Chapter 7: The Unseen One
1380 Words
The morning began with sweat.
Sofia had been up before the sun, her body already aching from the day before. Still, she moved—harder, faster, sharper. Her strikes landed with precision. Her footwork cut like a blade. Her shifts came smoother now, cleaner—one moment a panther, sleek and silent, the next a low stalking wolf. No hesitation. No falter.
She moved like something born for war.
She had to.
If they wouldn’t give her a place in this fight, she would carve one for herself.
Now, she stood in the stillness after—shoulders trembling, breath hot in her lungs, sweat trailing down her spine in slow, burning threads. Her fists hung heavy at her sides. She could feel her pulse in her knuckles. In her jaw. In the hollow place behind her eyes.
Inside, the world was still turning. Voices rising. Orders given. Footsteps pounding across marble and command.
But out here—in this forgotten corner of the packhouse—everything was quiet.
Except her.
She looked down.
Her hands were curled so tight they shook. She forced the right one open, slowly. The skin across her palm pulled and stung—split just beneath her middle knuckle. Red. Raw. Bleeding.
She hadn’t noticed when it happened.
Of course she hadn’t.
They still saw her as the youngest. The last. The soft one trailing behind a bloodline of warriors and Alphas. Even now, with war pressing at the borders, Pill had given each of them something—territory to defend, troops to organize, packs to rally.
Even Chloe—only three years older—was helping coordinate communications with the northern alliances.
And Sofia?
She had been given nothing.
So she trained.
And if she wasn’t trusted yet, she would become undeniable.
☽
The training room was crowded by midmorning—pads slamming against flesh, commands barked across the floor, the air thick with movement and sweat.
But Sofia moved like no one else was there.
Her limbs were loose with heat, her eyes sharp, her expression unreadable. She ran drills with a kind of ferocity that drew attention without asking for it. She didn’t speak. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t stop.
One of the warriors from the Southern Nevada clan stepped into her path.
He was tall. Fast. Confident in the way most young wolves were when they thought their experience meant something.
He grinned at her, already raising his hands. “Want to spar?”
She didn’t answer. Just nodded once and stepped onto the mat.
He lunged first—quick and clever.
But she was quicker.
She ducked beneath his reach, pivoted on the balls of her feet, and drove her elbow into his ribs before he could recover. He stumbled, tried to twist back toward her, and found her foot sweeping his legs out from under him.
Thirty seconds.
He was flat on his back.
Sofia didn’t gloat. Didn’t smirk. She offered him a hand up, polite and silent, then turned away before he could speak.
She could outfight the best of them. Outlast them.
But none of it mattered.
No one had asked. No one was watching.
And the war was coming anyway.
☽
Back in the main part of the packhouse, the midday sun carved sharp shadows across Pill’s face as he stood on the back steps, giving instructions to a tight circle of wolves. The sun baked the stone beneath his feet, but Pill stood like it was nothing—unshaken. His hands moved with quiet command, sketching invisible lines in the air.
Sofia lingered in the shade, watching.
He looked so much like their father had once looked—steady, unshaken, built from calm and calculation. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. When he spoke, wolves listened.
For the first time that day, her pulse slowed. Just slightly.
The machine was moving. The wall was rising.
She wondered then, not for the first time, about the Ixchele.
Were they preparing like this? Building their own kind of rhythm, their own network of orders and scouts and supply chains? Were they sharpening blades in the dark, whispering strategy over maps drawn in dust?
Did they know what was waiting for them?
A fortress woven from blood and bone and memory. A war machine thousands of wolves thick. Led by the children of the strongest pack.
She exhaled, slow and silent.
☽
That evening, she was in the courtyard, wrapping her knuckles in silence.
The sky was streaked with violet and stardust. The kind of light that made the world below glow. Her hands were raw—split open along the same places as before. She didn’t flinch. Just pressed the gauze and kept winding. They would heal by morning.
Eliza stood in the archway, quiet for a long time.
She didn’t speak. Just watched her daughter work her pain into something tidy.
“There’s a gathering tonight,” she said at last. “Nothing formal. Just a few visiting wolves. Allies from strong clans. Food. Music. A little peace.”
Sofia didn’t look up. “It’s not really the time for that.”
“I know.” Eliza stepped forward, slow and careful. “But a little softness keeps your soul from hardening too much. Even now.”
Sofia exhaled and tied off the gauze.
“If this is about a Mate—”
“It’s not.” Eliza’s answer came quickly, maybe too quickly. She smiled, just enough to be convincing. “But it wouldn’t hurt to be reminded of who you are. Outside of all of this. To be looked at for more than bloodlines.”
Sofia didn’t respond right away. Her pulse thudded in her ears, dull and stubborn. She felt the weight of her mother’s eyes—not pushing, not pleading, but hoping. Quietly. Fiercely.
And even if she didn’t want to go, even if she didn’t want to be seen by strangers when her hands were still shaking—she would never deny her mother.
Not after everything Eliza had done to build the alliances that are now the lifelines for them, for the pack.
She nodded. Just once.
Eliza didn’t say thank you.
She only reached out and touched her daughter’s cheek, fingers warm and steady.
Then she turned and left, as if the moment hadn’t mattered.
But it did.
☽
The gathering was small. Set on the southern lawn, with string lights woven between the trees and long wooden tables arranged beneath the open sky. The desert breeze was cool but not cold. Fire pits crackled at the edges, sending sparks into the dark.
She arrived late, in a slate-blue dress that slipped off one shoulder—simple, soft, easy to move in. Her siblings looked up when they saw her. A few raised brows. A half-smile from Ella. But no one said anything.
She spoke with a few of the visiting wolves. A tall one from the east. A quiet guy from a coastal pack. Another from a desert pack further west who spoke of hunting wild boar under a blood moon.
They were interesting.
But none of them pulled at her.
No sudden ache in her ribs. No scent that curled in her lungs like recognition. No brush of skin that set her soul alight.
She laughed, once or twice. Ate very little. Listened more than she spoke.
By the end of the night, she’d learned a handful of names—but none she needed to remember.
When the gathering began to thin, she slipped away unnoticed. The sound of the wind echoed in the distance as she walked slowly toward the family quarters, her dress whispering around her legs. Her muscles still ached. Her heart felt no different.
Back in her room, she peeled off the dress and pulled on an oversized cotton shirt that smelled faintly of cedar. She crawled into bed without turning on the lights.
Tonight hadn’t changed anything.
No Mate. No revelation. No spark.
Just a brief exhale between storms.
And in the silence, Sofia wondered if wanting more was the same as being ready for it.
Her hands still ached. Her chest, too. But she said nothing.
She turned out the light and lay still, waiting for the silence to become sleep.
- Writer
