Epilogue
Aksel
Fourth Grade
I walk into the classroom and hand the note to the teacher.
Ms. Stensil is really big, like she takes up more space than other teachers.
Her long gray hair hangs straight down her back, and she doesn’t smile at all.
She looks at me for a second like she’s trying to decide something, then grabs the note and reads it.
“No assigned seats. Sit wherever,” she says. Her voice sounds scratchy, like gravel crunching under shoes.
I look around the room. There aren’t many kids here yet, but the ones that are sit right up front.
They look like the kind of kids who always raise their hands and do their homework early.
I don’t want to sit there. I look at the window instead.
Outside is a huge courtyard with trees and grass and sunshine.
I like the sun. I decide to sit by the window so I can look out if I get bored.
I get bored a lot.
My parents say my brain goes too fast. They’ve tried to slow it down with games and puzzles and even medicine once, but the medicine made everything feel fuzzy and wrong, like I wasn’t really there. They stopped it pretty quickly. I think they’d rather have me distracted than gone.
The warning bell rings, and suddenly the room fills up with noise and kids and backpacks. That’s when I see him.
There’s a boy who doesn’t look like anyone else.
He has brown skin and black hair and a face I can’t stop looking at.
His nose is kind of big, but not in a bad way.
In a good way. It fits his face. He looks beautiful, like a picture in a book.
My fingers start to feel tingly, like they want to hold a pencil and draw him right now before I forget.
I don’t know how long I’m staring, but suddenly he’s right in front of me.
“You’re in my spot,” he says. His voice sounds mad. “The teacher said we can sit anywhere,” I say, because that’s what she said.
“It’s still my spot,” he argues. “I sit here every day.
You can’t just take it.”
I don’t know what to do. The bell rings again, loud and sharp, and Ms. Stensil shuts the door.
“Mr. Aka,” she snaps, “sit down. Now.”
“But he took my seat,” the boy says, and he stomps his foot a little. It’s kind of cute, even though he’s mad.
“Do you want to go to the principal’s office?” she asks.
He freezes. His face goes pale, and he shakes his head really fast before hurrying to a desk in the back. I watch him sit down with his shoulders hunched. I don’t think he’s bad. I think he’s scared.
The rest of the day happens, but I don’t remember much of it. My brain keeps going back to that boy. I wonder if he hates me now. I wonder what his name is. I wonder if he ever talks to anyone. I wonder if boys are allowed to like other boys.
I think I like him.
When school is over, I wait for my mom and climb into the back of her car, buckling into my seat.
“How was school, Kaer?” she asks. That means dear.
I like the way it sounds.
“It was okay,” I say.
“Did you learn anything new?”
“Not really.”
She laughs a little. “Meet anyone interesting?”
“There was a boy,” I say. “He’s really pretty. Is that okay?"
“Of course it is,” she says right away. “What was he “I think he might be mad at me. I sat in his seat on accident.”
“There’s always tomorrow,” she says.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Can you meet your fated mate before your second gender shows up?”
She’s quiet for a second. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I think he’s mine,” I say. “My Fylgja.”
She doesn’t say no.
“He’s really smart,” I keep going. “He knew all the answers. He didn’t play at recess. He just sat by himself and watched everyone. I think he might be lonely.”
I talk about him the whole way home. I talk about him during dinner too. When it’s time for bed, I make my parents tell me a story about us growing up and getting married, even though they laugh a lot while they do it.
I know he’s important.
I just wish I knew his name.
High School
Hale has another black eye.
I see it the second he steps off the bus, and my jaw locks so hard it hurts. I don’t even bother pretending I didn’t notice. He never tries to hide it anyway. He just keeps his head down, shoulders tight, like if he makes himself small enough the world won’t touch him.
He’s limping today, too. Fuck.
My parents have called CPS more times than I can count. Teachers have noticed. Nurses have noticed. Nothing ever comes of it. No follow-up. No change. Just Hale, still showing up to school looking like he lost a fight with gravity every other week.
And he’s alone. Completely.
No friends. No one he talks to. He goes to class, eats lunch with his sketchbook, then goes home. That’s it. I know because I’ve paid attention. I know his routine better than he probably realizes anyone does. He never deviates. Like if he sticks to it hard enough, nothing worse will happen.
I sit in my car and watch him walk off the bus, one step stiff, the other careful. He doesn’t look around. He never does. The trailer park is quiet until he reaches his door.
