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SONYA

T he trees whispered as Sonya paced beneath them, boots scuffing the earth like a warning to the gods.

Cold bit at her fingertips, but it was nothing compared to the hollow ache tunneling through her chest. She hadn’t shifted since Roman branded her a traitor—her wolf paced too, thrumming with unease just beneath her skin, restless and loud, begging for clarity she didn’t have.

Marked.

Treason.

The words looped like a curse, curling in the air around her until it felt like she couldn't breathe. Her mother’s face, stricken and pale, burned behind her eyes. Her father’s silence—a blade across the throat. Neither of them had spoken to her, not after the pack gasped and Roman’s voice cut through the clearing like a death sentence.

They just turned away.

Like she’d never been theirs to begin with.

Sonya’s fingers dug into the bark of a tree, her breath fogging out in uneven bursts. She hadn't cried.

Wouldn’t. Not for Roman.

Not even for the pack.

But the ache in her ribs was growing harder to ignore.

She hadn’t run far. Just enough to keep watch on the house.

She’d stayed close. Foolishly hopeful that maybe her parents would come looking.

That someone would slip out the back door with even a damn question.

But the house stayed dark.

The porch light flickered and buzzed like it had better things to do than bear witness to this unraveling.

An hour passed. Maybe more.

Finally, Sonya exhaled and pushed herself from the tree.

She couldn’t keep circling like a damn ghost. Her wolf stirred, uncertain.

She didn’t want to scare them.

Hell, she wasn’t even sure she had anything left to say.

But she had to try.

She crept around the perimeter, avoiding the crunch of dead leaves where she could, until the kitchen window glowed soft and gold through the trees.

The back door creaked when she nudged it, louder than it had any right to be, and she immediately braced for her father's booming voice or her mother’s sharp intake of breath.

Instead, a soft rustle. Then, “Sonya?” her mother’s voice, quiet, tentative.

Her father stepped into view a second later. He didn’t speak. Just stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, jaw locked in stone.

Sonya met his eyes, heart hammering.

“I didn’t come to cause trouble,” she said. “I just… I needed to see you.”

Her mother’s gaze darted toward the front of the house, nerves twitching in every line of her body. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Yeah, I got that memo loud and clear when you shut the door in my face.”

Her father stiffened. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” Sonya let out a short, humorless laugh. “Roman just declared me a traitor in front of half the damn pack. You didn’t say a word.”

Her mother stepped forward, hand outstretched like she could smooth everything down with one soft gesture. “It’s not that simple, sweetheart. You went against the Alpha. There are rules?—”

“No,” Sonya cut in, eyes burning. “There are shackles.”

Her father’s brow furrowed. “You’ve always known your place in this pack. What we are. What you were meant to be.”

“I was meant to be free,” she hissed. “Not Roman’s pawn. Not some political token to cement his bullshit empire. And you know what? He sent me to Landon. He wanted me to get close, to spy. He had suspicions of what he was. And I did it. And now that the truth doesn’t fit his narrative because now he can’t just kill him. He wants him dead, but that’s not the true prophecy. I know the truth and now I’m the one burning at the stake.”

Her mother looked like she might cry. “You slept with him.”

Sonya’s shoulders went rigid. “Yeah. I did. Because I trust him. Because he listens. Because he doesn’t twist every word I say into something useful for his own gain.”

Her father moved then, crossing the room with heavy steps. “You don’t understand what you’ve done. This isn’t just about you , Sonya. It’s about all of us. The pack’s survival. Roman has held us together through blood and war and?—”

“Fear,” she interrupted. “He’s held you all together through fear. And I’m done living in it.”

“Then you’ve chosen exile,” he said, his voice like gravel scraping over stone. “You’re not welcome here if you won’t submit.”

Sonya stared at him, throat thick, eyes stinging but dry. “I see. So that's it. You’re loyal to the pack… not to your daughter.”

Her mother reached for her again, but Sonya stepped back. “No. Don’t. You’ve made your choice. And I’ve made mine.”

Her father didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink.

And that, more than anything, told her what she needed to know.

She backed toward the door, her heart hammering in a rhythm that felt like grief and clarity all twisted together. “Tell Roman whatever you want,” she said. “Tell him I ran. Tell him I’m weak. But don’t forget this—he’s afraid of what Landon is. And when the time comes, I’ll be standing on the right side of that fight.”

Her mother sobbed, silent and wrecked, but said nothing.

Sonya stepped into the cold again, letting the door creak shut behind her. No slamming. No theatrics. Just silence.

She didn’t cry until she hit the treeline.

But when the tears came, they didn’t fall for her parents.

They fell for the girl she used to be—the one who still thought loyalty was owed no matter the cost.

Because now, Sonya knew better.

She wasn’t just loyal to the truth.

She was loyal to herself.