CHAPTER 108: CHAPTER 108

Chapter 108

Astrid’s POV

The next few days fell into a strange, muted rhythm. My life became a carefully balanced act, split between two worlds. In one world, I was the Luna. I would spend my mornings in my office with Lila, reviewing patrol reports, approving budgets for the upcoming harvest festival, and mediating the wonderfully mundane problems of a happy pack. A dispute over the placement of a new garden plot was the most dramatic event of the week, and it ended with both parties sharing a pot of tea. In this world, I felt capable, useful, and surprisingly serene.

The serenity was a lie, of course. It was a chemical peace, bought and paid for by the single, dark drop of tonic I took with my breakfast every morning. The potion worked exactly as Elara had promised. It built a cool, quiet wall in my mind. The whispers were gone, the constant feeling of being pulled into darkness had vanished, and the nightmares had ceased. But in their place was a subtle numbness, a feeling of being disconnected from my own emotions. It was a necessary shield, but a heavy one.

My other world was Rebecca’s bedroom. As soon as my Luna duties were done for the day, I would walk over to her and Alex’s house to relieve a hovering Shadow or a worried Yvonne. I would spend the afternoons and evenings with her, becoming her official keeper of the remote control, fetcher of snacks, and audience for her complaints about her overprotective husband.

It was in this second world that I felt the most real. The quiet numbness from the tonic would recede slightly in the face of Rebecca’s sharp wit and unwavering spirit.

On the third day of her confinement, I walked into her room to find her sitting on the edge of the bed, a look of fierce determination on her face.

"That’s it," she announced, pointing a finger at the door. "I can’t stand this room for another second. It’s starting to smell like Alex’s anxiety. We are going downstairs to the sitting room. I want to watch a movie on a screen bigger than my laptop."

"Are you sure?" I asked, hesitating. "Alex will have a fit if he comes back and finds you’ve moved."

"Alex can have his fit in the hallway," she declared, already trying to swing her legs over the side of the bed. "The doctor said I need bed rest, not that I’m fused to this mattress. Besides, he also said some light exercise is fine. A trip down the stairs is light exercise. It’s for the baby."

I couldn’t help but smile. "You’re using the baby as an excuse to watch a movie?"

"The baby wants to watch a movie," she said with a completely straight face. "Who am I to deny my unborn child its first cinematic experience? Now help me up before I decide to roll down the stairs."

I laughed and moved to help her, but just as she got her feet planted on the floor, a familiar figure appeared in the doorway. It was Alex, his arms crossed, a dark scowl on his face. He had clearly just arrived home.

"And just where do you think you’re going?" he asked, his voice a low grumble that echoed with authority.

Rebecca didn’t even flinch. She placed her hands on her hips, a mirror image of his stance. "I am going to the sitting room. I am going to recline on a comfortable sofa, and I am going to watch a movie. Do you have an objection, husband?"

The use of his title was pure provocation, and I saw a muscle twitch in Alex’s jaw.

"Yes, I have an objection," he said, stepping into the room. "The doctor said bed rest. That means rest. In a bed. This bed." He pointed at the mattress as if it were a legally binding contract.

"He also said light movement is good to prevent clots," Rebecca shot back. "Are you a doctor now, Alex? Did you get a medical degree while you were at the office today?"

"I don’t need a medical degree to know that my very pregnant, high-risk wife, who was just in the hospital for severe pains, should not be wandering around the house!" His voice rose, the worry finally cracking through his stern exterior.

"I am not wandering! I am relocating with purpose!" she argued. "I am going insane in this room! I’ve counted the wood knots on the ceiling seventeen times. There are one hundred and forty-two of them, in case you were wondering."

They stood there, locked in a stalemate, a force of stubborn nature meeting an immovable object of worry. It was so different from the fearful silence that had defined my relationship with Leon. This argument wasn’t about control or power; it was about love. A fierce, messy, and loud kind of love.

Finally, Alex’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He let out a long, weary sigh and ran a hand through his hair. "Fine," he conceded. "Fine. You can go to the sitting room. But I am carrying you."

