Chapter 86 SCAR
Adam's POV
She didn’t start right away. She kept picking the herbs, fingers careful, almost reverent, like the leaves could bruise if she handled them wrong. I stood there watching her, feeling stupid for asking her to talk and now not knowing how to listen.
“So,” I said, because silence makes my head loud. “Archie. What was he like?”
For a moment, I thought she wouldn’t answer, I thought maybe she's changed her mind or suddenly got too emotional. I almost felt terrible for asking a mother to talk about her lost child. But she smiled.
“He was gentle,” she said. “People assume strong children are loud ones. Archie wasn’t. He listened more than he spoke. He was only chatty around me.”
I swallowed. That means nothing. Lots of kids are like that.
“He hated sudden noises,” she continued. “Thunder especially. During storms, he used to crawl into my lap and press his ears against my chest. He said my heartbeat was louder than the thunder.”
My chest felt tight for no reason. I crossed my arms.
I don’t like thunder. But lots of people don’t like thunder too.
“He loved sweet things,” Sara went on. “Honey cakes. Too much. I had to hide them or he’d make himself sick.”
I almost laughed. “Okay, that one’s not special. I’d eat cake for every meal if Kael let me.”
She smiled at that, like she expected it.
“He chewed the inside of his lip when he was nervous,” she said. “Always the left side. I scolded him for it because it bled sometimes.”
My tongue pressed against my teeth, suddenly aware of where I always bit when I overthought. I stopped myself, annoyed. Stop. You’re projecting.
“He collected buttons,” she added. “Broken ones, mismatched ones. He said they were lonely.”
“That’s… weird,” I said before I could stop myself.
Sara laughed softly. “Yes. He was.”
I shifted my weight, feeling the ground under my feet, needing something solid. “You’re telling me normal kid stuff. Habits. Everyone has habits.”
“I know,” she said gently. “I’m not trying to convince you. I’m just telling you about my son.”
There it was again. My son.
“And he had a lullaby,” she continued. “He couldn’t sleep without it. Even when he pretended he was too old.”
She cleared her throat and hummed, quiet at first. The tune slid into the air, simple and soft. Three notes repeating, then dropping low at the end.
My breath hitched… I knew that tune.
Not like memory-memory, not like a picture or a scene. More like when you hear a song you haven’t heard since childhood and your body reacts before your mind does. My fingers twitched. My shoulders relaxed without me telling them to.
I frowned. “That’s… just a lullaby. Lots of people use similar ones.”
“Yes,” she agreed, then she crouched then, setting the basket down. She was closer now, looking up at me.
“There’s one more thing,” she said. “May I?”
I hesitated. “What?”
“Turn around.”
“Why?”
She didn’t push. “Archie had a scar. On his lower back.”
My heart kicked hard.
I laughed. “I don’t have a scar.”
She tilted her head. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said quickly. “I think I’d know.”
“You can’t see your lower back easily,” she said, not accusing. Just stating.
“Yes, but I own my body, I would’ve noticed.”
“Would you?” she asked. “Or would you have assumed it was nothing?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. I don’t like this. I really don’t like this.
“How did he get the scar?” I asked, changing direction, because that’s what I do when I feel cornered.
“His father,” she said.
Something in her voice made my skin prickle.
“He wanted to mark him,” she continued. “He cut lines into his skin, again and again, to apply tattoo powder. But the cuts kept sealing before he could apply the powder so it ended up a scar instead of a tattoo.”
I stared at her.
“That’s impossible,” I said.
“Yes,” she agreed. “That’s when we knew Archie wasn’t like other children.”
I shook my head. “No. No, see, this is where it gets… too much. Healing like that? That’s not— so it's like magic?”
“I didn’t say magic,” she said. “I said different.”
My lower back itched suddenly, with some sort of awareness. Like when someone mentions a mosquito and you suddenly feel one.
“I don’t even know if I have a scar,” I muttered. I probably don’t. This is stupid.
