adanna's eyes felt sanded raw, her body sluggish from the night of no sleep. But packs didn't pause for the broken. Work still needed to be done, and if she didn't show her face, the whispers would only get worse.
At the edge of the training grounds, she tried to blend in. Wolves sparred in pairs, their growls sharp, fists and claws blurring. Dust rose under their feet. Every strike, every grunt reminded her of what she no longer had—the wolf inside her, the strength that had once been hers.
A group of she-wolves sat nearby, watching. They laughed too loudly at every stumble, every fall. When Adanna passed, their voices shifted.
"That's her. The wolfless one."
"Imagine being so pathetic even your mate rejected you."
"No wonder the Alpha—"
Adanna stopped, her back stiff. "Say it to my face," she muttered.
The women froze, eyes darting between her and one another. One, braver—or crueler—than the rest, tilted her chin. "You don't belong here. You're only breathing our air because Leander dragged you in."
Heat shot up Adanna's neck. "And yet, here I stand. Same ground as you. Same food. Same roof. Maybe you should be asking why he thought I deserved it."
A sharp silence followed. The bold one's lips pressed thin, but she didn't reply. Not when Adanna's eyes blazed like that. Not when her voice cracked with steel.
Adanna turned and walked on, her hands trembling, her stomach in knots. She didn't win, not really, but at least she didn't shrink. Not today.
Later, when she went to fetch water again, the same three young wolves from yesterday were there. She almost turned back, but one of them saw her and smirked.
"Well, look who decided to come crawling back."
She ignored him, lowering her bowl toward the well. But he stepped forward, blocking her path.
"Careful," he said, circling her slowly. "Ghosts shouldn't be near water. They might just… vanish."
His friend laughed, shoving her shoulder lightly. "Or maybe she's hoping Leander shows up again. You've got him on a leash, don't you?"
Adanna's chest heaved. "Move."
They didn't.
The third boy leaned closer, voice dropping. "Tell me… what's it like, living with no wolf inside? Do you even feel human anymore? Or are you just empty?"
The words pierced sharper than claws.
Something in her snapped. She dropped the bowl, the wooden clatter startling them, and shoved the nearest one hard. He stumbled back, surprised.
"You think I'm empty?" her voice broke, loud and raw. "You think I'm nothing? I'm still here. Still breathing. And you—" she jabbed a finger at his chest "—wouldn't last a day if you lost your wolf. You'd crumble. You'd beg for death."
They stared, shocked. For once, they had no words.
Then, of course, Leander appeared again.
His shadow stretched long across the dirt before his voice followed. "Training. Now."
The boys muttered, skulking off, too proud to look at her, too shaken to laugh.
Adanna stooped to pick up her bowl, but Leander was already there, setting it upright, brushing the dirt off before handing it to her. His eyes met hers, sharp but not unkind.
"You shouldn't provoke them."
She let out a bitter laugh. "They provoked me."
"And you gave them what they wanted. A reaction."
"What do you want me to do? Stay silent? Pretend it doesn't cut me open every damn time?"
He didn't answer right away. His jaw worked, storm-grey eyes heavy on her face. "Survive it."
Her breath hitched. The way he said it—it wasn't cold. It was knowing. Like he'd been there.
Adanna swallowed hard. "That's all I've been doing. Surviving."
For the first time, his gaze softened. Only a flicker, but enough.
"That's more than most can do," he murmured.
The words stole her air. She wanted to ask him—why he knew, why he sounded like her pain was familiar. But before she could, he stepped back, his walls slamming shut again.
"Stay away from them," he said curtly, and walked off, cloak brushing the dust.
Adanna stood rooted, her chest tight, the bowl forgotten in her hands.
That night, back in the lodge, she replayed every word. Every whisper from the pack, every sneer, every laugh. And then Leander's voice, steady and low.
Survive it.
That's more than most can do.
She stared at the wooden beams above her head, her heart thudding too loud in the dark.
Why did it feel like he was talking about himself?
Why did she feel, with every passing day, that Leander carried scars deeper than hers—that maybe, just maybe, their broken edges were cut from the same jagged stone?
Sleep refused her again. Only questions pressed close, sharp as teeth.
And Adanna, for the first time since arriving, didn't fear the whispers.
She feared the silence that followed them.
The silence where only Leander's voice remained.