"Mia!"
I heard her voice before I saw her. It cracked like thunder through the front hall, and for a moment… just a moment… I felt like a child again. The one who scraped her knee in the orchard and cried until Mom came running.
Then she was there.
Mom didn't hesitate. She dropped her purse like it didn't matter—like nothing did except me—and wrapped her arms around me so tightly I thought maybe I could disappear into them. That if she just held me close enough, long enough, this whole nightmare would fade.
"My sweet girl," she whispered, pressing her lips to my forehead. Her voice trembled, the way it never did. "You're safe now. Come on, let's get you cleaned up."
I couldn't speak. Couldn't even nod.
But something in me softened when she touched me, like a wall cracked just enough to let a little light in. She led me upstairs without another word, her hand warm on the small of my back.
I didn't look back.
I didn't want to see Andreis. Or Marco. Or the truth they had dumped on me like an avalanche.
Inside my room, everything looked the same—but nothing felt the same. My bed. My desk. The mirror. All still here. But I was different.
I sat down slowly at the edge of my bed while Mom opened the bathroom cabinet and pulled out a clean towel, wet wipes, a bottle of lavender oil she always used when I was sick or anxious.
She knelt in front of me.
Her hands moved gently, wiping the blood from my arms, cleaning the scratches on my skin, brushing a damp cloth across my face like she used to when I was little.
Still, I didn't say anything.
Finally, I asked, so quietly I barely recognized my own voice:
"Why didn't you tell me?"
She paused—her hands frozen in midair.
Then slowly, she lowered them to her lap and met my eyes.
"Because I wanted to give you a life without fear," she said softly. "A normal life, even if it was borrowed time."
"A lie, you mean," I replied. I didn't mean it to sound sharp, but it did. And I saw it hit her.
She exhaled, steadying herself. "Yes. A lie. But one I thought might protect you until you were strong enough to face the truth."
I swallowed, my throat dry. "So it's all real. Werewolves. Packs. Bloodlines. That I'm—" I broke off. The words stuck.
"You're your father's daughter," she said. "Alpha-born. The last of your line that hasn't turned."
I looked down at my hands—clean now, but still trembling. "What's wrong with me? Why haven't I… changed?"
"You will," she said gently, brushing my hair behind my ear. "On your twenty-fifth birthday. That's when the curse awakens. For you, it was delayed by design. We kept you grounded, hidden. But what happened tonight… it started the shift early."
I blinked. My chest tightened.
"And Andreis?" I whispered. "Is that real too? The imprint thing?"
Her lips pressed into a line. "Yes. Since you were children. It was ancient magic—older than even our laws. It bound your souls before you even understood what love or loyalty meant."
Tears stung my eyes, but I held them back. "Why didn't you stop it?"
"Because even if I wanted to… no one can control what destiny chooses," she said quietly. "Imprinting isn't something we decide. It's ancient, deeper than magic or blood. No one can stop it—not me, not your father, not even Andreis."
She paused, her voice gentler now.
"But I saw the way he looked at you. And I saw how you looked at him. Even if I had the power to change it… I don't think I ever would've had the heart to."
I closed my eyes. The silence in the room grew heavy again.
"I don't know who I am anymore," I said finally, voice cracking.
Mom pulled me into her arms. "You're Mia," she murmured against my hair. "You're brave. You're stubborn. You're loved. And no matter what happens next, you're not alone."
I clung to her. I didn't want to believe in destiny or werewolves or ancient bloodlines.
But I believed in her.
Eventually, she helped me change into clean clothes, tucked me into bed, and turned off the overhead light. The room dimmed, the shadows familiar again.
Still, she didn't leave.
She pulled the armchair closer to my bed and sat down, wrapping herself in a throw blanket.
"I'll stay here," she said, softly. "Until you fall asleep."
And I did.
Somewhere between her humming, the faint scent of lavender, and the warmth of knowing she was beside me—I let my eyes close.
And for the first time since the warehouse… I didn't feel completely broken.
Not yet.