The first week of the elders’ observation felt like living inside a glass box.
Every movement was noticed. Every shared glance was measured. At school the stares had shifted from curious to openly divided—some students watched us with wary respect after Tristan’s courtyard declaration, while others looked at me like I was a problem that should have been solved already. The bond made the scrutiny harder to bear. It wanted closeness. The pack wanted proof that we could survive without it.
We gave them restraint.
We did not give them distance.
Tristan walked me to classes. He sat near me at lunch. He never crossed the line into open affection where the wrong eyes could turn it into a report, but he also never left me exposed. The message was clear enough: the future Alpha had chosen, and
