Two: Checkpoints and Chains
2216 Words
The female, Ward of Atlas, was labeled an "anomaly" when her wolf did not appear psychologically at puberty or physically at Wolvine maturity. The female failed to shift in all trials presented under natural and medical inducements. Testing is inconclusive. No outstanding physical, medical, pathological, or psychological cause for the delay has been detected. Will continue to monitor.
Olivia stood in front of her closet, plucking at her tender lip and nervously ruminating. She was expected to attend a Mating Ceremony. The details and expectations surrounding the event were vague, and that uncertainty twisted her stomach into knots.
Wolfless. The word tumbled in her mind, heavy with sorrow, shame, and the ache of the unknown.
She was eighteen now. Almost legally an adult. But in Atlas, that didn’t mean freedom—it meant assignment. She hadn’t shifted, hadn’t earned a role, hadn’t done anything except survive long enough to be labeled defective.
The morning of her Shifting Ceremony had been the first of many clinical appointments. She’d thought she might pass out from sheer anxiety—palms clammy, heart hammering in her chest. She already knew she was different, but no one else seemed to believe it.
She had told them plainly: she didn’t think she had a wolf. They had glanced at each other over clipboards, brows raised in mild amusement, blatantly dismissing her fear.
She was reassured that all she needed to do was bask in the moonlight that night, and with the presence of the high council and Alpha, her “shy” wolf would finally emerge.
But no.
There she had stood, under the full moon, unchanged. Mocked. And when the sun finally broke over the horizon, still nothing.
As soon as she stepped back through the Moon Gates, they whisked her away for tests. She was poked, prodded, drugged, and observed for months. Nothing worked.
Ultimately, they told her she appeared healthy but would remain under observation. The list of potential complications from stunted Wolvine maturity was long and vague: abnormal aging, slow healing, compromised immunity, infertility.
She was told that finding a fated mate was supposed to be instinctive. Magical. When two wolves awakened, their souls were meant to sing to each other, drawn together in an undeniable bond. You will know with every fiber of your being.
“This would be a hell of a lot easier if I had known what I was dressing for,” Olivia muttered, turning in front of the mirror. The white T-shirt and jeans from earlier were clean—no holes, no stains—but were they clean enough to stand in a room full of shifters? “Tilly?” she called out.
“I’m in the tub!”
Olivia walked to the bathroom and knocked. “I don’t have anything to wear. They look clean, but I don’t know if they smell clean.”
“Sniff test?” Tilly giggled.
“Yes, please,” Olivia sighed.
“Come in!” Tilly was sprawled in the tub, suds hiding most of her except her head and knees.
Olivia avoided her eyes as she held the shirt out toward her.
“Prudy pants,” Tilly scoffed, sniffing the fabric twice. “Smells like you." And the tiniest hint of bacon. Should be fine.”
“Thanks,” Olivia muttered and shuffled back to her room. “Prudy pants,” she repeated under her breath, rolling her eyes.
Tilly had changed so much since her shift. Her senses had sharpened. Her frame had filled out with muscle—still graceful, but stronger, more grounded.
Most of their peers had become bolder after their own shifts. Nudity was normalized; it happened during transformations, so modesty didn’t last long. Clothes were stripped or shredded. Shame was irrelevant.
Olivia shuddered at the thought of being naked in front of a group of strangers. Unmated shifters were hungry. Impatient. Not ashamed to ogle anyone—clothed or not.
Female pack members had to take a vow of chastity during their first shift ceremony, afterward receiving a ring, bracelet, or necklace marked with the Atlas sigil.
Males weren’t required to take the same vow. Olivia never understood why.
She sat and braided her hair, using a brush and hair tie from her small box of belongings. As she finished the first braid, there was a knock on her door.
“Can I come in?” Tilly called.
“Yeah.” Tilly came in smiling, hairbrush in hand. “Can you?” she teased, shaking the brush like a maraca.
“Of course. Sit.”
Tilly plopped onto the floor at the foot of the bed and handed Olivia her brush. “Two French braids, please.”
“Coming right up.”
Halfway through the second braid, Tilly asked, “Nervous?”
“A little,” Olivia answered honestly.
Tilly started to shift, like she was going to turn toward her.
“But that’s just because I don’t know what to expect,” Olivia added quickly.
Tilly stilled but began to crane her neck.
“Hold still,” Olivia said. “Almost done, then you can fuss all you want.” She secured the braid, smoothing flyaways behind Tilly’s ears. “There.”
“Thank you,” Tilly murmured, fiddling with the end of one braid. Her brows furrowed.
“Hey.” Olivia leaned down, trying to catch her eye.
Tilly gave a tight-lipped smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
She had changed. Their once-constant chatter had faded. She often seemed distracted, absent. This anxious version of her—the fidgeting, the refusal to meet Olivia’s eyes—was a glimpse under the mask she usually wore.
“What’s wrong?”
Tilly’s eyes darkened. The rich brown irises bled into black. Her muscles tensed, hands trembling as she gripped her braid tight. s**t.
Tilly’s wolf was close.
There was a silent war playing out inside her. She always had control—but even with her, it could snap.
Olivia should’ve backed away.
Avoided eye contact.
Gave her space to come down. But she couldn’t.
“Tilly...” she said softly.
Tilly looked at her—really looked—and her eyes shifted, trying to focus. Her pupils flickered, caught somewhere between a human and a wolf.
“There you are,” Olivia said gently. “You’re okay.”
Tilly shook her head.
Olivia cupped her cheek. “We’re going to be fine." Together.”
Tilly lunged into her arms, sobbing.
Olivia held her tight, held her breath, until the tremors eased.
Tilly pulled back, wiping her eyes. “Thank you.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah. "I just got overwhelmed.” Her voice cracked. She wouldn’t meet Olivia’s gaze.
