Chapter Two — What Is Normal
1240 Words
Hope
Elias was already gone when Hope came down for dinner.
He had sent word earlier in the afternoon—nothing formal, just a message passed along by one of the wardens. The outer ridge patrols had taken more damage than expected, and Elias had gone himself to see it. He never sent others where he wouldn’t go. That, more than anything, was why people trusted him.
It left an absence at the table that felt heavier than an empty chair should.
Hope entered the dining hall with Joy at her side and immediately noted who was present.
Gabriel sat halfway down the table, relaxed, one arm draped over the back of his chair as he spoke quietly with Chance. They leaned toward each other in the easy way of long familiarity. Chance straightened when he saw her, attention shifting without effort.
Across from them sat Mira.
Elias’s mate—soon to be his wife—held her cup with both hands, posture composed, eyes alert. She smiled politely at Hope, but there was something searching in her gaze, as if she were still mapping the emotional terrain of this family.
Hope returned the smile.
Mother sat at the head of the table beside Alpha Rowan’s chair, posture immaculate, fingers pressed lightly to her temple. She looked up as they approached, her expression brightening immediately at the sight of Joy.
“There you are,” Mother said warmly. “You look lovely tonight, Joy.”
Joy beamed. “Thank you, Mother.”
Hope took her seat.
Mother’s gaze followed her.
It lingered.
Hope felt it track the loose curls already slipping free at her nape, the way her braid had begun to unravel despite her effort.
“Did you try to tame your hair?” Mother asked mildly.
Hope met her gaze. “It doesn’t stay tied for long.”
Mother sighed as if this were a shared burden. “Some things simply resist discipline.”
Gabriel reached for the bread without looking up. He tore off a piece, buttered it, and continued listening to Chance as though nothing had been said.
To him, this was normal.
Rowan set his fork down with deliberate care. “Hope spent the afternoon reviewing the outer ridge requests,” he said evenly. “She caught an error that would have left three patrols undersupplied.”
Mother waved a hand dismissively. “Of course she did. She’s always been intense.”
Mira glanced from Rowan to Hope, her brow knitting just slightly before she looked back down at her plate.
Joy frowned. “I think Hope’s hair looks like fire.”
Mother smiled at Joy without turning. “Fire is dangerous, sweetheart. Remember that.”
Hope felt the familiar tightening behind her ribs.
Chance shifted beside Gabriel, tension flickering across his face.
Gabriel did not react.
“And some women,” Mother added lightly, finally looking at Hope again, “mistake being noticed for being admired.”
Gabriel took a drink.
Didn’t look up.
Didn’t flinch.
Rowan did not look at Mother when he spoke. “Joy, you mentioned finishing that painting earlier. I’d like to see it.”
Joy brightened instantly. “I’ll get it!”
As Joy slid from her chair and moved closer to Rowan, the tension eased—just a fraction. Mother returned her attention to her meal as if nothing unusual had occurred.
A few moments passed in silence.
Then Mother pushed her chair back abruptly.
“I have a headache,” she said. “Rowan, I’ll retire early.”
She rose without waiting for a response and swept from the room, the door closing behind her with a soft finality.
Only then did the table exhale.
Gabriel leaned back in his chair, rolling his shoulders. “She’s been like that all day.”
Hope looked at him. “All day?”
He nodded. “Found out Rowan had supplies moved to the outer ridge after the council.”
Mira looked up. “But that wasn’t approved.”
Rowan met her gaze calmly. “It was necessary.”
Hope felt something steady settle in her chest.
Gabriel grinned. “You should’ve seen her face.”
He leaned toward Hope, voice dropping. “We’re heading into town later. You should come. Get out of here for a bit.”
Hope studied him.
This was how Gabriel loved her—quietly, away from Mother’s sight.
“I might,” she said.
Chance’s eyes met hers across the table.
Not hopeful.
Not expectant.
Just present.
Hope pushed back her chair. “I need air.”
Chance rose with her without asking.
Gabriel
Gabriel waited until Rowan and Mira were deep in conversation before following Hope into the side corridor.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Hope stopped but didn’t turn right away. The stone wall was cool beneath her palm.
“That was… a lot,” Gabriel added.
“It usually is,” Hope replied.
He leaned against the opposite wall, arms folded. In the quieter light, he looked younger—less polished. More like the brother who used to sneak her sweets when Mother wasn’t looking.
“She didn’t mean it like that,” he said gently.
Hope turned. “Which part?”
Gabriel hesitated. “The hair thing. The comments.”
“She always means them,” Hope said. “You’ve just learned how to hear them differently.”
“That’s not fair.”
Hope tilted her head. “Isn’t it?”
Silence stretched.
“I know she’s hard on you,” Gabriel said finally. “But she’s under pressure. The pack, the council—”
“—and I’m convenient,” Hope finished.
Gabriel winced. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know,” Hope said. “You’re trying to make it easier.”
He nodded, relieved. “Exactly.”
“And it shouldn’t always be me.”
Gabriel looked away.
After a moment, he pushed off the wall. “We’re heading into town later. Just drinks. Pool. You should come.”
“You didn’t say that at the table,” Hope said.
He smiled, small and rueful. “You know better than that.”
She did.
“You always invite me when she’s gone,” Hope said.
“I don’t want her thinking I’m choosing sides,” he said quickly. “I love you, Hope.”
Hope believed him.
That was the hardest part.
“I might come,” she said.
Gabriel smiled. “Good.”
Mira
Mira remained seated long after the plates were cleared.
She replayed the dinner in careful detail—the way Mother’s voice softened for Joy and sharpened for Hope. The way Gabriel laughed without looking up. The way Chance noticed. The way Rowan intervened without appearing to.
No one said it was wrong.
But everything said it.
Hope hadn’t challenged anyone. Hadn’t raised her voice. And yet the weight of the room had settled on her shoulders alone.
Mira folded her hands around her cooling cup.
Families weren’t just blood. They were patterns. And this one had formed long before Mira arrived.
Hope wasn’t disruptive.
She was exposed.
Mira watched Hope leave the hall with Chance and felt something uneasy settle in her chest—not fear, but recognition.
When the time came, when Elias needed to know what she had seen, she would speak.
Not loudly.
But clearly.
Because someone had to notice what others had learned to ignore.
- Writer
