And bow.
Deep.
Formal.
The bow of a dancer acknowledging her audience, of an Omega acknowledging the judgment of those who hold power over her future.
The applause begins.
Soft at first.
Scattered.
Then building.
Growing.
Swelling into a wave of sound that crashes over me like water, like warmth, like validation I didn't know I needed.
I straighten from my bow and find myself smiling.
Actually smiling.
Not the manic grin I use as armor. Not the sharp expression I deploy when I want people to back off. Just... a smile. Simple. Genuine. The expression of someone who's just poured everything they have onto a stage and been told it wasenough.
Whistles pierce the applause—sharp and bright, the particular kind of appreciation that can't be contained by mere clapping. Someone in the back is standing, and the motion triggers others, until half the audience is on their feet.
Standing ovation.
For ME.
A giggle escapes.
High.
Bright.
Absolutely unhinged.
I clap my hand over my mouth, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes—overwhelmed, overjoyed, completely unable to process what's happening.
They liked it.
They actually liked it.
Maybe—just maybe—this is going to work.
The audience filters out slowly.
Protocol requires me to remain on stage while the judges deliberate, so I stand in the fading spotlight and watch the darkness empty—shapes moving toward exits, voices murmuring conversations I can't quite hear, the particular sound of an event ending and normal life resuming.
My pack stays.
Of course they do.
They move to the front row as the other seats empty, positioning themselves where I can see them clearly. Sage is grinning—that warm, proud expression that makes my chest ache. Blaze is practically bouncing in his seat, golden eyes bright with excitement. Jett is still and watchful, but there's something soft in his expression that wasn't there before.
And Kai...
