Kiya’s POV
My room felt too quiet.
The curtains barely moved, the late evening light slicing in thin lines across the floor. I sat on the edge of the bed, legs pulled close, trying to pretend the world outside didn’t exist—not the pack, not the bond, not the mess everything had turned into.
I didn’t even hear the door open until Shelly’s scent hit me.
Warm vanilla. Anxiety underneath.
“Kiya,” she said softly.
I looked up. Her eyes were gentle, but her stance was stiff—like she’d rehearsed something she really didn’t want to say.
“What now?” I asked, my voice flat.
“You… you need to come back to the pack house.”
I froze.
“No.” The answer came instantly. “Shelly, I can’t. I’m not doing this again. I finally got out—”
“I know,” she cut in, voice trembling. “But you have to.”
“Why
