Busy - Austin

Busy - Austin
The night blurred into a long haze of clinking glasses, roaring laughter, and that heavy, bone-deep exhaustion that only came after surviving another battle. I stayed up with the warriors, drinking long past midnight as stories flowed freely around the fire pit outside the packhouse. It felt good—normal even—to sit shoulder to shoulder with my men, listening to Leo blast Marcus about tripping over a training dummy earlier that day, or to hear the new recruits brag about who had taken down the strongest rogue.

It was the first normal moment we had had in weeks.
I clung to it.

By the time the sky started to lighten with early dawn, my head buzzed and my limbs felt like warm sand. I clapped a few warriors on the back, promised training would resume “after a necessary recovery nap,” and stumbled inside.

The packhouse was quiet now—eerily so after the celebration. I padded up the stairs, the door to our room cracked open. Inside, Elara lay curled under the blanket, her hair fanned out across the pillow like spilled ink. My chest tightened at the sight. She looked peaceful again, soft in a way she rarely allowed herself when she was awake.

Moving carefully, I walked around to her side, sinking onto the mattress as silently as possible. She stirred at the shift of weight but didn’t open her eyes. A soft breath escaped her lips, and something warm tugged at my chest.

I reached forward, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Her skin glowed softly in the morning light.

Without thinking, I leaned down and kissed her forehead.

Elara shifted but didn’t wake. She simply settled deeper into sleep.

A tired smile tugged at my lips.
Then I let myself drop onto my side of the bed—still fully clothed—and sleep swallowed me whole.

When I finally woke again, the sun was higher, bright enough to fill the room. The smell of food drifted faintly through the halls, mixing with the distant sounds of people working. I scrubbed a hand down my face, pushing myself upright, feeling the dull echo of last night’s drinks behind my eyes.

Downstairs, the packhouse was bustling. Nurses were packing supplies back into the medical wing. Warriors passed by with crates, their movements quicker and more energized than I expected after such a long day. Through the window, I could see a line of warriors cleaning weapons and checking armor.

Everything looked… good. Organized.
Elara must’ve gotten everyone moving.

I turned toward the kitchen, drawn automatically to the warm, rich smell of soup. As I stepped inside the doorway, I saw her.

She was standing with Helen, sleeves rolled up, stirring something in the large metal pot. She was laughing quietly at something Helen said, her eyes soft, her shoulders relaxed in a way they rarely were during chaos.

I stepped toward her—instinctively—ready to wrap an arm around her waist or at least brush my fingers against her lower back like I always did.

But my feet didn’t move that direction.

My feet… turned.

And I found myself walking straight out the front door of the packhouse.

I blinked in confusion when the cold air hit me.
What the hell?

I looked back over my shoulder at the house, at the open kitchen door, at Elara inside. I should’ve turned around. My body should’ve taken me back to her. But something in me—something I couldn’t place—kept my legs moving forward.

Maybe I just needed a minute. To clear my head.
Maybe I didn’t want to interrupt her while she worked.

At least that’s what I told myself.

At the training grounds, Leo was already organizing patrols and scribbling notes on a clipboard. He looked up as I approached.

“Alpha,” he nodded. “Morning. Or… afternoon?”

“Barely morning,” I muttered. “How’s the border?”

Leo went over the patrol rotations, the secure perimeter, the message they’d sent out to alert neighboring packs. Everything was under control—tight, organized, exactly the way I expected from him.

Marcus joined us halfway through, waving a notebook in the air.

“Austin,” he said breathlessly, “we heard back from George and Yong and their packs. They want to meet. Run battlefield strategy, figure out what this dark-magic-infected idiot was connected to.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “Good. Schedule it for next week. Here at our pack again. We’ll walk the grounds with them.”

Marcus nodded and jotted it down quickly.

A bell rang in the distance—the lunch bell—and warriors began drifting toward the packhouse in groups. Laughing. Talking. Hungry after the long morning.

As we approached the front door, I saw her standing there.

Just like she had yesterday.

Elara.
Waiting for me.

She smiled when she caught sight of me—soft, hopeful.

And I…
I didn’t smile back.

I watched myself walk right past her, turning toward a warrior who’d asked a question about patrol shifts. My voice slipped easily into conversation, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But something in her face—something dim, dulled—seared into my mind.

Hurt.

Quickly masked, but definitely there.

My feet kept moving even though every part of me felt like it should’ve stopped.

What the hell is happening to me?

Why didn’t I say anything?
Why didn’t I smile back?
Why didn’t I… feel the instinct to?

The warrior kept talking. I nodded, even answered—but part of my mind was fixed on that moment.

On Elara.
On the way her expression had shuttered.

Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.

And the worst part?

I didn’t know if the problem was outside me…
or inside my own damn head.