Josie
The garden was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that humd against the bones and made the air feel heavy, like the world was holding its breath. I walked past the hedges until I reached the bed of lilies near the fountain. Their white petals trembled in the wind, mocking with their calm perfection.
My eyes burned. I pressed my palms against them, but it didn’t stop the tears. I thought I’d gotten used to Thorne’s temper—his sharp words, his cold silences—but this ti it felt different. Crueler. More final.
I had believed he wanted to grow. To be more than what the world said I was. I’d believed that when he looked at , he saw sothing worth fighting for. But today proved wrong.
A sob slipped past my lips before I could stop it. My chest ached as I sank to my knees, fingers curling into the soft soil. "Why does he have to be like this?" I whispered, my voice shaking. "Why does he have to make everything hurt?"
The flowers blurred through my tears. I wanted to hate him, but hate didn’t co. Only the sa old ache did—familiar and loyal. The kind that clawed at even when I begged it to let go.
I don’t know how long I stayed like that, but after a while, I felt a familiar presence nearby. The air shifted slightly, softer sohow.
"Josie," Kiel’s voice ca gently from behind .
I didn’t look at him. I didn’t need to. I knew that tone—cautious, careful. Like he was approaching sothing fragile that might break if he breathed wrong.
"Go away, Kiel," I muttered. My throat was raw. "Please."
"I can’t."
His footsteps moved closer, crunching softly against the gravel path. "You shouldn’t be out here alone like this."
A bitter laugh escaped . "Why not? Everyone seems perfectly fine leaving alone when it actually matters."
He said nothing, just stood there. I could feel his gaze on , patient and heavy.
When his hand brushed my arm, I jerked away. "Don’t," I snapped, tears stinging again. "Just—don’t. If you hadn’t tried to make practice with my powers, none of this would have happened!"
The words hit him, and I saw the flicker of hurt in his eyes before he hid it. I wanted to take them back instantly, but it was too late.
Kiel exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. Then, without saying anything, he took my hand. His grip was firm—not rough, but unyielding. Before I could protest, he was already walking, dragging along with him.
"Kiel—what are you doing?"
"Just co with ," he said, not slowing down.
The garden path wound toward the fountain, where water trickled gently over the stone edges. He led to a low rock near the base and motioned for to sit. I did, if only because I didn’t have the strength to argue anymore.
He didn’t sit beside . Instead, he stayed standing, staring into the clear pool as he picked up a few pebbles. One by one, he tossed them into the water, watching the ripples widen.
Finally, he spoke. "You think I don’t get it, don’t you? That I don’t understand what it’s like to feel... out of place."
I frowned at him, wiping my cheeks. "You’re nothing like , Kiel."
He chuckled under his breath, low and humorless. "That’s where you’re wrong."
He turned toward , his golden eyes gleaming under the sunlight. "I may not have your kind of powers, Josie, but I’m an anomaly too. Always have been."
Before I could ask what he ant, he started to hum—a soft, haunting lody that brushed against the air like a secret. His voice deepened, weaving into the rhythm of the fountain’s flow. It wasn’t just sound. It was energy, raw and alive, rippling through like a forgotten heartbeat.
My breath caught. Sothing inside stirred—a pulse beneath my skin, echoing in ti with his song.
I stood without realizing it, drawn to him as if the lody itself was calling my na. "Kiel..."
He turned then, eyes dark with emotion I couldn’t na.
"It’s beautiful," I whispered. My throat felt tight. "It reminds of the first ti you sang for ."
He looked away, as if embarrassed. "As an Alpha male, I’m not supposed to sing. It’s... not exactly considered strong or respectable."
"Then why do you?"
He smiled faintly. "Because I can’t stop. So gifts refuse to be silenced, no matter how much the world tells you to bury them."
Sothing in his words struck deep. I looked down at my hands—hands that still trembled whenever I tried to use my powers. "I don’t want anything to do with mine," I said quietly. "My powers, my strange connection to everything—it’s all caused nothing but pain."
"Josie." His voice softened. "You can’t break away from it, even if you want to."
"I can try."
"You could," he said gently, "but what would be left of you if you did?"
I froze.
He crouched down in front of , eting my eyes. "You don’t have a wolf, Josie. That makes you different, yes—but it also makes what you do have even more important. Don’t throw that away."
His words lingered in the air long after he fell silent. I looked at him, and for the first ti, I didn’t see Thorne’s brother. I saw soone who truly understood what it ant to be out of place.
I turned my face away, voice barely a whisper. "Thorne doesn’t like using my powers."
Kiel sighed, straightening up. "Then forget Thorne when it cos to this. He doesn’t get to decide how you live or what you’re capable of." His tone hardened slightly. "You need to see what you can do to make yourself stand out—for you, not for him."
For a mont, I said nothing. Then, slowly, an idea began to form. It ca like a spark—tiny, dangerous, but bright enough to make my heart race.
My head snapped up. "Co with ."
Kiel blinked. "What? Where?"
"Just co."
"Josie—"
"Please," I said firmly. "Trust ."
He hesitated but nodded, and I grabbed his hand, pulling him with through the narrow path that led away from the garden. The sunlight spilled over the open field ahead, barren except for a few people scattered about—warriors and Betas discussing strategy, their voices tense and low.
I crouched behind a small ridge, gesturing for Kiel to stay down. "Drive them away," I whispered.
"What?" He frowned. "Josie, that’s not—"
"Please. Just do it. Trust , Kiel."
He searched my face, clearly torn, but sothing in my expression must have convinced him. With a reluctant sigh, he rose and walked toward the group.
A few tense words later, the warriors dispersed, so glancing curiously in my direction but saying nothing. When the last of them was gone, I stepped out from behind the ridge.
The field stretched endlessly before us—empty, raw, waiting.
"What are you doing?" Kiel asked, walking up beside .
I didn’t answer. My heart pounded as I turned to him. "Sing."
He blinked. "What?"
"I want you to sing. With everything you’ve got. A healing song."
Kiel’s brows drew together. "Josie, no. I’m not doing that."
"Yes, you are."
He folded his arms. "I’m tired. I don’t feel like performing for the wind right now. I’d rather—" he gave a teasing smirk—"cuddle you instead."
I groaned. "Kiel, this isn’t the ti."
"Exactly my point."
"Kiel, please." My voice softened, trembling with quiet urgency. "Just this once. I need you to trust ."
Sothing shifted in his gaze then—his teasing expression fading into sothing deeper, steadier. He studied for a mont, then sighed.
"Fine," he murmured. "But you owe for this."
He closed his eyes, and when he began to sing, the air seed to change again. His voice rolled across the field—rich, resonant, almost tangible. It threaded through the wind, the grass, the earth beneath our feet.
I took a deep breath, the lody vibrating through . My pulse quickened as I raised my arms, palms open to the barren stretch of land before us.
"Here goes nothing," I whispered.
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