The world reassembled itself in fragments as I surfaced from the darkness. The searing ache that throbbed through every inch of my body kept me tethered to consciousness. A cold draft swept over me, and though my body felt limp and disconnected, I was acutely aware of every sore muscle, every bruised rib, every cut and scrape. Somewhere close by, a door opened, and I heard a low, commanding voice break the silence.

“You’re awake, Little One. Took you long enough,” the voice murmured, both stern and oddly comforting.

The scent of metal and antiseptic sharpened my senses. I blinked, taking in the sterile, too-bright white room, and a familiar figure standing by the door, his large frame casting a shadow that stretched halfway across the room. It was Warrior Hogan. He wore an expression I’d never seen from him before—some blend of anger, concern, and barely veiled fury.

“You gave us all quite the scare, Selene,” he said, folding his arms. “I didn’t know you did things halfway, but you managed to turn this little ‘incident’ into a full-scale intervention.”

My jaw tightened as I struggled to remember what had happened before waking up here. The memory hit me like a blow—Stacey’s sneering voice, the sharp pain of punches, the feel of my hair being shorn. Rage and humiliation flushed through me as the image of her faded smirk burned into my mind.

I shifted, wincing. “Where am I?” My voice came out as a hoarse whisper, the words barely scraping through my cracked lips.

Hogan leaned forward. “You’re in the Royal Pack’s medical ward. It’s the best place for you to heal. The extent of your injuries required... immediate and intensive care.”

Fourteen days. Two weeks. I was silent as the weight of that knowledge settled over me.

Hogan’s brow lifted. “Now, if you don’t mind, Selene, let’s talk about what happened. Who did this to you?”

My stomach twisted. He had that look—the one that said he’d pry answers out of me, one way or another. But something in me rebelled, and I met his gaze, refusing to look away.

“Who did this?” he repeated.

I let out a slow breath, trying to keep my expression blank. “She’s been a bully for years, and it’s always been the same,” I said, a surge of old bitterness creeping into my tone. “I didn’t see anyone’s face this time, but Stacey… she was there, directing it, supervising her minions, reminding me what she thinks she owns.”

“Selene.” Hogan’s voice was a low rumble, his gaze unflinching. “I’ll need more than that.”

“Right. More details so they can be dismissed again,” I retorted, my voice growing stronger. “I’ve tried to tell people about her before. But no one listens. Not really.”

His expression hardened. “You’re wrong about that. I’m listening now, and I’m not letting this go.”

I swallowed, looking away, my fingers clenching the thin sheet beneath them. Hogan had never looked at me like this before. Part of me wanted to believe he meant it—that maybe, finally, someone would take my word and not brush it aside. But doubt, sharpened by years of being ignored, kept me silent.

Hogan’s expression softened just slightly. “The scars on your back. That wasn’t recent, was it?”

I clenched my jaw, feeling the tension ripple up my arms. “They’re from her too. She used silver powder, but I couldn’t see her, and I couldn’t smell her. All I know is her voice. It’s burned into my mind.”

Hogan straightened, his face unreadable. “What do you want to happen now, Selene? Because going back isn’t an option.”

My heart stumbled, and for a brief moment, I thought of the pack, the people who’d dismissed my bruises as carelessness, the way my father couldn’t bear to look at me. Leaving… it should have felt terrifying, but instead, it felt like breathing after nearly drowning.

“I don’t want to go back,” I said, barely above a whisper. “I want to move forward. I need to finish my training.”

A rare glint of approval lit up Hogan’s eyes. “Good. That’s the spirit we expect from a warrior.”

He took a step closer, his face severe but encouraging. “We’ll make sure you finish school here. Then you’ll start Elite Warrior training. For now, the Alpha King has approved a modified version, so you’ll get a head start. It won’t be easy. You’ll be held to the same standards as the others. Understand?”

I nodded, the faintest spark of hope flickering inside me.

“There’s one more thing,” he said, pausing with an unreadable expression. “Your scars. Doc Sylvia can treat them if you want. Remove them.”

I looked down, fingers lightly brushing the gauze-wrapped wounds on my arms. Those scars, ugly and painful, were the only evidence of what I’d endured, the only reminder of what I’d survived. But did I want to carry those reminders with me forever?

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “They’re part of me now. Part of everything I’ve been through. But they’re also… a weakness.”

“Only if you let them be,” he replied, his tone unwavering. “Scars are a mark of survival, but you’re more than what’s left on your skin.”

I swallowed, feeling the truth of his words. “I’ll think about it.”

A knock on the door cut through our conversation, and Doc Sylvia and Doc Ganon entered, their expressions carefully controlled but curious. Hogan nodded, acknowledging their presence.

“We’ll be back to check on you in a bit,” Doc Sylvia said, her gaze sympathetic. “Rest now. You have a lot of healing to do, but you’re resilient. You’re stronger than you know.”

I nodded, my mind still whirling, each word and every moment settling over me like a new layer of armor. Hogan’s gaze held mine, a promise in his steady look.

As he left the room, I closed my eyes, letting the stillness wash over me. In the darkness, thoughts of Ethan, Ryan, Leo, Aaron, Devin, and Kylie drifted through my mind. They were more than friends; they were my pack, my chosen family. If they could see me now, I hoped they’d understand why I couldn’t go back. Why I couldn’t keep pretending I was fine in a place that had been tearing me apart.

I was here now, and as the darkness slipped away, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years—a purpose, forged in pain, yet burning bright.

This wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning.