chapter 6
The next morning, the world felt different. Not better, exactly—just shifted, as if someone had nudged it slightly off balance.
Ferial woke to the rare luxury of sunlight touching her face without the scream of factory sirens dragging her out of bed.
For the first time in a long time, she didn’t have to rush into the dust and smoke of the assembly floor.
Her hand was still sore but neatly wrapped in the fine bandages the wolf doctor had given her.
The burn no longer oozed; it throbbed gently, finally healing.
Her grandmother was already humming in the kitchen, and the smell of bread filled the air—real bread, not the stiff gray rations they usually ate, ofcpurse curtesy of the parcels handed out.
“Your leave paper is safe,” her grandfather said, sipping from his dented mug.
“I made a copy in case the factory tries anything clever. Had one of the neighbours make a copy at the office they clean in.”
Ferial smiled faintly. “Thank you.”
“You’re lucky, you know,” he added. “Some wolves give orders. Others give mercy.”
She said nothing.
Because that word—mercy—still sat uneasily in her chest.
---
By midday, she couldn’t stay inside. The walls felt too close, her thoughts too loud. So she wrapped herself in her shawl and went for a walk through the district.
The streets were alive with talk of yesterday’s visit.
Everywhere she went, people whispered about the Alpha heir and his team—their perfect uniforms, their calm voices, the way they touched no one but looked at everything.
Some said the heir himself had healed a child.
Others claimed he’d promised to rebuild the clinic.
“He even signed someone’s leave slip personally,” a woman gushed near the water pump. “Can you imagine? The Alpha’s own handwriting!”
Ferial walked faster.
When she reached the market street, she found Abdie perched on a crate, eating a roasted corn cob and waving her over. “Hey, celebrity,” he called. “You’re famous.”
She groaned. “What now?”
He grinned. “They’re talking about you. The girl with the burned hand who got treated in front of the Alpha. Half the district’s saying you looked him in the eye.”
“I didn’t,” she said quickly.
“Oh, you did. You just don’t want to admit it. Also your grandfather gave me the slip to give to the supervisor after he had a copy made.”
She snatched the corn from his hand and took a bite, ignoring his laughter. “They exaggerate everything.”
“Maybe,” he said, lowering his voice, “but one of the factory guards told us the wolves are sending an inspection team again—different reason this time. Something about ‘verifying compliance.’”
Ferial frowned. “Already?”
“Yeah. And get this—the heir’s staying in the northern compound for the week. So if you thought you were done being watched…” He trailed off with a shrug.
She rolled her eyes, but her stomach twisted anyway.
---
The week passed in a strange rhythm.
With no work to distract her, Ferial found herself cleaning, cooking, and trying not to think too much.
The medicine worked wonders; her hand began to heal, the angry red fading to pale pink.
But with every improvement came another thought she couldn’t push away—those eyes, the Alpha’s eyes, the way they had looked straight through her, as if he was trying to remember something long forgotten.
She told herself it was nonsense. Wolves didn’t look at humans that way. They didn’t see them that way.
But the memory wouldn’t fade.
On the fourth evening, the district loudspeakers crackled to life again.
“District resident's, report to the public square at first light tomorrow. Attendance is mandatory. The Alpha heir will address the district.”
Her grandmother clapped her hands together in joy. “Again! The Goddess is watching over us.”
Ferial didn’t answer. She simply stared at her bandaged hand, her thoughts swirling like storm clouds. Her granny lived with her head in the clouds. We were nothing in these wolves eyes.
---
The next morning, the square was overflowing.
Lines of humans stood shoulder-to-shoulder under the pale sky, while enforcers kept tight order around the perimeter. Wolves in gleaming black stood beside the convoy trucks, banners fluttering behind them. It was all too clean, too rehearsed—mercy packaged for the cameras again.
When the Alpha heir stepped onto the makeshift platform, silence rippled through the crowd like wind through dry grass.
He spoke about unity. About compassion. About the “duty of the strong to uplift the weak.” His words rolled like thunder—measured, perfect, designed to soothe and inspire.
But when his gaze swept the crowd and found her, Ferial’s breath stopped.
It was only for a moment—less than a heartbeat—but it was enough. The same recognition flickered across his face again, faint but undeniable. His tone faltered for half a second before he continued, flawless once more.
She looked down, clutching her shawl tighter. Abdie nudged her lightly. “You see that?” he whispered.
“See what?”
“The way he looked at you.”
“Stop it! The whole district is standing before his eyes,” she hissed.
After the speech, the enforcers began distributing more supplies. The wolves moved among them with calculated grace, making sure the cameras caught every smile, every grateful tear. Ferial helped her grandmother collect a ration box, trying not to draw attention.
But she couldn’t escape it.
A voice—deep, familiar—spoke behind her. “Ferial Abdin.”
She froze. Slowly, she turned.
The Alpha heir stood a few steps away, his entourage waiting discreetly behind him. The crowd around them fell silent, as if the air itself had been swallowed.
Her heart hammered. “My Alpha,” she said softly, lowering her head.
“You’ve recovered well,” he said, his eyes briefly glancing at her hand. “Has the treatment helped?”
“Yes, sir. Very much.”
“Good.” He hesitated, as if debating something. “You should report back to your factory supervisor after your recovery. I’ve already sent orders ensuring your leave is honored.”
She blinked. “You… remembered?”
A faint smile touched his lips. “Of course.”
Before she could respond, one of his aides stepped forward. “Alpha, the next group is ready.”
He nodded once but didn’t look away from her until the last possible moment.
When he finally walked off, Ferial stood motionless, her pulse racing.
Abdie whistled low beside her. “Well,” he muttered, “if the Goddess doesn’t favor you, the Alpha certainly does.”
She smacked his arm lightly. “Shut up.”
But her cheeks burned.
---
That night, Ferial couldn’t sleep. She sat by the window again, watching the faint glow of the northern compound beyond the walls. The Alpha’s convoy lights shimmered in the distance, moving like slow stars.
Her grandfather joined her quietly, lowering himself onto the stool beside her. “You’re thinking too loudly again,” he said with a small smile.
“I’m not thinking,” she lied.
“You are. About the wolf.”
She stiffened. “I’m not—”
He raised a hand. “Child, I’ve seen that look before. Your grandmother had it once, a long time ago, when we were still young. The look of someone trying to understand what they shouldn’t feel.”
Ferial turned her gaze to the window. “He’s not like the others,” she said finally. “But that doesn’t mean anything.”
“Perhaps not,” her grandfather murmured. “But the Goddess rarely sends meaning where there is none.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small wooden carving—a wolf and a moon intertwined, worn smooth with age. “When I was your age, there was a story told in the outskirts. About how the Goddess gave the wolves their mates.”
She listened silently.
“It’s said she split their souls in two. Half beast, half heart. So that even the most powerful would always need another to be whole. But humans…” He sighed. “We were given no such gift. Maybe she feared our greed. Or maybe she saved us from the pain of that kind of love.”
Ferial looked down at her hand, tracing the healed skin through the bandage. “Then why do we still feel it?”
He smiled sadly. “Because mercy and love are not so different. And both can hurt just the same.”
Outside, the northern compound lights dimmed one by one, until only darkness remained.
Ferial stayed there long after her grandfather went to bed, staring into the night.
She didn’t know what the Alpha’s look meant. Or why it lingered in her mind like a whisper. But deep inside, beneath fear and doubt, a quiet pull began to take root.
Something ancient.
Something dangerous.
Something she could no longer pretend not to feel.