Chapter 6: The Escape
1307 Words
Brielle's POV
The packhouse was quiet now, the chaotic buzz of the ceremony long gone. It was nearly midnight, and most of the pack was either asleep or passed out after drowning themselves in celebration. The lingering smell of spilled wine and burnt candles hung in the air as I stood in my tiny room, staring at the canvas bag sitting on the edge of my bed.
This was it.
I’d packed it three days ago. Not much: just a few clothes, a flashlight, a small knife, and a water bottle I’d found buried in the kitchen pantry. It wasn’t enough, but it was all I had. My hands shook as I zipped it shut, the sound startlingly loud in the stillness of the night.
My heart raced, pounding so loudly in my chest that I was sure someone would hear it. I paused, listening for any sounds in the hallway. The silence stretched on, heavy and suffocating.
The air in my room felt stale, like it had been locked in here with me for years. In a way, it had. I wasn’t just leaving the packhouse tonight, I was leaving behind everything that had suffocated me since the day my mom died.
For a second, I froze. What if I was making a mistake? What if I didn’t survive out there?
But then I thought about tonight, about the laughter, the whispers, the sneers. I thought about Kylie’s smug face, Sylvia’s venomous smile, and Liam’s cowardly silence.
Staying wasn’t an option.
I slung the bag over my shoulder and stepped toward the door.
The hallway was dark, only a faint sliver of moonlight spilling through the windows. The floors creaked under my bare feet as I moved, slow and cautious, toward the back staircase. My breath hitched every time a board groaned, but I kept going.
The air felt heavy, like the house itself was trying to hold me back, to keep me from escaping. I hated it here: hated the way it smelled like lavender and power, the way its walls felt too close, like they were pressing in on me.
Sylvia’s voice echoed in my head: “You’re a parasite.”
I clenched my teeth, forcing the memory away.
I reached the kitchen and stopped in front of the back door, my hand hovering over the handle. This was the easy part. The hard part was what came next.
Outside, the world stretched vast and endless under the moonlight. No walls. No safety nets. Just me and whatever lay beyond the pack’s territory.
I tightened my grip on the bag and pulled the door open.
The cool night air hit me like a slap, sharp and bracing. I stepped outside, letting the darkness wrap around me. For a moment, I just stood there, my feet planted firmly on the grass, my heart racing in my chest.
The packhouse loomed behind me, its windows dark and lifeless. For all its grandeur, it felt hollow, like it had been drained of any warmth or light.
I didn’t look back as I started walking, my footsteps soft against the earth.
The forest greeted me like an old friend, its tall trees casting long shadows in the moonlight. The air smelled like pine and damp soil, a comforting contrast to the suffocating lavender of the packhouse.
I kept moving, my heart pounding with every step. I didn’t have a plan, not really. All I knew was that I had to leave before morning, before anyone noticed I was gone.
The deeper I went into the woods, the quieter it got. The sounds of the pack faded, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. It was peaceful, but the peace felt fragile, like it could shatter at any moment.
I paused when I reached the edge of the pack’s territory. The border was marked by a shallow stream that glimmered under the moonlight. I crouched down by the water, staring at the reflection of the trees rippling in its surface.
This was it.
Once I crossed, there was no going back.
I’d spent my whole life trapped within these borders, bound by rules and expectations that had crushed me little by little. Crossing meant freedom. It also meant danger.
I looked back over my shoulder, half-expecting to see someone running after me. But the woods were empty, silent except for the soft whisper of the wind.
My thoughts raced.
What if I don’t make it out there?
What if they find me and drag me back?
What if…
I shook my head, forcing the doubts away.
Staying meant dying a slow, quiet death. Leaving meant a chance: however slim,at something better.
My mother’s voice echoed in my head, soft and full of hope: “You’re stronger than you know, Brielle.”
I stepped into the stream.
The icy water bit at my ankles, but I didn’t stop. One step, then another, until I was on the other side.
My heart raced as I turned back to look at the border one last time. It felt like I’d left a piece of myself behind: something small and broken that had clung to the hope of belonging.
But I didn’t belong here.
I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath, and walked into the unknown.
The forest grew darker the farther I went, the trees closing in around me. The path ahead was barely visible, lit only by the faint glow of the moon filtering through the canopy.
I tightened my grip on the bag slung over my shoulder, my ears straining for any sound. Every crack of a branch or rustle of leaves made my heart jump, but I kept moving.
The world outside the pack’s territory was dangerous, especially for a wolf who couldn’t shift. Rogues roamed these woods, along with other predators: human and otherwise.
But I couldn’t think about that now.
I’d spent years being afraid: of Sylvia, of Kylie, of what the pack thought of me. Fear had kept me quiet, kept me small.
Not anymore.
Hours passed, or maybe it was just minutes. Time felt strange out here, stretched thin by the darkness. My legs ached, and my feet throbbed from stepping on roots and rocks. But I didn’t stop.
The forest seemed to watch me, its shadows shifting and twisting like they had a life of their own. The wind picked up, carrying with it the faint scent of rain.
I pulled my jacket tighter around me, my breath puffing out in white clouds.
The silence was both comforting and unnerving. Back at the packhouse, there had always been noise—voices, footsteps, the hum of people who didn’t notice me but made sure I noticed them.
Out here, there was nothing. Just me and the forest.
It should’ve felt lonely. Instead, it felt… freeing.
Eventually, I stumbled across a clearing. The moon hung high above, bathing the open space in silver light. I dropped my bag at the base of a tree and collapsed onto the ground, my legs finally giving out beneath me.
The grass was soft and cool against my skin as I stared up at the sky. The stars were brighter out here, unobstructed by the glow of the packhouse.
For the first time in years, I felt like I could breathe.
But the freedom was bittersweet.
I thought about my mother, about the stories she used to tell me about finding my place in the pack, about being strong enough to stand tall no matter what life threw at me.
She would’ve wanted me to fight, to prove them wrong.
But how do you fight when you’ve already been broken?
I closed my eyes, letting the cool air wash over me. For now, it didn’t matter. I was out.
And that was enough.
- Writer
