Under Assessment
Gabrielle POV
Amara adjusts the brace on my ankle one last time.
“You’ll manage,” she says, not unkindly. “But don’t pretend you’re invincible.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I reply.
A shadow fills the doorway.
Rowan.
He doesn’t knock. Just leans one shoulder against the frame like he’s been there longer than I realised.
“I said I’d check back in,” he says."Thought you'd be back at the cabin by now."
Of course he did. Do these wolves forget that humans take more than a casual hour or two to recover from near-death experiences?
We step into the corridor, and I become aware of eyes tracking us. Nurses. A couple of pack members lingering by the water fountain.
"News travels fast in a wolf pack." Rowan says mildly.
I huff, "So I've gathered."
At the front desk, Rowan gestures toward the seating area. "Wait here," he commands. "We'll sort the discharge."
He says it casually, like I've enjoyed a spa retreat, not stitches and morphine.
Male wolves.
The waiting room is quieter than the wards. Fluorescent lights hum overhead. A vending machine rattles every few minutes like it’s clearing its throat.
I lower myself carefully into one of the plastic chairs, angling my ankle so it doesn’t throb.
Freedom, apparently, still hurts.
A sharp sniff comes from two seats down.
“I told you I’m fine!”
The voice cracks on the last word.
I glance sideways.
A boy – maybe nine or ten – sits rigidly upright, shoulders squared like he’s bracing for a fight. His forearm is wrapped badly in gauze already blooming red at the centre. His trainers are scuffed to death, one lace trailing against the tile.
Across from him, two older boys – broader shoulders, sharper posture – are whispering to each other with badly concealed smirks.
I don’t need enhanced senses to read the dynamic.
“You win?” I ask lightly.
The boy startles. Glares. “No.”
“Ah.”
Silence stretches between us.
“I was ahead,” he mutters finally. “Until I wasn’t.”
I nod as if that makes perfect sense.
“They shifted,” he adds, quieter now. “I didn’t.”
There it is.
I lean back carefully in my chair.
“That’s inconvenient.”
He frowns at me, “It’s embarrassing.”
“Those aren’t the same thing." I tilt my head. "Sounds like they needed an upgrade to catch you.”
That earns a moment of reluctant attention.
He studies me properly now – taking in the crutches, the brace, the careful way I hold myself.
“You’re not one of us,” he says bluntly.
“No,” I agree.
“Then why are you here?”
I consider that.
“Because I ran somewhere I probably shouldn’t have,” I say. “And I didn’t move fast enough when it mattered.”
His eyes drops briefly to my ankle.
“I was keeping up,” he insists. “They just… changed.”
The bitterness in his voice is raw.
“I know.”
He looks unconvinced.
“I’m slower than everyone here,” I continue. “Weaker too. I don’t heal like you do. I don’t run like you do.”
“Then why are you not upset about it?” he demands.
“I am.”
That stalls him.
“I just don’t let it decide what I’m worth.”
Across the room, one of the older boys snorts, “Should’ve stayed home, cub.”
The boy beside me stiffens.
I don't look at them.
“You fell racing wolves who’ve already shifted,” I say calmly.
“So?”
“So that’s not weakness. That’s ambition with poor timing.”
A reluctant breath escapes him, almost a laugh.
“They were faster,” he says again, stubborn.
“Of course they were. It’s in their bones." I shrug slightly. "If you're this fast now, imagine what will happen when your wolf catches up."
He frowns at the floor.
"When you build something slowly," I add quietly, "No one gets to tell you it wasn't yours."
He's quiet for a long moment.
“Does it stop hurting?” he asks suddenly.
“The elbow?”
He rolls his eyes, “No.”
I hesitate, then shake my head. “No. But you stop thinking pain means you’re behind.”
That settles between us.
The sliding doors whisper open. Rowan steps inside, keys in hand. He slows when he sees us.
The older boys go silent.
The boy beside me nudges his bandaged arm, testing it.
“I’ll beat them next time,” he says.
“Probably,” I reply.
He sniffs. A small fleeing smile touches his mouth.
Rowan approaches, “Car’s here, Gabi.”
I push myself upright awkwardly. Before I can adjust properly, Rowan steadies one clutch - subtle enough that it doesn't feel like assistance.
As we head towards the exit he speaks quietly.
"You didn't make him feel smaller."
I glance at him.
"I know what that feels like."
He gives me an appraising look, then carries on. He doesn't say more.
The cold air hits my face as we step outside.
For the first time since arriving, I don’t feel like the fragile thing in the room.