Chapter 3 Thirty Days #2
"So the most likely outcome is that I spend a month in a place I never wanted to see again, get told no a second time, and then get permanently banned from a pack that's apparently going to keep deciding things about my life without asking me."
"...Yes. I'm afraid that's an accurate summary."
I almost laughed. It wasn't funny — none of this was funny — but there was something so absurd about the shape of it, the sheer, grinding unfairness of a situation I'd had no say in from the moment I'd turned onto that road, that the laugh came up out of me anyway, short and humorless, more breath than sound.
"Great," I said. "Great. Okay." I pressed my palms against my eyes for a moment, just breathing, and when I dropped them, I found Imara watching me with an expression that had stopped being procedural entirely and had become something much closer to compassion.
"What do I need to do? Right now. What's the next step? "
"Right now, nothing. The healers will let us know when your daughter is stable enough to settle into a room — there's a guest wing, it's quiet, it's away from most of the pack's daily traffic.
You'll be given a suite there for the duration.
Meals are provided. You're not — Ms. Hale, I want to be clear, you're not a prisoner here.
You have full freedom of movement within the packhouse and the grounds.
The only requirement is that you remain on pack land, and that you and the Alpha—" she hesitated again, and this time the hesitation lasted long enough that I felt my stomach tighten in anticipation of whatever was coming.
"—that you and the Alpha have some form of regular contact.
The law calls it 'sufficient interaction to allow the bond's truth to be observed.
' In practice, the council usually arranges brief daily check-ins.
Nothing elaborate. It's mostly a formality. "
"A formality."
"Yes."
"Right." I pushed myself to my feet, because sitting any longer felt like it might let the panic catch back up to me, and movement — any movement — felt like the only thing keeping it at bay. "Okay. I'd like to see my daughter now, if that's all right."
"Of course. Of course, I'll take you to the healing wing right now.
" Imara stood as well, gathering the folder, and as she came around the desk she paused, and for a moment her professional composure slipped entirely, replaced by something that looked almost like an apology.
"For what it's worth — and I know it might not be worth much, given everything — I'm sorry.
About the timing. About all of it. Whatever happened three years ago, you didn't deserve to have it land back on you like this. Especially not tonight."
I didn't know what to say to that. Three years of carefully constructed distance, and one kind sentence from a stranger in a records office nearly cracked it wide open.
"Thank you," I managed. "Can we — the healing wing?"
"Right this way."
I followed her out of the office, down another hallway, and tried very hard not to think about the word formality , or the word Alpha , or the fact that somewhere in this building, the man who had ended everything between us three years ago was apparently about to find out, in real time, that he'd done it at all.
The healing wing was bright in a way the rest of the packhouse wasn't — white walls, large windows, the kind of clean, sterile light that existed to make sick people feel better and exhausted people feel marginally worse by comparison.
I found Birdie in a small room near the end of the hall, propped up in a bed that was far too big for her, a healer adjusting something on a monitor beside her while another — the woman from outside, the one who'd carried Birdie in — checked her temperature with a thermometer pressed gently to her forehead.
"Mama." Birdie's voice was still thick, but it was steadier than it had been in the car, and when she turned her head toward the door and saw me, something in her small face loosened with relief.
"Hey, baby." I crossed the room in three steps and sat on the edge of the bed, taking her hand, and for a moment I just let myself feel the absolute, overwhelming relief of her hand being slightly less hot than it had been an hour ago. "How are you feeling?"
"Sleepy." She blinked at me, slow and heavy-lidded. "The lady gave me medicine. It tasted bad."
"I bet it did." I looked up at the healer, who gave me a small, reassuring nod.
"Fever's already down to a hundred and one, and dropping steadily.
Imara was right — this is textbook pack fever, nothing more sinister than that.
She's going to feel pretty rough for the rest of today, probably sleep most of it, but by tomorrow morning I'd expect her to be running around like nothing happened.
" The healer smiled, and it was the first unguarded smile I'd seen since arriving, the kind of smile that came from someone whose entire job was making scared parents feel less scared.
"You did the right thing, bringing her here.
If you'd waited any longer, or tried to manage it off pack land, it could've gotten a lot worse. "
"Thank you." My voice came out rough. "Really. Thank you."