Chapter 86

Chapter 86
Kael's Point of View

I can usually fake being fine.

I’ve had years of practice—being the future Alpha of Stonehowl meant learning to put the pack first, to steady people, to be the one others look to. To walk with my shoulders square even when my world is falling apart. People depend on me. Eyes follow me. Expectations crush me.

But today… I feel like wet sand. Like one wrong move will collapse everything I’m barely holding together.

Nothing about me feels alive this morning.

Then Olivia steps toward me with two coffees held carefully in her hands, and suddenly I can breathe again.

She offers one to me without a word, her eyes meeting mine—not searching for information or measuring how “fit to lead” I look. Just… checking on me. Seeing me. Understanding in a way no one else ever really has.

“Thanks,” I manage, and my voice comes out rough, like gravel.

We sit, and she stays close—not hovering, not prying. Just present. Familiar. Solid. The kind of presence that makes the tightness in my chest loosen a little.

Across the table, Ripley watches me. I almost expect jealousy—he and Olivia have this slow, bright thing sparking between them—but there’s none. Only empathy, and a kind of steady respect that surprises me.

I’m not used to someone like him giving me space to fall apart.

When we get up to grab breakfast, Olivia moves beside me naturally, like she’s done it since we were kids. Ripley walks to my other side, quiet but grounding. Liana, Pacey, and Ian drift behind us, their presence forming a loose perimeter.

It hits me harder than I expect—
how much safer I feel with them.

How much less it feels like I’m going to shatter.

The facts keep looping through my mind:

A coordinated strike.
Fire set at three points.
A border breach.
Four dead. Seven injured.
Houses burned. Training grounds damaged.

Every memory is an aftershock—the smoke, the panic, the heat. My father’s grim expression as he ordered survivors evacuated. The silence where laughter used to be.

And then Olivia’s voice cuts through it, soft but firm.

“You’re not doing this alone.”

Ripley backs her up instantly.
“She’s right. We’ve got your back.”

Pacey lifts his cup like it’s a vow.
“All of us.”

The words hit something raw inside me.

I stare down at the food on my plate, not really seeing any of it. My throat tightens in a way I’m not prepared for.

They mean it.
All of them.
These future alphas—my peers, my friends—are here, forming a circle around me without asking for anything in return.

All my life, I’ve been training to be a shield for others.
To be unshakable.
To be the one no one worries about.

But this morning…
I’m the one who needs their strength.

My voice almost cracks when I say, “Thanks… really.”

Olivia nudges her knee against mine—quiet reassurance in the way only she knows how to give.

Ripley gives me a solid nod.
No pity. No tiptoeing.
Just understanding.

And for the first time since last night’s attack, something eases inside me.
A flicker of safety.
A flicker of hope.

I’m still angry.
Still grieving.
Still exhausted down to my bones.

But I’m not alone.

Not today.

I leave the breakfast table with Ezra at my side, the two of us falling into step the way we always have. He doesn’t talk right away—Ezra never pushes. He’s the kind of friend who waits until you’re ready.

The hallway feels too quiet after the noise of the cafeteria. My boots echo a little on the polished floor, and each step sends a dull ache through my body. Exhaustion? Grief? Both, probably.

Ezra finally says, “You holding up?”

The question is simple. Gentle. But it cuts deep anyway.

“I’m trying,” I answer, and it’s the only honest thing I can offer.

He nods like that’s enough. Like it doesn’t scare him that I’m barely keeping it together.

We round a corner, heading toward combat theory. The walk usually feels short—today it feels like miles. Students pass us, chatting, laughing, alive. It makes something cold settle in my stomach.

They don’t know.
They don’t understand how fast everything can burn.

Ezra must feel the shift in me because he nudges my shoulder. “You’re here now. That’s what matters. And your pack—your dad—they’ll get stronger after this. Stonehowl always does.”

I let out a slow breath. Ezra means well. He always does.

“I keep replaying it,” I admit quietly. “What I could’ve done if I’d been there. Who I could’ve saved.”

Ezra stops walking. Just stops in the middle of the hall and sets a hand on my shoulder, looking at me with that steady future-Beta gaze of his.

“You would’ve fought your ass off,” he says. “But you being here means Stonehowl gets you tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. Don’t twist that into guilt.”

I look away, jaw tight. I know he’s right.
But the guilt doesn’t care.

We resume walking. The classroom door comes into view, open, students filtering in. I feel the weight of eyes on me—people know something happened. They don’t know what, but they can tell.

Ezra leans in slightly. “Ignore the looks. You tell who you want, when you want. Nobody else gets a say.”

That actually pulls a faint, tired smile out of me. “Since when did you get so wise?”

“Please,” he snorts. “I’ve always been wise. You just never listen.”

For the first time today, I huff out a soft laugh. It’s small, but real.

We step into the classroom. The air smells like chalk and worn floor mats. Familiar. Safe. More students glance our way, whispering.

Ezra moves subtly, positioning himself just a little closer to my side—protective without making it obvious.

I appreciate it more than I can say.

I take my seat and let out a slow breath, bracing myself for the day. For the questions. For the work. For holding myself together just a bit longer.

Ezra sits beside me, arms crossed, already glaring at anyone who looks like they might bother me.

And for the first time since the attack, I feel like maybe—just maybe—I can get through today.

Not because I’m strong.

But because I’m not facing it alone.