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Charlotte moved with instinctive certainty, anticipating my needs before I even knew I needed them.

She rose smoothly, grabbed a pink container from the stand nearby, and poured water into a waiting cup.

She handed it to me without a word, and I wasted no time bringing it to my lips.

The first gulp was a massive relief. Cold liquid slid down my parched throat, soothing the rawness that had scraped at every swallow.

The chill of the water eased the scratchiness.

When I lowered the cup, Charlotte immediately refilled it.

Her movements were quick, steady, and deliberate.

“You collapsed, baby girl, and we didn’t know if you’d wake up. We got you here to the clinic as fast as we could, and we’ve been here since,” Nathaniel explained.

I swallowed hard as I mulled over my situation. What if Charlotte and Nathaniel hadn’t been there? The question coiled around my mind and suffocated me. My trembling hands drifted toward my stomach, splaying my fingers across my belly where the life inside me remained. Still growing. Still alive.

A fragile beginning. A heartbeat I had barely allowed myself to believe in.

The realization crashed over me like a wave. If I had been alone, I would have lost the baby. The cruel thought carved into me like a blade with unforgiving sharpness.

“The baby is fine. The doctor ran some tests. We were waiting for the fluids to finish, and then they will release us,” Nathaniel added, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“How long have I been here?”

“Two days,” Charlotte answered.

Two days. They hadn’t left my side for two whole days. The weight of that sank in, pressing against my chest. I owed them more than just simple gratitude. I had to find a way to repay them for all of this.

They were right about my release. As soon as the IV had run its course, a nurse came in, checking my vitals before freeing me from their care. Charlotte and Nathaniel wasted no time getting me home.

The rogue territory was sprawling enough to feel like a small city, its network of paths and hidden spaces giving it an almost surreal sense of vastness. Their home was a short walk away, close to the busier districts near the heart of the territory.

I barely had time to settle before the questions began.

“Kylie, has anyone ever taught you how to bring your lycan’s power forward enough to borrow her strength, abilities, and senses?” Nathaniel asked as he lowered me onto the couch.

I’d heard of lycans doing that—channeling their strength, drawing on their power without shifting. It was a survival instinct that kicked in to endure pain and hardship, but I had never been taught how.

Amara had doubts, too. My lycan had been weak from the moment she emerged, struggling to find her footing and her voice. Maybe we weren’t strong enough.

Unable to meet his gaze, I shook my head at Nathaniel. Heavy and sharp shame curled in my chest. Every other lycan but me could do this. My failure sat between us like a fifty-ton weight.

Nathaniel let out a slow sigh and sat at the table in front of me. His expression was tight, and I could see frustration flickering in his eyes. It wasn’t aimed at me but at my former pack, who had deprived me of support and made me this way.

I had only told them fragments of the truth, and they knew only enough to glimpse the life I’d left behind. Enough for them to understand, but not enough to truly know.

“Well, that settles it. Charlotte and I are going to have to teach you. I want you to close your eyes and take deep breaths. Find your tranquil place. Have you done this before?”

I shook my head.

“We will start at the beginning,” he said with a smile.

I followed the instructions, closing my eyes and searching for a tranquil place within myself, but no such place existed. I had no quiet haven nor a peaceful retreat. I never felt safe enough to hold on to something as delicate as tranquility.

I turned my focus inward, searching for where my lycan resided deep within my soul. She stirred at my presence, lifting her head just enough to meet my gaze before curling back into herself. She folded her body into a quiet ball.

I stepped forward and lowered myself onto her. The softness of her fur enveloped me. Her fur was as impossibly light as clouds; it was white where the light touched and deep gray where shadows pooled. I couldn’t stop watching as her fur shifted and rolled in quiet contrast.

I felt something close to peace for the first time in my life. This stillness was an anchor, a tranquility I had never known before.

That was when I felt her power.

I had believed my lycan was weak for so long. I thought she was just a flickering presence barely strong enough to hold me together, but I had been wrong. So wrong.

She wouldn’t elevate me beyond omega status, but that didn’t matter.

The strength was there, flowing through me in quiet reassurance.

Her energy wrapped around me like a soothing tide.

Then, a sudden spark ignited, sending a surge of pure strength forward.

A startled gasp escaped me as my body hummed with newfound energy.

I felt invincible, like I could run a marathon and never tire.

Why had no one taught me this? Why had they kept it from me—this power, this instinct that could have changed everything?

If I had known, maybe I wouldn’t have spent my life afraid. Maybe I wouldn’t have walked on eggshells, fearing that one wrong step, one mistake, would be the end of me.

Maybe I wouldn’t have spent every moment bracing for the inevitable, waiting for the day the world decided it had had enough of me.

The thought burned in my chest. I had been denied the very thing that could have saved me.

I opened my eyes to find Nathaniel and Charlotte smiling at me. I could see it in their eyes; they felt my omega power and knew I could connect with my lycan. They did something for me that no one else had even attempted. For that, I don’t think I could ever repay them.