Sara studied my face. “You used to touch it a lot.”
My hand twitched toward my back before I could stop it. I froze, absent minded for a few seconds…
“You still don’t remember?” She asked softly. “Not even a little bit? Not how excited you were for your coming of age? How you hovered around me and talked endlessly about how you wanted to present as an Alpha so you could protect mama?”
My chest hurt.
“I wanted to be… what?” I asked.
“An Alpha,” she said. “Strong. Respected. You said Omegas were precious but needed shielding. You wanted to be my shield.”
I laughed weakly. “That’s… ironic.”
Her brows knit. “Why?”
“Because I don’t feel strong,” I said. “I feel… I don't know, like how an old car would probably feel— breaking down every now and then.”
She reached out, then stopped herself. “If I always had a wolf,” I said quickly, needing control again, “how come I never felt it? Not even a hint. Nothing.”
“They suppressed it,” she said. “But it was never absent.”
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. My thoughts tangled. Suppressed. Jeez, I've been hearing that word too much lately and I still don't know the exact meaning. I don't know what it means here.
I didn’t know what to think. So I did what I thought was best.
I changed the topic.
“What do you like doing?” I asked. “Like… hobbies or something.”
She blinked, surprised, then smiled. “Aside from picking herbs for medicine and tea, I love knitting.”
“Knitting,” I repeated.
“Yes. Sweaters, gloves, blanket, scarf... I used to knit them for you.”
I nodded. “Okay. I’ll ask Kael to get knitting materials for you. You shouldn’t be bored.”
“There’s not a lot needed,” she said. “If you wouldn’t mind accompanying me, we can go shopping for fine wool together.”
“Wool,” I echoed. Thread? Yarn? I should probably know this.
“I don’t mind,” I said. “We can go tomorrow. Or later today. But I’ll let Kael know first. He gets worried. He’d think the worst if I went out without telling him.”
She chuckled. “Typical Alpha. So possessive.”
“He’s protective,” I corrected. “Not possessive.”
She raised a brow. “I hope he treats you well.”
“Absolutely,” I said without hesitation. “He loves me to a fault.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “That’s relieving to hear. I was afraid he forced that mark on you.”
My stomach twisted. “Kael would never, he's not the kind to force anything. He made sure I understood what it meant before even accepting my consent.”
She smiled. “He’s as kind-hearted as they say.”
“He is,” I said.
“Adam.”
Kael’s voice cut through the garden.
I turned too fast, and he world tilted.
For a few seconds, everything warped. Colors smeared. My ears rang. I breathed through it, smiling like nothing was wrong.
“I’m here,” I called back.
I stood up, then swayed. I forced myself to be steady. Don’t. Don’t make a scene.
“See you later,” I said to Sara.
She watched me closely. “Be careful.”
I linked my arm through Kael’s as he reached me.
“Why didn’t you ask for a chair?” he asked immediately. “You shouldn’t be squatting.”
“Don’t scold me.”
“I’m not scolding you.”
Then, without warning, he lifted me.
“Kael!” I protested, grabbing his shoulder.
“You’re lightheaded,” he said. “I felt it.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
He carried me all the way back, ignoring my weak complaints, until we reached our bedroom. He set me down gently on the bed.
“How was the talk?” he asked, brushing my hair back.
I hesitated. Then I told him. About Archie. The habits. The lullaby. The scar.
“…Can you check?” I asked quietly. “My lower back.”
His jaw tightened. He nodded, helping me turn.
His fingers traced my skin.
There was a pause.
“Adam,” he said softly. “There’s a scar.”
My breath left me in a rush.
“Oh,” I said.
Oh.
My thoughts spiraled, fast and messy. I need to think. I need to not think. I need to ask him how bad it looks. I need to ask why I never noticed. I need—
Kael’s hand rested warm against my back.
“I’m here,” he said.
I nodded, staring at the wall, my mind louder than ever.
Archie.