Then the yelling starts.
Even from this far away, I can hear it. My hands tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles white. I know that voice. I’ve heard it enough times to recognize it. It’s angry, drunk, and mean. I don’t need to see anything else to know what’s coming.
I hate that I can’t do anything.
I hate that he won’t let me help.
He still hates me. Or at least pretends he does. I’m convenient, someone safe to aim his anger at, someone who isn’t actually dangerous. I let him. If snapping at me gives him even a tiny release, I’ll take it. I don’t need him to like me. I just need him alive. Whole.
I watch until the door shuts behind him. Then I drive away.
The radio stays off. My thoughts are loud enough. I imagine a future where he doesn’t live there. Where he doesn’t flinch when someone raises their voice. Where bruises aren’t something I automatically look for when I see him.
I don’t know how we get there yet. But I know we will.
One day, he’s going to be free of that place. And when that happens, I’ll be there whether he wants me to be or not.
Because I’m not leaving him behind.
Apprenticeship
I know I shouldn’t be here.
Hale thinks this is an opportunity. A real one. An apprenticeship at a respected shop, a chance to get out, to build something that belongs to him. I don’t blame him for wanting it. Anyone would.
But I know exactly what this is.
Amond Calder is a predator. And not in the designation sense.
No, he’s something worse than that. He targets omegas with no safety net, offers them apprenticeships and tiny apartments near the shop, and sells them the idea of stability.
Then he waits until they trust him. Until they’re isolated. Until they’re trapped.
Every omega who’s worked under him leaves within months. Quietly. No accusations that stick. No consequences.
Now Hale is next.
The thought sits heavy in my chest, hot and furious. Hale has survived enough already. His father nearly broke him. I refuse to let Calder finish the job.
So, I walk into the shop knowing exactly what I’m doing.
The door slams open behind me, the bell shrieking loud enough to turn heads. I don’t hesitate. I don’t second-guess myself.
“Amond Calder,” I call out.
He emerges from the back, all grease and arrogance, his eyes flicking over me with open irritation.
“What can I do for you?” he asks.
“You’re going to take me on as your apprentice,” I say.
He laughs, slow and mocking. “Oh? That so?”
“Yes.”
“And why would I do that?”
Because I’ve had years to watch patterns. Because I’ve learned how men like him survive.
“Because if you don’t,” I say evenly, “I’ll start talking to your former apprentices. I’ll record interviews. I’ll document timelines. I’ll ask why none of them stayed longer than a few months.”
His smile tightens.
“My mother works at the Texas Times,” I continue. “She knows editors. And I’m sure the public would be very interested in why your shop has such a… consistent turnover of omegas.”
For the first time, his confidence cracks. His face flushes, jaw flexing, eyes sharp with anger.
But he doesn’t deny it.
I meet his stare without flinching.
This isn’t bravado. It’s a calculated choice. I don’t need him scared forever, only long enough to make sure Hale is never alone with him.
Hale will not be another quiet disappearance.
Not on my watch.
Before Vegas
“Please, Dad,” I say, my voice low but steady. “It’s important. I need this if I have any chance at all of getting my fated mate back.”
He leans back in his chair and sighs, rubbing a hand over his face before looking at me over his glasses.
His eyes are tired, but there’s nothing sharp in them.
Only concern. “Aksel… I can’t promise we can get her clean.
You know that. All we can do is make sure she knows the option is there.
We’ve already covered her court costs, and I’m not sure she’ll let us pay for rehab too. ”
“I know,” I say softly. I’ve had time to think this through. “But if she knows someone believes she’s worth the effort, that might be enough to start something. Please try. For me.”
He doesn’t answer right away. He never does when it matters. Finally, he nods once, decisive and sure. “We’ll try. That’s all I can promise.”
Relief hits me so hard it almost knocks the breath out of my lungs.
My parents would do anything for me. That includes helping a battered woman who killed her husband, getting her a job so she could stand on her own feet again, and now doing everything they can to help her get clean so she can be a mother to her son again.
“So Hale can have his mom back,” Dad adds quietly, like it’s obvious.
“Yeah,” I say, my throat tight. “So Hale can have his mom back.”
I wrap my arms around him in a fierce hug, and he hugs me right back, solid and steady.
If I can help her get clean, then maybe Hale will finally see how much I’ve always cared.