Chapter 10 Damon's Discovery
I can't come back here. My entire plan—carefully gathering supplies over weeks—is ruined. I have twelve cans of food hidden in the woods and no way to get more without being caught.
When I finally emerge from my hiding spot, my legs are so weak I nearly collapse. I lean against the shelving unit, trying to think, trying to find a solution to this disaster.
"We still have what we've already taken," Luna says, trying to be helpful. "Twelve cans. That's something."
"It's not enough. Not for both of us. Not with winter coming."
"Then we'll find another way. We'll adapt."
But how? How do I gather supplies when they're about to start watching this shed? How do I leave when I barely have enough resources to survive a week, let alone months?
I make my way back to the oak tree on shaking legs, checking and double-checking that the backpack is still safely hidden. It is. My twelve cans of food and handful of other supplies, wrapped in plastic, waiting for a journey that suddenly seems impossible.
That night, I can't eat dinner. My stomach is in knots, my mind racing through scenarios and discarding them all as useless. Elena stops by my room to check on me, but I send her away with an excuse about feeling ill. It's not entirely a lie.
I'm lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, when someone knocks on my door. Not Elena's gentle tap. Not Damon's specific rhythm.
Just three sharp raps.
"Sage?" Stella's voice, sweet as poison. "I know you're in there. We need to talk."
Every muscle in my body tenses. What could she possibly want? Why is she here, at my door, when she usually pretends I don't exist except to torment me?
"I'm not feeling well," I call out, keeping my voice steady despite my racing heart.
"This will only take a moment." Her tone shifts, becomes harder. "Open the door, Sage. Now."
I have no choice. If I refuse, she'll only make things worse later. I stand up and open the door, keeping my body angled so she can't fully enter my room.
Stella stands in the hallway, beautiful as always in a designer dress that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. But there's something different about her expression. Something calculating and cruel that makes my blood run cold.
"I've been thinking," she says, her voice casual but her eyes sharp. "About you. About how you've been avoiding pack gatherings. How you've been looking so pale and tired lately."
My hand instinctively moves to my stomach, then stops halfway. Did she notice? Does she suspect?
"I've been busy with my duties," I say carefully. "And I haven't been sleeping well."
"Hmm." She studies me like a scientist examining a specimen. "You know what I think? I think you're hiding something. And I'm going to find out what it is."
The threat hangs in the air between us.
"I'm not hiding anything," I lie, meeting her eyes even though everything in me wants to look away.
"We'll see." She smiles, and it's the most terrifying thing I've ever seen. "Sweet dreams, Sage. I'll be watching you."
She turns and walks away, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. I close my door and lock it, my hands trembling so badly I can barely turn the deadbolt.
She knows. Maybe not exactly what I'm hiding, but she knows something is different. And she's going to keep pushing until she figures it out.
I have to leave. Soon. Sooner than I planned.
But how can I leave with almost no money and barely any supplies? How can I survive out there with a baby on the way and winter approaching?
I slide down to sit with my back against the door, my hand pressed against my stomach where my baby grows. "What am I going to do?" I whisper.
Luna has no answer. For once, my fierce wolf is as lost as I am.
That night, I dream of running. Of endless forests and empty roads. Of a baby crying somewhere I can't reach. I wake up gasping, my sheets soaked with sweat, and I know with absolute certainty that I'm running out of time.
Stella is hunting me. The pack is watching the storage shed. Mason is completely oblivious to everything except his perfect mate.
And I'm trapped here with a secret that could get me killed if anyone discovers it.
I get out of bed and go to my window, looking out at the forest where my pathetic collection of supplies sits hidden beneath an oak tree. Forty-seven steps to freedom. Forty-seven steps to a future I'm not sure I can reach.
But I have to try. For my baby. For myself. For the life I dreamed of before Mason crushed it beneath his indifference.
Tomorrow, I'll find a new way to gather supplies. Tomorrow, I'll figure out how to get more money. Tomorrow, I'll make a real plan for where to go and how to survive.
Tomorrow.
But tonight, I sit in the darkness and let myself feel the fear that I've been pushing down for weeks. Let myself acknowledge how terrifying this all is. How impossible.
And then, when the fear has run its course, I straighten my shoulders and make myself a promise.
I will survive this. My baby will survive this. Whatever it takes, however impossible it seems, I will find a way.
Because the alternative—staying here, being slowly destroyed by Stella's cruelty and Mason's indifference—is no longer an option.
I am going to leave the White Moon Pack.
The only question is how soon.
The camera goes up the next morning.
I watch from the kitchen window as Beta James installs it himself, mounting the small device just above the storage shed door. It's discreet, almost invisible unless you know to look for it, and it has a perfect view of anyone entering or leaving.
My last avenue for supplies, gone.