"You will not!"

"I will!"

"Alex, I can walk!"

"This is non-negotiable, Rebecca!"

Before she could argue further, he scooped her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing. Rebecca let out a surprised yelp, followed by a grumble, but she wrapped her arms around his neck, a small, secret smile playing on her lips.

He carried her out of the room and down the stairs with exaggerated care. I followed behind, trying my best to suppress my laughter. He deposited her on the large, plush sofa in the sitting room and then proceeded to fuss over her for the next ten minutes, arranging pillows, tucking a blanket around her, and placing a glass of water on the table beside her, just within reach.

Once he was satisfied that she was comfortable and secure, he straightened up and turned to me. The scowl was gone, replaced by a look of immense gratitude.

"Thank you for staying with her," he said quietly. "I know she’s a handful."

"Hey! I can hear you!" Rebecca called from the couch.

Alex ignored her, his eyes still on me. "Just... watch over my stubborn wife for me, please."

"I will," I promised, giving him a small smile.

He nodded, gave Rebecca one last loving, exasperated look, and then left for his study to finish his work. As soon as he was gone, Rebecca turned to me, a triumphant grin on her face, and stuck her tongue out at the empty doorway.

We spent the rest of the afternoon lost in the delightfully gloomy world of Wednesday. We shared a bowl of popcorn and commented on the plot, and for a few hours, I almost forgot about the invisible chains that bound me.

During a quiet moment in the show, Rebecca turned to me, her expression thoughtful. "You know, I never asked. How are you doing with all this?"

"With what?" I asked, confused.

"This," she said, gesturing around the room, the house, the pack grounds. "Being here. When you first arrived, you were like a bird with a broken wing. You just wanted a safe cage to heal in. But you’ve been here for months now. You’re the Luna. Does the cage ever start to feel... small?"

Her question was so perceptive it stole my breath for a moment. She had no idea how right she was. She thought she was asking about a psychological cage, not a literal, magical one.

I thought about how to answer, wanting to be honest without revealing the truth I couldn’t yet share. "This doesn’t feel like a cage to me," I admitted, my voice soft.

"But you never leave." She pointed out.

"I do. And ti be honest, I thought being free from Leon would make me want to spread my wings, explore and everything like I was when I was younger," I paused, looking out the large window at the familiar trees of the compound. "But now, I feel good here. I don’t want to leave and when I do, I just can’t wait to come back. I’m glad at least that I get the option of being able to leave whenever I want compared to before."

Rebecca nodded slowly, her eyes full of understanding. "I get that. I feel it now, being stuck on this couch. Freedom really isn’t just about being safe from the bad things, it’s also about being able to run towards the good things, too." She gave me a gentle nudge. "Don’t worry. One day, you and I will take a road trip just because we have that option to do so. We’ll go somewhere with no Alphas and no pack duties. We’ll just be."

The thought was so lovely it made my heart ache. "I’d like that," I said.

Just then, the front door opened, and Yvonne walked in, carrying a bag that smelled deliciously of fresh pastries.

"I come bearing gifts and gossip," she announced, her dry wit, a welcome interruption. She surveyed the scene, Rebecca buried in pillows, me sitting beside her, the TV flashing. "Let me guess. The warden finally allowed the prisoner a brief excursion to the common area?"

Rebecca threw a popcorn kernel at her. "I am not a prisoner! I am a delicate flower resting."

"Right," Yvonne said, placing the bag on the coffee table. "A delicate, very loud flower. What are we watching?"

"Wednesday," I told her.

"Excellent choice," she said, settling into an armchair. "A story about a girl who is smarter than everyone else and enjoys making them uncomfortable. I can relate."

We all laughed, and the afternoon dissolved into the easy comfort of friendship. Surrounded by these strong, funny, and fiercely loyal women, the numbness in my chest thawed, and the cold, quiet walls in my mind didn’t feel quite so lonely. It was a fragile peace, but for now, it was enough.