chapter 23
Monday arrived far too quickly.
Ferial woke up with stiff legs, a pounding head, and a hollow ache in her chest that she couldn’t shake. Her work uniform felt heavier than usual when she pulled it on—the faded grey fabric suddenly like armour she wasn’t strong enough to wear.
Her grandfather hadn’t spoken to her the whole morning.
Not a word.
He left early, slamming the door softly—but intentional enough that she felt it in her bones.
Her grandmother only pressed a warm mug of tea into her hands and kissed her forehead gently, her eyes carrying a sadness too deep for Ferial to understand.
“Go on, my girl,” Granny said softly. “Don’t be late.”
Ferial nodded, throat tight, and walked out.
---
At the Factory the floor felt colder today. Colder, quieter.
As she stepped inside, every familiar face looked up—
—and then looked away.
Some pretended they didn’t see her.
Some nudged each other and whispered.
Some simply stared like she was carrying a curse in her pockets.
She didn’t see Abdie.
For the first time in her entire life.
Ferial swallowed hard and went straight to her station, refusing to show how much the silence cut her.
By midday, she still hadn’t seen him.
By late afternoon, she realised…
He was avoiding her.
And everyone else was avoiding her because of him.
And the Alpha heir.
And the damned interrogation.
Her hands shook so badly she dropped tools twice, earning her frowns from the supervisor.
By the time the clock finally struck end-of-shift, Ferial felt like she’d aged ten years.
They were on their way out when a patrol vehicle pulled into the factory lot. Wolves stepped out—uniforms crisp, expressions unreadable.
“FERIAL SAMSODIEN!,” one of them called.
The entire factory froze.
Ferial stepped forward, stiff and silent.
The wolf read from a sealed document.
“By decree of the Alpha Supreme and the Alpha Heir, your sentence for theft and disorder is as follows: two weeks of supervised community labor—weekends only—dust and waste removal on district roads. Nothing further.”
Whispers erupted immediately.
“Two weeks?”
“That’s nothing.”
“Not even a beating?”
“Why so lenient…?”
Ferial couldn’t move, the questions just flowed from her mouth . She stared at the wolf like the words weren’t real.
That was it?
That was… all?
The wolf dismissed her and simply walked away.
At the far end of the yard, among a separate group of guards, she spotted Abdie. He stood stiffly as another wolf read his punishment.
He didn’t argue. He didn’t shout. He didn’t even roll his eyes.
He only nodded once.
No words. No fight.
And he didn’t look her way. Not even for a second.
Something inside her cracked painfully.
---
Dinner was silent that evening. Something that was not normal for them. Silence meant death and that was something that the district tried to make everyone forget- the death that awaited us all.
Her grandmother stirred the pot with more force than necessary. Her grandfather sat rigidly on his chair, biting the inside of his cheek.
Ferial ate quietly, focusing on each grain of rice like it was the only thing anchoring her to the world.
After a long stretch of tense silence, her grandmother spoke—softly, cautiously.
“You know, my girl… the Goddess works in ways we don’t always understand. Wolves… mates… souls… it is all woven in threads we can’t always see.”
Her grandfather slammed his palm lightly on the table and stood up abruptly.
“Enough,” he muttered, leaving the kitchen and stepping outside.
Granny flinched, then sighed.
“He’ll cool down.”
But the look she gave Ferial was heavy. Too heavy.
After a moment, Ferial forced the question out.
“Granny… why did my parents leave me?”
Her grandmother froze.
The spoon fell into the pot with a soft clink.
Ferial continued, voice trembling, “I remember a man, once… when I was very small. But never my mother. Did they hate me? Was I an embarrassment? Did I… did I do something wrong?”
Granny sat beside her, eyes glistening.
“No, my girl. No.”
She cupped Ferial’s face.
“You were never a burden. Never an embarrassment. They brought you to us when you were two days old. They couldn’t take care of you.
But we could. And we loved you from the moment you were placed in our arms. He visited when you were very young, but just stopped.
Your mother, our child, never ever came to see you though. ”
A tear fell from Ferial’s cheek.
Her grandmother wiped it gently, then leaned closer.
“And don’t tell your grandfather I said this but…” She hesitated. “I think you are the Alpha heir’s mate.”
Ferial’s breath stopped.
Completely.
“It is rare,” Granny continued softly, “but sometimes the Goddess pairs a wolf with a soul that has no wolf. Or a spirit strong enough to match one. He hasn’t claimed you because he’s likely terrified.
Or cautious. Or afraid the outside world will react badly.
Wolves are… very protective of their mates. ”
Ferial’s throat closed up.
She felt like she couldn’t breathe.
Her grandmother kissed her forehead and stood.
“Sleep, my girl. Everything will unfold as it must.”
She retreated into the bedroom.
A while later, her grandfather returned. He walked past her without a glance, shoulders tight, jaw clenched.
The rejection pierced her deeper than she expected.
Ferial curled on the broken couch, pulling the thin blanket to her chin, and wept into the fabric—silent, shaking sobs she could no longer hold back.
She had disappointed him.
She had disappointed everyone.
And the worst part?
The Alpha heir’s roar—echoing in her mind—terrified her almost as much as it made her feel something she couldn’t name.
Something she didn’t want.
Something she couldn’t escape.
She cried until exhaustion dragged her into sleep.
Her Granny always said that she had to make her little world bigger. Bigger so that nothing could touch her. Nothing could make her sad, but hurting her Papa made her world feel much more smaller then it ever did.