chapter 7
The days after the Alpha’s second visit blurred into a rhythm that was almost normal again. Almost.
Life in the district returned to its usual noise and movement—the scent of burnt oil from the factory lines, the chatter of traders hawking wilted vegetables, and the ever-present hum of distant wolf patrols. But beneath it all, there was a new current, a quiet thrum of something unspoken.
It wasn’t just the clean bandages on Ferial’s hand or the food parcels stacked in kitchens that marked the change. It was the way people whispered now, the way their voices dropped when they spoke of him.
The Alpha heir.
The wolf who had looked at her as if she weren’t invisible.
---
That morning, Ferial sat on the apartment steps, peeling potatoes into a dented tin bowl. The sun was still shy, hiding behind the gray clouds, but the air had a softness to it. Abdie leaned against the railing beside her, one foot tapping lazily against the cracked tile.
“Word on the street,” he began, “is that the Alpha’s convoy is still parked near the northern gate. You think he’s here for you?”
She flicked a potato peel at him. “If you keep talking like that, I’ll feed you to his enforcers myself.”
He grinned. “Come on, admit it—you kinda like the attention.”
“I don’t,” she said firmly, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her. “I just want life to go back to normal.”
“Normal?” Abdie scoffed. “You mean factory fumes and half meals? Yeah, what a dream.”
She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “At least normal is predictable.”
“Boring,” he corrected.
“Safe,” she countered.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, listening to the distant thud of machinery and the laughter of children playing in the alley below. For the first time since her burn, her hand didn’t hurt as much. She flexed her fingers experimentally and smiled.
“See?” Abdie said, noticing. “The Goddess—or the Alpha, depending on who you ask—didn’t forget you after all.”
“Stop mixing the two,” she muttered. “Gran already prays loud enough for both of them.”
They both laughed, their voices echoing lightly off the corridor walls.
---
Later that afternoon, the usual rhythm of the building was broken by raised voices.
“Don’t you dare lie to me again, Hara!”
“I’m not lying! You’re just blind and jealous!”
Ferial and Abdie exchanged glances.
“Oh no,” Abdie said, standing. “That’s the second time this week.”
They stepped out into the narrow hallway, where their neighbors—Mr. and Mrs. Hara—were having one of their infamous arguments. Pots clattered, and someone’s laundry basket tipped over in the chaos.
“She threw his boots out the window last time,” Ferial whispered.
“Yeah,” Abdie replied. “And he threw her stew pot in return. It was tragic.”
They tried not to laugh, but when Mrs. Hara waved a slipper in the air like a weapon, they both lost it, pressing their hands over their mouths to muffle their laughter.
The commotion drew others out too—children peeking from doorways, old Mrs. Rafi from the end of the hall clutching her cat like it was a shield.
Finally, the landlord enforcer appeared, looking perpetually tired. “That’s enough!” he barked. “You two either shut up or take it outside before I call patrol.”
At that, silence fell instantly. No one wanted wolf patrols showing up.
The Haras grumbled but retreated into their flat, slamming the door so hard that dust drifted from the ceiling.
Abdie sighed. “And there goes our entertainment for the day.”
“Don’t say that,” Ferial scolded, though she was still smiling. “You’ll jinx it. The last time you said that, the electricity went out for a week.”
“That wasn’t my fault. That was divine punishment for bad wiring.”
“Or bad luck,” she teased.
“Or,” he said dramatically, “the Alpha’s mysterious curse upon humans who laugh too much.”
She laughed outright this time, the sound spilling freely. For a moment, things felt lighter—like the world wasn’t divided between wolves and humans, power and survival, mercy and fear.
---
That evening, they helped her grandmother cook dinner. The small apartment filled with warmth and chatter. Her grandfather hummed under his breath while cleaning his tools, and Ferial found herself thinking about how fragile moments like these were—how easily the world outside could take them away.
“Abdie,” her grandmother said fondly, handing him a bowl, “you eat like you’ve never seen food.”
“That’s because your cooking’s better than my mother’s,” he said with a grin.
“Blasphemy,” Ferial teased. “If your mom hears that, you’re a dead man.”
“Then I’ll die happy,” he replied through a mouthful.
Her grandmother laughed, but her eyes softened. “You both should cherish this time. The world can change in a blink.”
Her words landed heavier than she probably intended.
After dinner, when the dishes were done and the lights dimmed, Ferial went to the window again. The distant glow of the northern compound flickered faintly against the skyline. She wondered if the Alpha heir was still awake, writing reports or giving orders.
Does he ever think of this place? she wondered. Of us?
She shouldn’t care. She barely understood why she did. But something about the way he had said her name—careful, deliberate—still lingered in her chest.
---
The next morning brought new tension.
A wolf patrol had arrived early, marching down the main street with their banners raised high. People scattered instinctively, pulling children indoors. Ferial and Abdie stood at the window, watching as the enforcers began inspecting the shops.
“Third visit in two weeks,” Abdie muttered. “They’re definitely up to something.”
Ferial frowned. “Maybe it’s just routine.”
“Routine doesn’t come with ten armored trucks.”
He wasn’t wrong. The wolves moved in formation, precise and silent. Then, as if sensing eyes on them, one of the enforcers turned and looked straight at their window.
Ferial flinched back.
Abdie cursed softly. “See? They can smell curiosity.”
But the enforcer didn’t move closer—just tilted his head slightly, as if recognizing her, before continuing down the street.
“Okay, that was creepy,” Abdie said. “Why does it always have to be you?”
She gave him a nervous smile. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m cursed after all.”
“Then we’re both doomed,” he said lightly, bumping her shoulder with his.
For a moment, they stood there together, two humans watching a world that didn’t belong to them—laughing softly, even as the wolves prowled just outside.
And though Ferial didn’t understand why, her heart beat faster again, the same way it had when the Alpha heir looked at her—steady and unshakable, as though the Goddess herself had just whispered her name in warning.
Something was coming.
Something that would not let her world remain “almost normal” much longer.