Eden POV
October. November. December. January.
The months started to blur together and Eden was grateful for it.
She learned the diner rhythm like it was her own heartbeat. The 4 AM alarm. The darkness outside her window. The bus ride to work. The coffee station that always needed more cups. The regulars who ordered the same thing every morning. The way the sun came through the front windows around 7 AM like it was doing her a favor.
She worked double shifts most days. Came in at 4 AM and didn't leave until 8 PM. Twelve hour days that meant she had money and also that she barely thought about anything except the next table and the next order and the next cup of coffee to pour.
The other waitresses tried to include her at first.
Sarah wanted to go to movies after work. Jackie invited her to get drinks on Friday nights. A girl named Megan asked if she wanted to split an apartment to save money.
Eden said no to all of it.
She was polite about the no. Just quiet and firm. She didn't offer explanations or reasons. She just made it clear that she wasn't looking for friends. Wasn't looking for connection. Wasn't looking for anything except to work and go home and exist in a way that didn't involve other people.
They gave up trying after a while.
By December, she was just the quiet girl who worked too much. The one who barely talked. The one who didn't belong to any of their conversations about boyfriends and family drama and weekend plans. She was furniture. Background. Part of the diner like the coffee maker and the jukebox.
It was exactly what she wanted.
Her room was still small and cold but she'd made it hers. A blanket from a thrift store. A lamp so she could read at night. Books from the library that helped her understand the world she was living in now. How to be human. How to exist without a pack. How to survive on your own.
She saved money obsessively. Took every double shift offered. Ate her meals at the diner during breaks so she didn't have to buy food. Wore the same clothes until they fell apart. Her bank account grew slowly but it grew. Each dollar felt like insurance. Like proof that she could take care of herself. Like freedom.
The mate bond should have faded by now. That's what she'd learned from reading shifter romance novels at the library. If a mate rejected the bond hard enough, if they stayed separated long enough, the bond could weaken. Break. Disappear.
She'd been hoping for that.
But sometimes late at night, she felt something. A phantom warmth. A sense of someone thinking about her. An echo of emotions that weren't hers. She'd squeeze her eyes shut and try to block it out but it was still there. The bond. Constant. Patient. Waiting.
She told herself it would go away. Just needed more time.
In January, Megan asked again about the apartment.
This time she was more direct. Said Eden was alone and Megan was alone and it made sense. Said the diner paid crap wages and two people could split rent and actually have money left over. Said she wasn't asking to be friends, just practical.
Eden almost said yes.
Almost agreed because the logic was sound and it would be cheaper and maybe sharing space with someone neutral would make the nights less heavy. But then she thought about what would happen if the pack found her. If someone came looking. If her presence put Megan in danger.
"I like living alone," Eden said.
And she meant it. Living alone meant no one got hurt because of her. Meant no complications. Meant if she had to run again, she could do it without leaving anyone behind.
The diner owner asked if she wanted to be promoted to shift manager. More pay. More responsibility. A path forward.
She said no.
He looked confused. Like everyone should want to climb up. Should want something more than pouring coffee and clearing plates. But Eden didn't want more. More meant visibility. More meant staying in one place too long. More meant roots and that was dangerous.
Four months and she'd built a life that was small enough to fit in a backpack again.
By late January, she'd stopped checking over her shoulder as much. Stopped analyzing every car that passed. Stopped sleeping with the knife under her pillow. The terror had faded into something manageable. Something she carried like a weight but had learned how to hold.
She was alive. She had money. She had a room and a job and a routine. She wasn't hunted anymore because she'd disappeared completely. Eden Wright the human girl had no connections to the werewolf world. Had no family looking for her. Had no pack claiming her.
She'd actually done it. She'd escaped.
That's what she was thinking on a Tuesday morning in late February when everything changed.
She was clearing a table near the window. The morning sun was bright on her face. She was thinking about her shift ending in four hours and maybe going to the library before work tomorrow. Thinking about a book she wanted to read. Thinking about absolutely nothing important.
Then she felt it.
A pull so strong it knocked the breath out of her chest.
It wasn't pain. It wasn't the bonds she was used to. It was something deeper. Something that came from the earth itself. Like gravity had shifted and suddenly the whole world was tilting toward one specific direction.
She dropped the coffee pot.
It didn't break like the first time. Just landed on the tile with a dull thud and spilled brown liquid across the floor. A customer cursed. Megan jumped up to help. But Eden wasn't listening to any of it because something was happening to her body that she couldn't explain.
Her skin was tingling. Her wolf was stirring under her human surface. The mate bond was screaming something she didn't have words for.
Cole.
The name appeared in her mind like a sign written in fire.
No. That wasn't possible. He was hundreds of miles away. He was with his pack. He was building his territory and planning his breeding program and pretending she didn't exist.
He wasn't here.
He couldn't be here.
But the pull in her chest was getting stronger. The bond was vibrating like someone had just plugged electricity directly into her bones. And when she looked toward the window, toward the street beyond, she saw a truck parking across the road.
A truck that looked familiar.
A truck that was too clean and too new and belonged to someone important. Someone dangerous. Someone she'd run from across forests and over state lines.
Someone who was supposed to have given up.
The truck door opened.
Boots hit the pavement. Long legs. Broad shoulders. Dark hair. A face that stopped time and made her stomach drop like she was falling.
Cole Brennan stepped out of the truck and looked directly at the diner.
Directly at her.
And he smiled like he'd just found something he'd been searching for his whole life.
He started walking toward the door.