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Well.
Who the fuck knew. Maybe I’d fall apart. Maybe I’d wake up with a renewed sense of purpose and lead my people to victory. Maybe they’d retire my ass as some kind of felled icon, a cautionary tale about what humans could do to even the strongest Wolf.
But the truth was obvious—I’d never be the Alpha of this resistance.
With steady hands, I ripped the gown away, slipping the sweats back on. I breathed in the scent of Misha and stupidly missed him like a limb. I wanted to burrow in his scent—I wanted to tear the compound apart until I found him.
Instead, I washed my hands and splashed water on my face, then felt around until I found a dry washcloth.
As I dragged it over my face, I heard the sound of low voices, and I shuffled closer to the door to listen.
“…nothing at all? I mean, will he regain any of it?”
“From what I can see on the MRI, if he has even the smallest amount of light perception, it’ll be a miracle. The optic nerve is what connects the eyes to the brain and allows them to see, and those are completely atrophied. That’s why his pupils are dilated like that. It’s not uncommon.” The doctor’s dead, flat tone unnerved me—like they were talking about a lab specimen, and my heart sped up a little, which made it ache in my chest. “What he needs to do is cope. I’ve already scheduled the occupational therapist to come by and introduce some adaptive…”
I turned away and squeezed my eyes shut like somehow that would make their voices stop. I’d gone from lab rat to this, and I didn’t know what the fuck to do. Instinct—the animal side of me—told me to get the fuck over it. Animals did all the time. They adjusted to whatever reality was standing in front of them and found new ways to exist in the world.
But I wasn’t just animal. Our natures were so fucking much more complicated than that, and I couldn’t wrap my head around the idea of forever. Sightless forever.
I had no plans to sit on my ass and do nothing, but I also didn’t know what some therapist could offer me that would make me feel like I could breathe again. I’d spent the last almost four months dreaming of my freedom, but it felt like I’d come back to a prison—only this time, it was my own body.
My limits.
I found the door, then shuffled out and was relieved to hear only one person in the room. Orion’s steps toward me were hesitant, just like his grip on my arm.
“The doctor was here.”
“I heard,” I told him, my tone dead.
He let out a small sigh, then guided my hand to the back of his elbow. “He showed me a couple things. Um. It should be easier for you to follow if you… like this.”
A second reality hit me—the trust I’d have to put in people in order for this to work. Orion had been my second-in-command, but only because I had the upper hand. If he betrayed me, I’d know it—I’d handle it. Now, I had no way to tell. He could be mouthing apologies at people as we passed, begging them not to say anything, not to look.
And I’d never know.
I broke out into a cold sweat and shook my head. “Can we get out of here without people seeing us?”
“I’ve already called Sandra,” he said.
The name sounded vaguely familiar, and he said it like I should know her, but my brain didn’t connect the dots.
“She’s meeting us at the side exit. We’re gonna get in the elevator, then head out the back. No one knows you’re here yet.”
“Except,” I pressed, because that couldn’t be true.
“The Council of Alphas,” he said, and it made sense. Of course he would have told them. They were expecting me to show up, shake all of this off, and stand as the Head Alpha of this resistance.
And now…
“Can we talk about this later?” I asked.
Orion let out a sigh, but he said nothing, and I had to assume he gave a gesture.
“I can’t fucking see you,” I snapped, my fingers tightening on his arm, “so if you’re trying to answer me with a nod, you need to do better.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. The pity in his voice made me want to put my fist through his face, but I didn’t. Barely. “We can talk about it later. We don’t have shit to do right now.”
Right. Because the blindness. And my fucking heart defect. And all the healing that might not happen.
