Shower - Elara

Shower - Elara
I didn’t rush on the way back.

Running had been necessary when fear drove my legs and instinct screamed at me to put distance between the dagger and the man I loved. But now, moving too fast would draw attention. Speed made noise. Noise made questions. And questions—right now—were dangerous.

So I walked.

Slow, measured steps through the forest, keeping the lard slicked across my skin and hair despite how much I hated the feel of it. Every movement made my clothes cling wrong, the grease catching on fabric and bark alike, but I didn’t wipe it away. Not yet. My scent had to stay buried. I couldn’t risk leaving even a whisper of myself behind.

The woods were darker on this side, the canopy thicker, the moonlight fractured into pale shards that barely touched the ground. I breathed shallow and steady, counting my steps, listening for the subtle signs of movement that didn’t belong to wind or night animals.

Crossing back toward the pack boundaries made my pulse spike.

Relying on memory, on landmarks I’d learned over years of walking these woods—twisted roots, a scarred boulder, the creek that curved like a bent wrist.

Voices floated ahead of me.

Guards.

I dropped instantly, sinking behind a low, bramble-heavy bush and curling in on myself. Knees to chest. Arms tucked tight. I forced my breathing to slow until it barely stirred my ribs.

At night, color was a lie.

Shapes mattered. Outlines. Contrast.

So I became a rock.

My silhouette didn’t shift, didn’t betray the soft curve of a body or the sharp line of a face. Just another dark mass among darker shadows. The grease helped—light slid off me instead of catching, making me dull and unremarkable.

The guards passed close enough that I heard leather creak and metal shift.

“…thought I heard something.”

“Probably nothing. Wind’s weird tonight.”

Their footsteps faded, and I stayed still long after logic said I could move. When I finally uncurled, my muscles screamed in protest, but I welcomed the pain. It reminded me I was still in control of my body. Still choosing.

I didn’t go straight back.

Instead, I angled wide—looping far around the pack’s edge, circling until the trees changed and the slope shifted beneath my feet. Anyone watching the tree line would assume I’d come from this direction. That I’d simply been on an early walk, or checking patrol routes, or unable to sleep.

Not hiding a weapon that could destroy us all.

The night thinned as I walked.

The sky lightened from black to deep blue, then to that fragile gray that came just before dawn. When the sun finally peeked over the mountains, painting the clouds in pale gold, my legs felt like they might finally give out.

I’d been gone all night.

That thought hit me harder than exhaustion. Questions would come. Looks. Whispers.

I could handle that.

I couldn’t handle smelling like fear and secrets.

I slipped into the medical wing through a side entrance, keeping my head down. The halls were quiet, but not empty. A nurse glanced up as I passed, her nose wrinkling just slightly before she smoothed her expression away.

Another gave me a look—curious, wary—but didn’t stop me.

No questions asked.

Pack rule.

I headed straight for the showers reserved for field injuries and heavy cleanup. Medical grade. Industrial strength. The kind designed to strip blood, chemicals, and magic residue alike.

I turned the water on as hot as it would go.

When I stepped under the spray, the heat stole my breath, biting into my skin hard enough to make my eyes sting. I welcomed it. Let it burn. Let it pull everything out of me.

Grease slid down the drain in thick rivulets, clinging stubbornly to my skin and hair. I scrubbed until my arms ached, until my fingers were raw and my scalp burned. Soap. Rinse. Soap again. Over and over, until the slick feeling finally faded and I smelled like nothing at all.

Just clean.

Just me.

I leaned my forehead against the tile, water pounding down my spine, and let myself think.

Austin’s laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.

The way his words had twisted in his mouth, foreign and cruel.

The moment of pain—real pain—before something else had smoothed it away like it had never been there at all.

This hadn’t happened overnight.

No. It had been creeping in for at least a week. Maybe longer. Small changes I’d brushed off because love made me generous with excuses. Stress. Leadership. The aftermath of battle.

Inheritance.

The word echoed in my mind.

Whatever had taken root in him wasn’t just whispering. It was remembering. Following a path laid down before.

The water cooled as the heater struggled to keep up, and I finally shut it off, wrapping myself in a towel. My skin was pink and tender, but clean. Free of scent. Free of grease.

For now.

I dressed quickly in borrowed scrubs and stepped back into the hallway. The pack was waking up around me—voices rising, doors opening, the steady rhythm of a community resetting itself after chaos.

I needed to check on them.

I needed to make sure everything was stable. That the nurses were okay. That the warriors were steady. That nothing else felt…off.

And then—

Then I would go back to the book.

Back to Lima. Back to the truth hidden in the margins and between the lines.

I would read until I understood every spell, every warning, every sacrifice she’d made.

Because whatever was happening to Austin wasn’t new.

And I refused to let history finish what it had started.

I squared my shoulders and stepped forward.

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.