“You know you can talk to me, right?”
"I know.”
“It doesn’t have to be now. But I’m here.”
Tilly nodded, posture stiff. “I mean it,” Olivia emphasized, squeezing her arm gently.
“Yeah. "Of course,” she mumbled, then quickly turned away. “We need to get our shoes on. They just pulled into the driveway.
Olivia blinked in disbelief. “You can hear them from here?”
“Only because I was listening—and that truck is loud as hell.” She smirked.
Olivia peeked out the window. James was pulling into the drive, elbow on the door. Gloria sat beside him, a cigarette hanging from her mouth, eyes on her phone.
Honk. Honk. Honk.
Olivia stomped her heels into her sneakers and joined Tilly at the door.
“They’re really worked up today,” Tilly said, glancing back at her.
“Better not keep them waiting. You ready?”
“Guess so,” Olivia murmured.
Tilly opened the door, stepping aside.
Olivia jogged down the stairs and climbed into the bed of the truck.
Tilly ran alongside and vaulted over the side, landing next to her in a crouch.
“Show-off,” Olivia teased.
Tilly smacked the truck bed twice—signal that they were in. James blasted the radio, the speakers whining with static, and peeled out of the gravel drive.
“Going nowhere fast,” Olivia muttered, bracing herself.
“What a cool guy...” Tilly laughed.
Olivia laid down, hoping to preserve her hair and Tilly joined her.
They rode in silence. There wasn’t anything to say. Tilly wasn’t ready to talk, and Olivia wouldn’t force it.
“That one looks like a grasshopper,” Tilly said, pointing at a cloud.
Olivia squinted. “It really does.”
They spent the rest of the ride naming cloud shapes, distracting themselves. Then the truck jerked to a sudden stop.
Tilly and Olivia slammed into the back of the truck bed.
“Bastard,” Olivia muttered, rubbing the back of her head where it had hit the metal.
“That’s a lot of cars,” Tilly said, peering through the cab.
“You’d think he’d have seen them sooner.”
Tilly shrugged, rolling her eyes, “Where’s the fun in that?” She offered a hand and pulled Olivia up.
The line of vehicles stretched out ahead, shimmering in the heat. “This is going to take forever,” Tilly groaned, sliding back down.
The sun was directly overhead. The truck bed was scorching. No shade. They waited nearly twenty minutes, before it started inching forward again.
Olivia silently rooted for every cloud that passed overhead, monitoring how closely each one almost got to blocking the sun. A little shade would be nice, just a little.
Tilly moaned, wiping sweat from her forehead. Her shirt was soaked through, her hair damp at the neck. “I’m roasting,” she complained.
“It’s toasty, that’s for sure.” Olivia leaned her head against the cool glass of the truck cab. Inside, James and Gloria were singing loudly, their voices making her head ache. The back window of the cab slid open suddenly, grazing the bump on her head. Mother Fuc--
“Come here!” Gloria shouted over the music, snapping her fingers in Olivia’s face.
“You listening to me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Olivia mumbled.
“Get out of the truck and come to the window.” The window slammed shut.
“b***h,” Olivia muttered.
“Come on,” Tilly nudged her.
“Hey!” Olivia caught her wrist and steadied herself.
Tilly hopped over the side of the truck with the grace of a cat.
Olivia climbed down using the tire as a step, distinctly aware of the dichotomy between the two of them.
Gloria rolled down the passenger window and shoved two enormous duffle bags out at them, followed by two envelopes. "These are your papers and vouchers. Everything you’ll need this week.”
Olivia reached to take them, but Gloria released them before she could clasp them. The light breeze sent them toppling through the air, before they started skittering along the shoulder of the roadway.
James cackled as he peeled out, sending the fine, loose gravel spraying behind the truck.
Olivia chased the envelope as it tumbled in the wind, finally stomping on it before it could take flight again.
Tilly, already carrying both duffels, met her halfway.
“Got the other one?” Olivia asked.
She nodded and patted her pocket. “Yeah.”
Olivia picked up the second duffle. It was heavy—surprisingly so.“Damn, what’s in this?”
“Didn’t you hear her? Everything we need.”
They marched forward, the bags heavy and the heat oppressive. Cicadas screamed from the trees, the road a shimmering mirage. Finally, they neared the front of the line. A small white coupe was stopped at the checkpoint. The driver was arguing with a guard.
“Can you at least tell me which kingdoms will be in attendance?” she snapped.
“No, ma’am,” the guard replied, cold and flat. “As I said, you’ll have to speak with an event coordinator.”
“You can’t tell me anything,” she hissed.
“I’m security. Not a coordinator.”
“I just can’t believe we’re being treated like—”
“Pull your vehicle forward,” the guard growled, eyes going black.
The driver gasped, offended, and slowly rolled forward.
The guard exhaled and turned toward Olivia and Tilly. His posture was rigid, his eyes still dark. Tilly stepped in front of Olivia. It stung—how naturally she assumed the protector role.
“She was a real peach,” Tilly said with a dramatic head shake.
The guard’s lip curled into a tired smile. “Indeed,” he replied, his eyes fading from black to deep green. “There are a lot of them here today.” He motioned them forward.
A driver behind them honked. Another shouted, while peppering honks into the statement, “Hey! Honk. No. Honk. cutting!”.
“I see what you mean,” Tilly muttered.
“It’s going to be a problem,” the guard replied, jaw tight.
Olivia fished out her ID. He checked both their documents and nodded.
“Everything looks good. Welcome to Atlas.”
“Thank you,” Olivia said, offering a sympathetic smile.
They stepped through the pedestrian gate, leaving the heat, the honking, and the weight of uncertainty behind them—at least for now.
- Writer
