Chapter 3 HAILEY SNEAKS OFF

HAILEY My ceiling cracks had become a constant map of pain. Each night, I woke in my tiny bed, and I traced them out with my eyes, following the jagged edges like roads to nowhere. It was on one of these nights, with everything closing in around me, that the thought came. I can't stay here any longer. Marissa's recent cruelty had left fresh bruises, not just on my skin, but somewhere deeper—inside where hope had once been. The pack's whispers, the sneers, the contempt in their eyes—it was not new. The Cedar pack had made me feel like nothing, invisible, disposable, all along. Tonight, the emptiness inside me was unbearable. The packhouse had never been home. It was a cage, made of tall walls of stone and rules designed to suffocate, where every eye judged and criticised. If I stayed, I would slowly fade away in silence until nothing was left of me but dust. But running off was not enough. I did not simply want to escape—I wanted to live. Whispers came back to me. Gossip that I had heard months before when nobody thought I had been paying attention: the human world outside the pack border. A place filled with people, with work for whoever was willing to do it. Humans, too engrossed in their own problems, would not notice a battered girl among them. If I could earn money, I could save and maybe someday create a life beyond the Cedar's reach. It was stupid and dangerous, but what did I have to lose anymore? The idea gripped deep, growing stronger with every day like a weed between the cracks in a stone. Every jab from Marissa, every hard stare from the others, fed it. By the fourth night, it had taken root, and I was finally ready to leave. That evening, after the packhouse had settled into its tense silence, I rose. My heart was pounding so violently that I knew it could wake the walls themselves. I slipped out of bed, trembling fingers unbuttoning frayed jeans and a threadbare shirt. My shoes were thin, their soles worn smooth from years of farmwork. They'd not travel far, but they'd travel through every unfair walk I ever took. My breathing was in little gasps as I crept down the corridor, shadows closing around me. "Amenia?" I whispered, my voice hardly louder than the silence. "I'm here," my wolf answered, her voice smooth and steady, an anchor in the storm of fear. "Stay quiet. I'll watch." Her strength surrounded me like a cloak. We were two souls in one frail body, and together we had endured more than our share of cruelty. I stalled at the back door. The enormous door loomed above me like the edge of a cliff. Once it was opened, we could not return. My fingers shook as I pushed, the hinges protesting loudly. I stood still, swallowed a gasp, holding my ear. No footsteps. No sounds. The night breeze greeted me, the dewy grass caressed my toes, and the woods stretched out before me—dark, limitless, and ominous, but it was the path to freedom. I walked carefully, every step heavy; sticks snapped, leaves scraped, and every sound echoed like thunder. My heartbeatcontinuously sped up, every thud a countdown. I knew patrols did not venture this far under the cover of darkness, but fear of capture hung around me like a secondary skin. "We're nearly there," Amenia breathed, her voice calm to my frazzled nerves. I nodded, my throat too tight for speech. As the trees thinned and the faint light of the human town came into view, relief hit me so hard I stumbled. There it was—the diner. Its dull sign hanging weakly against the black sky, alternating but unbroken, shining like a broken beacon. Compared to the oppressive blackness of the forest, it felt welcoming. Almost safe. I buried my dripping hands in my jeans, breathed deeply, and swung the door open. The smell hit me first: coffee, bacon, grease—all warm, comforting scents that belonged to a world not my own. The diner itself was small, its black-and-white checkered floor worn thin by decades of use. Red leather booths near the windows were worn soft, seams cracking in places. Behind the counter, a middle-aged woman worked to wipe the counter with swift strokes. Her keen, assessing eyes met mine at once. "May I help you?" she asked, her voice level but not unkind. I had a parched throat, but I forced grit into my words. "I… I'm looking for work." She looked at me—my rumpled hair, my frayed clothes, the fatigue etched on every line of me—yet she never commented. "You're in luck," she said after a beat. "Our dishwasher broke down yesterday. Can you handle it?" "Yes," I said quickly."I'll work hard. I promise." Another silence stretched between us before she finally agreed. "Name's Helen. You start tonight." Relief struck me so strongly that my knees trembled. She led me to the kitchen, a clang of banging pots, sputtering fryers, and piles of dirty dishes. She handed me an apron. "It's not glamorous, but it's honest," she said. "Stick with it, and there'll be no trouble." I will," I promised, my voice thick with gratitude. The dishwashing was never-ending. Hot water scalded my hands, steam clung to my skin, and my muscles screamed with the constant scrubbing, but I didn't mind. For the first time in years, I wasn't useless. For the first time, I was doing something I found myself. Every plate I washed, every counter I cleaned, was proof I could make a life the pack couldn't touch. Hope flared in me. There's hope for tomorrow. Later, after hours of furious clatter in the kitchen, Helen slipped an envelope into my hand. "Good work tonight," she said, gently now. "Tomorrow?" "Yes," I said quickly, clinging to the envelope as if it were a lifeline. "Thank you." As I took a step back into darkness, the cold of the air bit into skin, but pride smouldered within me like fire. I had done it. For the first time in my life, I'd walked my own path. A low laugh rent the stillness of the night as I walked, and my heart froze. Two shapes appeared out of the darkness, their outlines taking form beneath the silver light of the moon. Pack warriors. "Where do you think you're going?" one taunted, his voice dripping with contempt. The envelope trembled in my palm. Fear overflowed, scratching at my breast. How did they find me? The second warrior grinned with malice. "The Alpha will be glad. If you can escape, you can accept the punishment." Amenia roared in my head. "Run." Immediately I ran, covering the envelope in my fist, lungs burning as the woods engulfed me again. I couldn't shift—not here. No one could discover Amenia. If the pack discovered my secret, they'd kill us both. Branches tore at my sleeves, and roots tried to sweep me away, but I never stopped. The money held in my fist was not mere paper—it was promise, hope and freedom. But they were faster. They were more powerful. Their pursuit thundered behind me until one of them tackled me. My cheek cracked into earth, pain flashing over my face. The envelope was snatched from my grasp. "No!" I screamed, clawing at the earth, reaching for it. A fistfulof my hair was grabbed by a warrior, yanking me back. Blazing pain shot through my scalp. "You thought you could get away?" The warrior growled, his hot, bitter breath in my ear. "You thought you could leave?" The other pocketed the envelope, shaking it like a prize. "All this, for bits of human money. Pathetic." I wept, rage and desperation fought within my chest. I had risked everything, and with a brutal moment, it was all lost. Yet below the terror, something untamed stirred to life. Amenia's tone was quiet and unmoving. "This isn't the end, Hailey. They haven't crushed us yet." I stood frozen. Tears were still on my face, but a fierce anger fuelled my eyes. They thought they had won. They thought returning me would be enough. But I had felt freedom tonight, and once felt, it could never be taken away. Even if they punished me and jailed me. I would escape this hell.