"Sage, these dishes won't wash themselves," Mrs. Chen calls from behind me, snapping me back to reality.
I turn away from the window and plunge my hands into the soapy water, scrubbing at plates with more force than necessary. My mind is racing, calculating, trying to find a solution to an impossible problem. I have maybe three weeks' worth of food hidden in the woods—four if I stretch it dangerously thin. Not nearly enough to sustain a pregnant wolf through winter.
I need another plan. Another source of supplies. But where?
The morning drags on. I'm moving through my tasks mechanically, my body present but my mind a thousand miles away, when I notice Mrs. Chen watching me again. She's been doing that more frequently—studying me with those sharp, knowing eyes that see far too much.
"You look like you're carrying the weight of the world," she says quietly, moving to stand beside me at the sink.
"Just tired," I murmur, the lie automatic now.
"Tired. Right." She hands me another pot to scrub. "And I suppose that's why you've been taking all those 'walks' after your shifts? To rest?"
My hands freeze in the water. Does she know? How much does she know?
"I like the fresh air," I say carefully.
Mrs. Chen makes a noncommittal sound. For a moment, we work in silence. Then, so quietly I almost miss it, she says, "The north storage room—the one we use for dry goods—doesn't have a camera. Just so you know."
I look at her sharply, but she's already moving away, calling out instructions to Sarah about tonight's dinner preparations. But the message was clear. She knows what I'm doing. And instead of reporting me, she's helping.
The realization brings tears to my eyes that I have to blink away quickly. Someone knows. Someone cares. Even if it's just enough to point me toward unsupervised supplies.
After my shift ends, I don't go straight to the oak tree like I have been. Instead, I take a longer route through the pack grounds, making sure I'm seen. Waving to a few pack members. Stopping to pet one of the younger wolves' dogs. Acting normal. Acting like I have nothing to hide.
But my mind is cataloging the north storage room. Planning my next move. Calculating how much I can take without triggering another inventory check.
I'm so lost in thought that I don't notice Damon until I nearly walk into him.
"Whoa, easy there," he says, catching my shoulders to steady me. His hands are warm, gentle, nothing like the rough way Stella grabs me. "You okay, Sage? You seem distracted."
"Fine. Sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going." I step back from his grip, from the concern in his dark eyes that's so similar to Mason's but somehow completely different.
"You sure?" He's studying my face now, and I can see him noting the dark circles under my eyes, the way my cheekbones are more prominent than they used to be. "You look like you haven't been sleeping."
"I'm fine, Damon. Really." I force a smile. "Just have a lot on my mind."
He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push. That's always been the difference between the Grey brothers—Mason demands answers, assumes he has the right to know everything. Damon asks once and respects your boundaries if you don't want to share.
"Well, if you ever need to talk..." He trails off, looking almost embarrassed. "I know things have been difficult for you since Stella arrived. If you need a friend, I'm here."
The kindness in his voice almost breaks me. Almost makes me confess everything right here on the path. But I can't. Damon is loyal to his brother above all else. If I tell him about the baby, about my plans to leave, he'll tell Mason. He'll have to.
"Thanks," I say instead. "I appreciate that."
He nods and continues past me, heading toward the training grounds. I watch him go, feeling the loss of what could have been a friendship if circumstances were different.
That night, I lie awake until well past midnight. The castle grows quiet around me, the usual sounds of pack life fading as everyone settles into sleep. When I'm certain the halls are empty, I slip out of my room and make my way downstairs.
The north storage room is in the basement, down a narrow hallway that's rarely used at night. My heart pounds as I descend the stairs, every shadow making me jump. If someone catches me down here, I'll have no good excuse. No believable lie.
But I'm desperate. And desperation makes you brave.
The storage room door is unlocked, just as I hoped. I slip inside and close it behind me, letting my wolf eyes adjust to the darkness. Shelves upon shelves of dry goods—rice, pasta, flour, sugar. All in large bulk containers that would be impossible to hide in my backpack.
But there, in the corner, I spot what I need. Individual packets of instant oatmeal. Granola bars. Trail mix in single-serving bags. Foods designed for quick meals, for traveling, for exactly what I need them for.
I stuff my pockets carefully, taking only a few items from each box so the loss won't be immediately obvious. Ten packets of oatmeal. Eight granola bars. Six bags of trail mix. It's not much, but combined with what I already have hidden, it might be enough to get me through the first few weeks after I leave.
I'm reaching for one more granola bar when I hear it—footsteps in the hallway outside.
Panic floods through me. There's nowhere to hide in here, no excuse that would explain why I'm in the storage room in the middle of the night with my pockets stuffed full of stolen food.
The footsteps stop right outside the door.
I hold my breath, pressing myself against the wall, praying to any god that might listen that whoever is out there keeps walking. Please, please, please—
The door opens.