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Careful not to disturb her, I changed quietly and slid into bed beside her. My body felt heavy, my thoughts slowing as soon as my head touched the pillow. Sleep came fast, dragging me down into darkness—

And that’s when the dream hit.

Not a dream, a memory. Hers. Cold and sharp and vivid, like claws dragged across my mind.

I stood in a room I didn't recognize, ornate and oppressive,with dark walls and stifling heat. Lexa was young, barely ten, thin and pale, with wide eyes that looked too big for her face. She stood stiffly, hands trembling at her sides. A woman loomed over her, expression twisted in cold disdain.

“Again,” the woman snapped harshly. “You curtsy. You keep your eyes lowered. You smile. An omega pleases, Lexa, she doesn’t glare.”

“I don’t want to,” Lexa whispered. Her voice shook. “I don’t want—”

The blow came fast, sharp enough that my own head jerked back in shock. Lexa staggered but didn’t fall. Behind her, one of her sisters giggled cruelly.

“Stupid little thing,” the sister sneered softly. “You’d better learn, or they’ll just keep hitting you.”

The image tore away violently, replaced by another. Lexa again, barely older, curled in a dark corner of a cold room. Bruises darkened her arms, her cheek. She stared at her hands, whispering silent apologies—to herself, to no one, to everyone.

The scene shifted again.

A night filled with terror and snow—Lexa running barefoot through the woods, cloak torn, chest heaving. Tears streaked her face as branches tore at her skin. Panic pulsed like venom through the bond, raw and unfiltered.

Again, the image tore itself apart and reformed.

A port town filled with noise and chaos. Lexa, small and alone, holding tightly to a bag containing everything she had left. A sharp shove, laughter from thieves as they ran off with everything she’d saved. She collapsed to the ground, eyes hollow with shock and disbelief.

My heart twisted painfully. It was agony, the helpless rage burning deep inside me at watching her suffer and being unable to stop it.

The scenes came faster now, disjointed and jagged:

Lexa laboring at the docks, small hands cracked and raw from rope and salt. Her stomach empty. Her eyes hollowed by hunger and exhaustion, yet still determined to keep going.

Lexa standing on the deck of a ship, staring at the endless ocean, gripping her ticket with trembling fingers as land disappeared behind her.

Lexa arriving in a foreign land—my land—alone, frightened, hunted. Searching desperately for safety, hiding from the Crescent Moon pack’s reach.

And finally—

The witch’s hut, deep in the woods, smelling of blood and herbs and dark, bitter magic. Lexa, her skin pale and shivering, lying face down on a rough wooden table as the witch raised a blade. The first carving of the rune, her scream echoing loud and raw and filled with a pain too deep, too brutal for words.

It ripped through me, her pain, her fear, her loneliness. I felt every second, every heartbeat, every scar.

The visions tore through me harder now, deeper, pulling me back into their vortex of agony, the dark tide of Lexa’s past impossible to escape—

She was twenty-four, burning with fever, curled and shivering on a filthy straw mattress. Her breaths came shallow, choking, rattling with each inhale. Her body weak, frail—too frail—skin slick with sweat as the sickness gnawed at her from the inside out. She couldn’t heal, not like wolves should. Her wolf was bound and silenced, leaving her mortal, defenseless. She stared blankly at the stained ceiling above, whispering quiet prayers to gods she no longer believed in, fully prepared to meet her death alone and forgotten.

Another shift, wrenching and brutal—

She was a child again, her small hands trembling as she held them out, palms open, red and raw. A thin stick cracked down viciously, cutting across the tender skin. She bit her lip hardenough to draw blood, eyes filling with tears she refused to let fall.

The voice above her hissed, cold and merciless. “Omegas don’t climb trees, Lexa. They don’t run wild. Learn your place.” She whimpered, choking on her shame and pain, her tiny shoulders shaking violently.

The world spun again, faster, darker—

She stood before the witch, thin and pale, desperation etched into her face. “I need more runes,” Lexa whispered, voice cracked and hoarse, holding out her trembling hands. The witch raised a brow, impassive, her expression calculating.

“More coin, then. The runes aren’t charity.”

Lexa’s lip quivered, her voice broke into a soft sob. “Please. It’s all I have.” The woman stared coldly, eyes blank with indifference, shrugging as if Lexa’s pleas meant nothing. Lexa sank to her knees on the cold floor of the hut, tears streaming silently down her cheeks, shoulders shaking in defeat.