Chapter 10 - Dina
There are a thousand ways to ruin a perfectly good morning, but starting it with a hangover of shame and a baby who refuses to nap feels like a classic.
I push Alora’s pram down Main, pushing through the lingering haze of last night, and hope the cold morning air will at least freeze my regrets into something solid that I can chip away at later.
It’s not like I expected Caleb to chase after me.
I practically vaporized the second it was over, pulling on whatever clothes I could find, barely pausing to tie my boots as I bolted out into the night.
His door was left ajar behind me, and I’m pretty sure I heard him laugh, low and bitter, as I tripped over the step.
That’s how I remember it, anyway, and the memory makes my skin prickle with humiliation.
When I arrived this morning, I was late; Caleb was running late, and Alora was in a mid-screaming fit.
I could not have been more grateful for her distraction, as even though he started trying to say something, she drowned him out.
I told him we’d talk later, but that’s the last thing I actually want to do.
How do I reconcile what I did with how I feel about Cheslem? Sleeping with him is a betrayal of everyone I loved who died, of all the suffering we endured. I literally slept with the enemy.
I check Alora, she’s still sleeping, mouth hanging open, one hand balled up in a tiny fist beside her cheek. She looks so peaceful, like nothing in the world could touch her through the layers of fleece and the cocoon of the stroller. I envy her.
I cut over to the bakery, telling myself I need bread but really just wanting the noise and bustle to drown out the leftover echo of Caleb’s hands on my skin, the way his voice sounded with my name in his mouth.
I should never have let it happen. I should never have wanted it to happen.
I am the worst reflection of my pack, a complete disgrace to their memory.
The moment it was done, all I could think was that I’d betrayed every single one of the dead.
I can feel the stares as soon as I open the door; Silvercreek is too small a town for new gossip to travel slowly, and the lottery drama is already working its way through the community bloodstream.
The woman behind the counter smiles more broadly than usual, and the two old men by the window actually stop mid-argument to look at me. I want to just dissolve.
I buy a loaf, not caring which kind, and nearly crash into a rack of muffins on my way out.
It’s only when the pram hits a patch of uneven sidewalk and jolts me back to reality that I realize I have no plan for the rest of the morning.
I’ve been operating on a strict schedule and muscle memory for so long that this blank space in the day feels like a threat.
So I walk, trying to outrun my own jumbled thoughts.
Down Main, past the hardware store, past the bookstore.
Ruby’s in the window, pretending not to watch me, but gives me a bright wave when I see her reflection in the glass, past the post office, where someone has already pinned up a printed list of the lottery names and the next event on the community board.
I don’t look at it, but I don’t need to; the whole town was there, and it’s a short list.
I’m halfway to the park before I realize I’m not alone. Bryan is jogging up behind me. He slows when he catches up, falling in step, and braces for the awkwardness.
“Morning,” he says, not out of breath at all. “She sleeping?”
I nod, and we walk in silence for a moment before he asks the one question I don’t know how to answer, “You ok about all this?”
I slow slightly as we approach the park walk that leads along the river and try to muster a smile that might pass his scrutiny. “I’m ok to try, it’s not binding after all, and Caleb can get out of it whenever he wants,” then quickly add, “so can I. I mean, we’re not a good match.”
Bryan smiles, “Oh, I don’t know, with both your training, you’d be a formidable match at the least.” Something crosses his face as he notices James approaching and continues, “We could do with that kind of alliance.”
James closes the last few yards with a kind of predatory ease, his energy so locked on that it makes the hair on my arms stand up.
He’s in all black, as usual, and his boots barely make a noise, which shouldn't be possible on gravel.
He glances down at the stroller, gives a perfunctory smile, then meets my gaze with his usual laser-cut directness.
“Hey, Dina,” he says, with a nod that’s probably the closest thing to warmth he offers in public. “Bryan, you riding out with me today?”
Bryan nods. “We’re heading out after breakfast. Nick wants the perimeter done by noon, and is expecting the wards up by sundown.” He glances at me, and something unreadable flickers in his eyes; worry, or maybe just the regular paranoia that comes from running security in a place like this.
James arches an eyebrow. “You hear about the disturbance last night?” His eyes cut over to me.
"We had some movement on the old Cheslem border.
Scent markers were off. Thought you should know.
" He says this last part to Bryan, but the look he gives me is surgical, appraising whether I’m a leak in the perimeter or just another variable to be managed.
My mouth goes dry. “What kind of disturbance?”
James shrugs, but it’s the kind of shrug that’s meant to communicate that it wasn’t small.
“Markers pulled. Scents all over the place. Few old Cheslem signatures, but nothing familiar. Could be rogues, could be someone testing the line.” He eyes the baby, then me, and for a second, I wonder if he suspects I’d care more than most.
Bryan shakes his head, a low sound in his chest. “We’ve had a couple of these since the snow started to stick.
They never breach, just skirt and vanish.
We’ll make a sweep, maybe double up patrols for a few days.
” He tries to sound casual, but I know him well enough now to hear the undertone: watch yourself, don’t get reckless.
