Chapter 86 AN ECLIPSE ATTEMPT
Asher's Pov
I had been watching the guards for weeks now and I knew their patterns. Every day at the same times they would walk past my door. Sometimes they would check on me through the window. Other times they would just walk by without looking.
But today was different. The big ceremony had transformed the entire compound into a blur of sound and movement. I could hear the murmur of voices, the clatter of footsteps, the low hum of anticipation drifting in from outside. Everyone was distracted, eyes glued to the stage, watching the mean lady receive her blessing from the Elders, applauding politely, hanging on every word. No one was paying attention to the smaller details, the quiet manipulations, the subtle glances exchanged behind veils of ceremony. The chaos of celebration gave cover to things unseen, secrets whispered, and plans set into motion, all unnoticed beneath the surface of reverence and clinking silverware.
Nurse Sarah had come to check on me earlier and told me I had to stay in my room. She said it was for my own good because I was too weak to be around all those people. Then she left and locked my door like she always did.
Except this time I heard the lock click but when I tried the handle later it turned. She forgot to lock it properly or maybe she was in such a hurry to get to the ceremony that she did not check.
I stood by my door and listened, barely daring to breathe. Usually, the hallway was alive with the low murmur of guards talking, boots shifting, the comfort of familiar noise. Today there was nothing. No voices. No footsteps. Just a heavy, unnatural silence pressing against the walls. Really quiet. The kind of quiet that made my skin prickle. I waited far longer than felt necessary, counting heartbeats, listening for any sign of movement, until I was certain—absolutely certain—that no one was out there watching, waiting, or listening for me.
Then I heard footsteps going away from my room. The guards were leaving their posts. Iris the kitchen maid had told me this might happen, she said everyone would want to watch the ceremony and the guards might abandon their posts to go see it.
This was my chance. Maybe my only chance to find the blanket lady.
I grabbed the handkerchief she sent me and held it tight in my hand. The smell was fading now after so many days but I could still detect it if I pressed it close to my face. That sweet smell made me feel safe and loved.
I opened my door slowly, just a crack, and peeked out into the hallway. Nobody was there. The long corridor stretched empty and silent, its polished floors gleaming under the pale lights. I had never seen it like this before. Usually, nurses hurried past, guards patrolled in steady rhythm, doctors moved briskly between rooms. But today—today there was nothing. No footsteps, no murmured conversations, no distant clatter of trays or carts. The emptiness felt unnatural, heavy, almost deliberate, as if the entire wing had been cleared for a reason I didn’t yet understand. My pulse quickened, a shiver running down my spine, and I knew I had to be careful.
I stepped out of my room and my legs felt shaky. I was wearing my pajamas and slippers and I probably looked silly but I did not care. I just needed to get outside and find the blanket lady.
I had learned all about the guard rotations by watching through my window and listening to conversations. The guards changed shifts every four hours. They would patrol the medical wing hallways in pairs, but during big pack events like ceremonies, they sometimes left their posts because they wanted to watch what was happening.
I walked slowly down the hallway holding onto the wall for support. My body felt weak like it always did but I was determined to keep going. I had to find her. I had to know if the blanket lady was real.
I made it to the end of the hallway and looked around the corner. Still nobody. I could hear music and voices coming from outside but inside the pack house, it was like a ghost town.
I kept walking and found the stairs that would take me down to the main floor. I stood at the top and looked down. There were a lot of steps. More than I usually walked in a whole day.
But I had to try. I grabbed onto the railing with one hand and kept the handkerchief clutched in my other hand. Then I started going down one step at a time.
My legs were shaking uncontrollably now, threatening to give out entirely, and I had to pause halfway down the corridor. I sank onto one of the cold, hard steps, my fingers gripping the edge as if it could anchor me. Pulling a handkerchief from my pocket, I pressed it to my face, inhaling deeply. The familiar scent—soft, calming, infused with something that felt like safety—grounded me, slowing my racing heart. Each breath gave me a tiny spark of strength, a fleeting surge of energy that reminded me I could keep going. Slowly, painfully, I forced myself upright again, bracing against the tremor in my legs and the fear clawing at my chest, determined not to falter.
I thought about what the blanket lady looked like. I only saw her that one time five years ago but I remembered her eyes. They were kind and sad at the same time. And I remembered how she smelled. That was the smell on this handkerchief.
Iris said the blanket lady was here for the ceremony. She said the blanket lady wanted to see me and that she was fighting to get me back. I did not really understand what fighting to get me back meant but it sounded like she cared about me.
Nobody else seemed to care about me. The mean lady whom everyone called my mother did not care. She only came to see me when other people were watching. Father came sometimes but he always looked sad and uncomfortable, as if he did not want to be there.
The doctors and nurses were kind enough, their voices gentle, their hands efficient, but it was all procedural. They were doing their jobs, following protocols, ticking boxes on charts. They didn’t really see me as a person with fears, memories, and grief lodged deep in my chest. To them, I was a patient, a responsibility, a fragile body to be monitored and maintained. Their concern ended at my vitals, my symptoms, my survival. They cared about keeping me alive—but not about who I was, what I had lost, or how hollow that survival sometimes felt without anyone truly seeing me.
But the blanket lady cared. I could feel it. Even though I barely remembered her I knew she cared about me in a way nobody else did.
I stood up and kept going down the stairs. My legs hurt and my chest felt tight but I did not stop. I made it to the bottom and had to lean against the wall to catch my breath.
I was breathing hard and felt dizzy but I was on the main floor now. I could see the fancy hallways with the paintings and nice furniture. This was where all the important wolves lived and had their meetings.
I was not supposed to be down here at all. I was meant to stay confined to the medical wing, under constant supervision, where it was deemed safe and appropriate for me. Leaving without permission was a clear violation. If anyone saw me wandering these halls, there would be consequences—serious ones. Questions I couldn’t answer. Punishments I didn’t want to imagine. My heart pounded harder with every step, fear coiling tight in my stomach, but turning back felt impossible now. I had already crossed the line, and whatever waited ahead felt more dangerous than the trouble behind me.
But I did not care about getting in trouble. I just wanted to find the blanket lady.
I followed the hallway and looked for a door that led outside. I could hear the ceremony sounds getting louder which meant I was going in the right direction.
Then I saw it. A door at the end of the hallway that had windows showing the outside. I walked toward it and my heart was beating so fast I thought it might explode.
I pushed the door open and stepped outside for the first time in months. Maybe years. I could not remember the last time I had been outside.