CHAPTER 16
1185 Words
Ariana’s POV
Silvercrest woke up differently after the incident.
I noticed it the moment I stepped outside the next morning. The pack grounds were the same—warriors training, omegas moving between tasks, the scent of earth and steel lingering in the air—but something beneath the routine had shifted. The usual sharpness was dulled, replaced by a cautious awareness that followed me as I walked.
Not openly. Not rudely.
But undeniably.
Conversations didn’t stop when I passed anymore. Instead, they softened, bent around me, then resumed in lower tones once I was gone. A few wolves nodded in acknowledgment, brief and awkward, as if unsure whether such a gesture was appropriate. Others watched from a distance, eyes narrowed in thought rather than contempt.
Silvercrest was adjusting.
That realization settled uneasily in my chest.
At school, the change was even more pronounced. I felt it in the way teachers paused before addressing me, in the way classmates shifted subtly to make space when I approached. No one mocked me. No one tested me either.
They were waiting.
Leah leaned close as we took our seats in class. “You’ve officially unsettled them,” she whispered. “Half the school is arguing about you already.”
“I didn’t mean to,” I murmured.
She smiled faintly. “That’s what scares them.”
The lesson blurred past me as my thoughts drifted. The boy from the training grounds lingered in my mind—his shallow breaths, the way his eyes had searched for mine, as if clinging to my voice alone. I hadn’t used power. I hadn’t broken my suppression.
And yet I had stepped dangerously close to the line I’d sworn not to cross.
You cannot keep saving them forever, my wolf reminded me quietly. Each time you step forward, they see more.
“I know,” I replied internally. “But I won’t stand aside when someone is dying.”
She didn’t argue.
That silence carried weight.
By midday, the pack elders called for an assembly.
The announcement spread quickly, tension snapping tight across Silvercrest like a drawn bowstring. Assemblies were rare outside formal events or emergencies, and this one had come without explanation.
I stood near the back of the crowd, hood drawn low, my posture relaxed despite the unease curling in my stomach. Warriors lined the edges of the gathering space, faces serious, while elders gathered at the front, their expressions unreadable.
Alpha Elias stepped forward.
“Last night,” he began, his voice carrying easily, “we were reminded of how quickly strength can become recklessness. A young wolf nearly lost his life because limits were pushed without wisdom.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
“The situation was stabilized,” he continued, “because someone acted with clarity under pressure.”
The murmurs stayed stilled.
My pulse quickened, though I kept my expression neutral.
Alpha Elias’s gaze swept the crowd—not lingering on me, not accusing or praising. Simply observing.
“Silvercrest values strength,” he said. “But strength without judgment endangers us all. Let this be a reminder that leadership is not always found where we expect it.”
That was all.
No names were spoken.
No credit assigned.
The assembly ended shortly after, wolves dispersing with hushed conversations trailing behind them. Relief washed through me, tempered by a sharper awareness.
They had acknowledged what happened.
And they had done so carefully.
Elders didn’t speak like that without reason.
The rest of the day passed in uneasy calm. Training was subdued, instructors emphasizing control over aggression. Students watched one another more closely, correcting mistakes instead of exploiting them.
Silvercrest was learning.
Whether I liked it or not.
That evening, I retreated to the forest earlier than usual. The weight of the day pressed heavily against my ribs, and I needed the quiet only the trees could offer. The moon hung low, pale and watchful, casting long shadows across the ground as I moved along familiar paths.
In the clearing, I shed my cloak and stood still, breathing deeply, letting the forest’s rhythm steady me.
My wolf surfaced immediately.
They are circling you now, she said. Not hunting. Studying.
“Yes,” I replied softly. “And that’s more dangerous.”
I moved through my training slowly, deliberately, focusing on restraint rather than release. Each motion was precise, controlled, my power held tightly in check. My wolf watched with a patience she hadn’t always possessed.
You fear losing yourself, she observed.
“I fear losing the chance to be understood,” I answered. “If they see too much too soon, they won’t see me. They’ll see a weapon.”
And what if they never understand?
I stopped, resting my hands against my thighs as I caught my breath. The question lingered, heavy and unyielding.
“Then I will leave,” I said finally. “When my year ends, I will walk away having learned what I came here to learn.”
She accepted that, though I felt her dissatisfaction simmer beneath the surface.
On my way back, I found a messenger waiting near Clara’s house, his posture respectful, eyes lowered. He handed me a sealed envelope bearing the mark of Riverline Pack.
My heart stuttered once before settling.
In my room, I broke the seal carefully.
Adrian’s handwriting greeted me like a steady presence, familiar now in a way I hadn’t expected so soon.
Aria,
I heard of an incident in Silvercrest. The details are vague, passed along through careful channels, but enough reached me to know that someone acted when others hesitated.
I won’t ask if it was you. If you wish to tell me, you will. If not, I trust your reasons.
I wanted only to say this: leadership reveals itself in moments of chaos, not ceremony. Whatever path you’re walking, you are walking it with intention, and that matters more than recognition.
Write when you can.
Adrian
I read the letter slowly, my fingers tightening slightly around the paper. He hadn’t questioned me. He hadn’t assumed. He hadn’t pushed.
He had simply acknowledged.
That steadiness grounded me more than I was ready to admit.
I set the letter aside and moved to the window, gazing out over the sleeping pack. Silvercrest lay quiet beneath the stars, unaware of the internal battles unfolding within its boundaries.
They were watching me now.
Elders.
Warriors.
Students.
Each step I took carried more weight than before.
I didn’t know how long I could continue walking this narrow line between restraint and responsibility. I didn’t know how many times I could step forward without revealing what I truly was.
But I did know this.
I would not become cruel to survive.
I would not become loud enough to be heard.
And I would not abandon myself to make others comfortable.
Silvercrest was changing.
And whether they realized it or not, they were changing because of me.
The question was no longer whether I could endure this place.
It was how much longer the truth could remain hidden now that the pack had begun to feel its pull.
- Writer