I force my face into something neutral, but the news is a jolt straight to the base of my spine. Part of me wants to run home, barricade the doors, and the other part wants to suit up and hit the woods myself. “Do they think they’re after something, or just looking for a fight?”
James considers. “Could be trying to rattle us. Could be nothing. But with the lottery on, we’re not taking chances.”
Bryan gives me a pointed look. “Stay in town if you can, at least until we clear it.”
I nod, but it feels like an order. “Sure.”
James starts to turn, but pauses. “Oh, and if you see Caleb, he’s running lead on the east sweep. Said he wanted to check something before the rest of us went out. Seemed…personal.” He lets the word hang, then adds, “He takes all the Cheslem stuff personally. You know how it is.”
I nod, not trusting myself to say anything, and they peel off, walking fast toward the diner.
I watch them go, a knot growing in my chest. Maybe this is how it is for all of us.
No matter how far you run, the old borders are always just behind the next stand of pines, waiting to lunge.
I’m not the only one haunted by what happened out there, and for the first time since the lottery, I let myself imagine that maybe Caleb doesn’t just carry the stain of Cheslem; maybe it carries him, too.
Maybe that’s why he never jokes about it when he’ll happily joke about everything else.
I think about what he said about his guilt; I’m not sure I heard it properly at the time, but the words echo now.
The thought doesn’t make what happened between us any less of a betrayal.
If anything, it makes it worse, because now I can’t even hate him cleanly.
Guilt and anger and something else, pity maybe, twist in my chest until I nearly double over with it.
I shake my head like I can rattle the emotion out of my ears. Maybe I can.
Ahead of me, Fiona is wrangling her two children along the sidewalk, Maisie in the lead, clutching a battered plush wolf by the ear, and the baby in a sling tight to Fiona’s chest. She spots me from a distance and waves.
I know better than to try to avoid her; Fiona is the sort of woman who won’t allow that, and Silvercreek’s sidewalks are too narrow for ducking out anyway. I steel myself for the coming interrogation, but when she reaches me, she just grins, warm and unapologetic.
“Hey, Dina, you look like you could use a coffee,” she says, already nudging me toward the cafe at the edge of the square. “Come on, I’m on borrowed time with these two, and you’re the only adult conversation I’m getting today.”
I hesitate, but Alora chooses that moment to stir, letting out a wail so pure and shrill it slices through my hesitation like piano wire. Maisie covers her ears and groans, “Aw, not again,” but then immediately perks up when I crouch to check the baby.
“She’s hungry,” I say, though it’s more for my own benefit than anyone else’s as we walk toward the cafe.
Fiona holds the door open, and I find a seat while she orders our coffees. I find a table by the window, and Maisie sets up shop on the floor, stacking sugar packets and napkins for entertainment while I prepare Alora’s bottle.
Alora quiets as soon as the bottle’s in her mouth, little fists kneading the air. I let myself meet Fiona’s gaze for the first time since the lottery, bracing for the question, but she just sips her coffee and lets the silence stretch. It’s so unexpected I almost thank her out loud.
She finally speaks, voice pitched low and even.
“Everyone’s talking about the lottery,” she says, like I’m not supposed to notice the way her eyes flick from my face to the baby and back again.
“Everyone’s got theories. I told Thomas I’d be more surprised if the magic didn’t pair you two.
” She blows on her coffee, then meets my eyes. “You okay?”
I snort. “Am I supposed to be?” I’m aiming for dry humor, but the words are brittle, too sharp at the edges.
Fiona’s mouth twitches. “It’s not my place, but…
” she shrugs, “I didn’t love the lottery either.
Others have felt that same, and I think that’s why Nick and Luna changed the rules.
Nobody wants to wake up shackled to a nightmare, not even for the good of the pack.
” She glances at Alora and softens. “But sometimes the magic gets it right.”
I look down at Alora, who’s going cross-eyed trying to focus on her bottle, then up at Fiona, who’s watching me carefully. “Even if it did, what’s the point? He’s…” I can’t bring myself to say it out loud. Cheslem. The taste of the word is always bitter.
Fiona doesn’t miss a beat. “He’s not his old pack, Dina.”
I bristle, ready to launch into my rehearsed monologue about blood and loyalty and the long, ugly memories. But when I look at Fiona, I realize I’m not angry at her. I’m angry at how much I want to believe her.
“People think trauma makes you stronger. It doesn’t.
It just makes you tired. But if you’re lucky, you find the right pack, and the tiredness isn’t so heavy.
” She sets her cup down. “You belong here, Dina. Even if you never want to see Caleb again, you still belong. And if you do want to see him, that’s okay, too. ”
The words hit harder than I want to admit, and she clearly knows what she’s talking about when she talks about trauma. I’ve spent so long trying to survive that I’ve forgotten how to do anything else, and I’m not sure I would recognize safety if it slapped me in the face.
I take a sip of my coffee and remember when my father said that a soldier needs to know when the war is over. Holding Alora, sitting in this cafe, the memory of Caleb last night all converges in my mind, and I’m left wondering if I even recognize the war anymore.