Alpha Killian's True Luna

7

Before I could even take a step back, the door swung open and Sophia walked into the room, holding her young son's hand. The little boy's face lit up instantly, and he squealed in pure excitement the moment he saw Nicholas sitting at the desk. He broke away from his mother's grip, his small feet pattering loudly against the floor as he ran straight toward him.

I didn't stay to watch the happy family unfold. I couldn't. It felt like a physical blow to the stomach, a cruel reminder of everything that had been stripped away from me and handed to someone else. I turned around quickly, walking out of the office before anyone could see the tears finally spill over my eyelashes, and made my way back down the long corridors toward the kitchen, where my reality was waiting for me.

When I got back to the kitchen, everything was still exactly as I had left it. The counters were covered in the raw ingredients I had been preparing before I was summoned to the unfortunate meeting, and the cold pots stood waiting on the counters like silent reminders of the work I still had to do. Nothing had changed in the brief moments I was gone, except for the hollow feeling growing larger inside my own chest.

I walked over to the counter with slow, massive steps, my legs shaking slightly from the encounter in the office, and forced my hands to stop trembling long enough to turn the stove back on. The heat rose up against my face, but I barely felt it. I just stood there for a second, staring at the flames, before I picked up the wooden spoon and resumed from where I had stopped, continuing the exhausting process of cooking for the entire pack.

By the time I finally finished preparing the massive quantities of food, I was an absolute mess. My hair was sticking to my forehead, wet with sweat from the heat of the stove, and my clothes felt thick against my skin. It wasn't just the physical labor of the afternoon that was wearing me down; it was the total accumulation of exhaustion, the profound tiredness and complete lack of rest that had been building up from ages down until this very day.

I had been running on empty for months, pushed past every reasonable human limit, and the emotional imbalance from seeing Nicholas with Sophia and her boy felt like the final blow. My head spun with a dull, throbbing ache, and every time I blinked, the kitchen seemed to move slightly out of focus. I felt like I was going to collapse at any moment, right there on the dirty floor.

But as the weakness washed over me, a bitter, familiar thought crossed my mind. Who would I complain to that would actually understand? Who in this entire place would look at me and see a human being in pain, rather than just an object meant to serve them? There was absolutely no one. If I spoke up, if I dared to say that I was too weak to carry on, it wouldn't bring me comfort or relief. It would only bring trouble. So, to avoid any more harsh scolding or even another beating from the people who took pleasure in my misery, I resolved to serve the food. I braced myself against the edge of the sink, closed my eyes for a brief second to steady my breathing, and prayed silently that I would somehow make it through the next hour.

For a little while, my sheer willpower seemed to work. I picked up the massive platters, loading them with food, and carried them out to the dining area. I served the first batch to the waiting pack members, keeping my eyes firmly on the floor so I wouldn't have to see their sneers or endure their insults. Then I walked back into the heat of the kitchen, loaded up another round, and served the second batch with the same robotic, mindless movements. My body was completely detached from my mind, moving entirely on survival instinct. I kept telling myself that if I could just get through the final round of serving, I could crawl into my corner and rest.

It worked until it didn't.

Coming back into the kitchen to pick up the third batch, the thin thread holding me together finally snapped. My body decided it had simply had enough of the abuse, the hunger, and the endless strain. One moment I was trying so hard to hold on, gripping the edges of the counter with everything I had left, forcing my fingers to lock tight so I wouldn't fall. The next moment, all the strength vanished from my muscles completely. I found myself making it down, my knees giving way beneath me as if they were made of water.

There was no time to catch myself, no time to reach out and grab something to stabilize my balance. It felt as though gravity had suddenly doubled, the ground itself rushing up to meet me at a terrifying speed. The last thing I remember before the darkness closed in was the terrifying sensation of falling out of control. My head crashed hard into the side of the wooden cupboard, a dull thud echoing through my skull, and then the massive pans and metal utensils I had been reaching for came crashing loudly against the floor around me, clattering in a chaotic explosion of noise.

And then, absolute silence.

The clanging of the metal died away, replaced by a deep, dark stillness that swallowed the entire kitchen whole. I couldn't feel the hard floor beneath my cheek, and I couldn't hear the distant sounds of the pack laughing in the dining hall anymore. As the last lingering spark of consciousness began to fade from my mind, a single, warm tear slid down my face, tracking through the dirt and sweat on my cheek.

Finally, I thought to myself, feeling a strange, dark sense of relief wash over my tired soul as the total darkness took over my mind and pulled me under into the quiet.