chapter 40
The drive to the estate felt like entering a world that wasn't meant for people like Ferial—or Abdie for that matter. Dante decided against a safe house and took us straight to their family estate in the capital.
The road became smoother, more refined, and the city lights disappeared behind them, swallowed by the expansive wilderness that seemed to encircle the estate.
The trees were tall, their branches stretching like dark arms toward the sky, while the high iron gates with intricate wolf designs loomed ahead.
Abdie pressed his face to the window. “Okay, I officially don’t belong here,” he muttered. “This is so over-the-top rich, I feel like I’m being watched by a hundred fancy wolves in tuxedos.”
Ferial didn’t respond. Her mind was elsewhere—still racing from the chaos, from the gunshots, the fear. Dante had pulled them out of that mess, and yet now, they were walking into another kind of uncertainty.
The estate was just as imposing as it had seemed from the outside. Tall stone walls, security personnel with calm, professional demeanor, and guards watching every corner. This place didn’t need to impress anyone—it commanded respect effortlessly.
When the car finally came to a stop, Ferial felt the weight of it. She didn’t belong here. Not among marble floors, expensive furniture, and silent, calculating glances from the wolves surrounding them.
They were ushered inside with no fanfare. A few people nodded in acknowledgment, but no one stopped them. No one asked them questions. Dante and Lina, however, moved with a certain authority, their presence pulling Ferial and Abdie along without effort.
Lina, who had kept a quiet watchful eye on the both of them throughout the entire journey, now led the way into the interior of the estate. She gave Abdie a brief nod and a smirk. “I’m sure the shock is overwhelming,” she said dryly. “But get used to it.”
Abdie rolled his eyes, still in disbelief. “This is nothing like the district. There’s actual air here.”
“You’ve never seen a real house, huh?” Lina teased, not even looking back. “Wait until you see your new room.”
They were taken to a large room at the end of a hall. It was well-appointed but also somehow… stifling. Two beds sat against opposite walls, and there were soft lights in the corners, a plush couch, and a wardrobe built into the wall. It looked like a guest room, but it didn’t feel like it.
"Yours for now," Lina said, stepping back to leave them alone, probably going to where Dante was.
Ferial stood by the door, her heart still thudding in her chest. She was afraid to touch anything. Afraid it would feel like a dream. Afraid she’d wake up and be back in the district with her grandparents, Abdie, and the familiar chaos.
Abdie, ever the dramatist, plopped himself down on one of the beds. “Well, this is not the worst place I’ve slept. I’ve definitely seen worse. Also, no complaints about the bed. I’m sure it’s going to be at least ten times softer than the floor I was sleeping on last week.”
Ferial didn’t laugh. She didn’t feel like laughing. It was hard to breathe here.
“We’re really here, aren’t we?” she whispered, staring at the window where the moonlight broke through the thick curtains.
Abdie was quiet for a moment. Then he sat up, throwing one arm over the back of the bed. “You’re asking the wrong person, Ferial.”
Her eyes shifted toward him, seeing a side of him she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to. A side that didn’t mask the worry with jokes. A side that was tired, just like her.
“My mom… she’s still in the district,” Abdie said quietly, almost like an afterthought. “Same apartment complex as you and your grandparents.”
Ferial blinked, unsure if she had heard him correctly. “Your mom?”
“Yeah,” Abdie said with a dry laugh. “My mom works in the district still, fixing wiring, cleaning patrol routes, keeping things in check. My dad’s no better.
He’s fixing broken-down cars, sneaking into buildings after curfew, doing whatever he can just to get by.
The patrols know him. He knows the guards.
But this…” Abdie gestured around the room.
“This is not what my mom knows. This is not her world and I wish I could bring her.”
Ferial swallowed, her throat tight. “But… she doesn’t want to leave?”
“No.” Abdie let out a breath. “She says, ‘I don’t care what happens to me. But I’m not leaving the district. I’m not abandoning my people.’” His voice dropped lower. “My dad says the same thing.”
Ferial stared at him, trying to make sense of his words, but it all felt too far removed from the life she knew. The contrast between this place and what he was describing was overwhelming.
“Does it bother you?” she asked carefully.
Abdie shook his head, but there was something in his eyes. A tiredness that hadn’t been there before.
“I’m used to it. They’re used to it. It’s just the way it is. But this…” He gestured again at the lavish room. “This is too much for them. They’d hate it here.”
Ferial leaned back against the wall. “I don’t know if I can do this. Maybe I'm just like what the district tried to raise.”
“You don’t have to be like them,” Abdie said suddenly, his voice earnest. “You don’t have to pretend to fit in here. You just need to be yourself and be strong. Stop making yourself small and unseen when you deserve everything that makes you seem big in this world.”
“I’m scared,” she whispered. “What if I fail? What if I don’t belong here?”
Abdie’s eyes softened. “You belong here just as much as anyone else. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be. You.”
She nodded, but the weight didn’t lift.
They sat there in silence for a long while, the vastness of the estate pressing in around them.
Then Abdie, with his usual sharp wit, broke the silence. “Okay, okay. Let’s talk about my mom. The head strong woman who raised me.” he laughed and she could not help but smile.
Ferial blinked. “What do you mean?”
Abdie grinned. “The discipline she used on me when I was younger. She had a routine, you know?”
“What routine?” Ferial asked, intrigued despite herself.
“Let me tell you,” Abdie began. “If I ever stepped out of line, my mom would take me to the back of the building, point at the cracks in the wall, and make me apologize to every single one of them. No joke. She’d stand there with her arms crossed and make me apologize to cracks.
And I had to do it for hours if I said anything she didn’t like. ”
Ferial stared at him in disbelief. “She made you apologize to cracks?”
“Yep,” Abdie replied seriously. “Because, in her words, ‘If you can’t respect what’s broken, you can’t respect anything.’”
Ferial chuckled, shaking her head. “That’s insane.”
Abdie shrugged. “I didn’t say it made sense. I just said it worked. I never talked back again. And maybe that's why I seem so full of myself... I respect broken things." She knew exactly what he meant and the pain behind those words.
Ferial laughed softly, her shoulders relaxing for the first time since they’d arrived. “I don’t know what I expected. But that was definitely not it.”
“Yeah,” Abdie said, still smirking. “You get used to it. You get used to your family finding the most ridiculous ways to teach you lessons.”
They fell into a comfortable silence after that, the weight of their journey slowly lifting, even if only a little.
And when it got quiet again, Abdie broke the silence one last time.
“Hey, Ferial?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ll be fine here. Trust me. You’re a lot stronger than you think.”
She smiled faintly. “I hope so.”
Abdie stretched out, laying back on the bed. “And if not, we’ll just blame it on the cracks.”