CHAPTER 10
1309 Words
Ariana’s POV
School resumed the way it always did in Silvercrest—without ceremony, without softness, without regard for what the week before had shifted beneath the surface.
The morning bell rang sharp and loud, echoing through the halls as students poured back into the building, laughter and voices colliding like sparks. The one-week break for the regional gathering was already being folded into memory, reshaped into rumors and opinions that passed faster than truth ever could.
I walked through the front doors with my bag slung over my shoulder, my posture straight, my pace measured.
Nothing about me had changed on the outside.
And yet, everything had.
Eyes followed me almost immediately.
They always had—but this time, the weight of their attention felt different. Less amused. Less openly cruel. More curious. As if Silvercrest hadn’t quite decided what to do with me anymore.
I could feel it in the pauses that followed my footsteps, in the way conversations dipped when I passed, then resumed in hushed tones once I was a few steps away.
“She’s the one,” someone whispered behind me.
“I thought she’d disappear after everything.”
“Did you see who she was talking to during the gathering?”
I didn’t turn around.
I had learned long ago that reacting only fed their hunger.
Leah caught up to me near the lockers, her eyes scanning my face the way she always did when she was checking for damage.
“Are you okay?” she asked quietly.
I nodded. “I think so.”
Ethan joined us a moment later, tossing his bag onto his shoulder. “You’re officially the most talked-about wolf in the school,” he muttered. “Congratulations.”
“Lucky me,” I replied dryly.
But even as I said it, I knew this wasn’t the same kind of attention I’d endured before.
Before, they had mocked me because they believed I was beneath them.
Now, they watched because they weren’t sure anymore.
Classes began like they always had—teachers calling roll, students settling into seats, the hum of routine filling the room. But subtle things had shifted.
A girl who used to bump into me deliberately in the hallway now hesitated, stepping aside at the last second. A boy who once laughed openly when others whispered about my rejection suddenly avoided eye contact altogether.
It wasn’t kindness.
It was uncertainty.
That was new.
I sat through my first class without incident, my notes neat and precise, my attention fixed on the board even as I felt eyes flick toward me again and again. When the bell rang, I gathered my things calmly and stood.
A group of girls stood near the doorway, their voices lowering as I approached. One of them glanced at me, then quickly looked away.
“She’s not even acting differently,” one whispered.
“That’s what makes it weird.”
I walked past them without a word.
By the time lunch arrived, the tension had settled into something almost tangible. The cafeteria buzzed with speculation. I could hear fragments of conversation even without trying.
“She was walking with one of the visiting Alphas.”
“No, not an Alpha—the Alpha’s son.”
“From Riverline, I think.”
“Why would he—”
Leah slammed her tray down a little harder than necessary. “They’re ridiculous,” she muttered. “It’s like they just discovered you exist.”
Ethan snorted. “They discovered you don’t fit in the box they built for you.”
I stared down at my food, appetite faint but present. “They don’t need to understand me.”
“That’s new,” Leah said, studying me.
I shrugged lightly. “I don’t think it is. I just stopped expecting it.”
The words surprised me with how true they felt.
After lunch, training followed.
Silvercrest training grounds had always been unforgiving. Wolves here didn’t spar for skill alone—they sparred for dominance. Every movement was judged, every stumble remembered.
I took my place among the others, my expression neutral, my body relaxed but ready.
The instructor barked orders, and we moved into paired drills. When I faced my opponent, a girl who had once smirked openly when Damien rejected me, I felt her hesitation.
She didn’t taunt me.
She didn’t smirk.
She simply nodded once and raised her guard.
That was the first time anyone had ever done that.
The match was brief. Controlled. I didn’t overpower her—I didn’t need to. I focused on balance, timing, and precision. When it ended, the instructor nodded once in approval and called for the next pair.
No laughter followed.
No whispers.
Just silence.
As I stepped back, my chest tightened—not with fear, but with something unfamiliar.
Respect.
Not earned through dominance.
But through steadiness.
The rest of the day unfolded quietly.
No one insulted me outright. No one challenged me either. It was as if Silvercrest was collectively reassessing where I belonged.
That unsettled them.
When school ended, I walked home alone, the familiar path stretching ahead of me. The pack grounds were busy—omegas working, warriors training, families moving through their routines.
Life here went on, indifferent to individual struggles.
Clara greeted me at the door with her usual warmth. “How was school?”
I set my bag down. “Different.”
She studied my face carefully. “Is it a good difference?”
“I think so,” I said after a moment. “Not kinder. Just… quieter.”
Clara nodded slowly. “People are cautious when they realize they might have been wrong.”
That evening, I sat at the small desk in my room, the window cracked open to let in the cool air. The world felt oddly balanced—no longer crushing, but not gentle either.
I thought about the gathering.
About the way Adrian had spoken to me—not as someone evaluating my worth, but as someone interested in understanding me. About the promise to communicate, made without urgency or expectation.
I pulled a blank sheet of paper toward me.
I haven't written yet.
I wasn’t ready.
But knowing I could—that I would—settled something inside me.
The bond stirred faintly, calm and present, like a steady reminder rather than a demand. It didn’t overwhelm me the way it once had. It didn’t frighten me.
It waited.
The next day followed much the same pattern.
Less mockery.
More observations.
Silvercrest hadn’t accepted me—but they no longer dismissed me either.
And that, I realized, was progress.
By the end of the week, something unexpected happened.
A girl I barely knew stopped me in the hallway. She hesitated, then spoke quickly, as if afraid she’d lose her nerve.
“You did well in training,” she said. “Yesterday.”
I blinked, surprised. “Thank you.”
She nodded stiffly and walked away.
It wasn’t an apology.
But it wasn’t cruelty either.
That night, lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling the way I always did when my thoughts grew too loud.
I thought about who I had been when I arrived in Silvercrest—quiet, hopeful, untested. I thought about who I had become—still quiet, but no longer fragile.
Rejection had not broken me.
Isolation had not erased me.
And now, even in a place that once delighted in my weakness, I was standing my ground without raising my voice.
I didn’t know what the future held.
I didn’t know how this bond would unfold.
But for the first time since leaving the palace, I felt something solid beneath my feet.
I was no longer surviving Silvercrest.
I was living in it.
And that realization carried more power than anything they could ever take from me.
- Writer
