The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting golden stripes across the floor of Layla's room. The soft knock on her door came just as her eyes fluttered open. It was time.
She got up slowly, her body still aching from the previous day's training, but there was a quiet determination in her steps now — not necessarily strength, but the will to keep moving.
By the time she reached the training field, the sun had just started to rise fully, bathing the grounds in a soft amber glow. Wolves were already gathered, stretching, preparing, some chatting quietly. She walked past them, her gaze searching until it landed on Arwen, who was already waiting.
"You're on time today," Arwen noted, her arms folded across her chest, expression unreadable.
Layla gave a small nod. "Good morning."
"Morning," came the curt reply. "Warm up. Today, we're building endurance."
Layla swallowed hard. She already felt sore, and endurance training sounded like pain. But she didn't complain.
She just moved.
After hours of grueling training — her arms aching, calves burning, and sweat soaking through her clothes — Layla finally trudged her way back toward the main wing. The sun was higher now, casting sharp beams of light across the stone paths. Her shirt clung to her back, and every step felt like dragging a bag of stones uphill.
She didn't care. A shower and her bed were the only two things on her mind.
But just as she turned into the corridor that led to her room, a guard stepped into her path.
"Layla," he said, voice firm but not unkind.
She looked up, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. "Yes?"
"The Alpha has requested to see you."
Her heart stuttered.
Now?
She looked down at herself — dusty, disheveled, and smelling like effort. "Can I… change first?"
The guard gave a short shake of his head. "His request was immediate."
Layla swallowed, nodding slowly as her muscles protested. She pushed down the anxiety rising in her throat.
The Alpha didn't speak.
But his silence always said enough.
The walk to the Alpha's office was quiet, the guard a few steps ahead, Layla trailing behind like a shadow too tired to protest. Her heart thudded against her ribs — not in fear exactly, but not comfort either. With Alpha Dorian, you never really knew what to expect.
When they arrived, the guard opened the door and motioned her in. She stepped inside slowly, trying not to show how her legs nearly buckled with fatigue.
As always, the office was the same — large, sparsely decorated, neat to the point of intimidation. Sunlight spilled in from the tall windows, casting long beams across the stone floor.
Cael stood beside the Alpha, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Dorian sat behind his desk, back straight, eyes dark and unreadable as ever. He didn't speak. He never did.
"Layla," Cael began, his tone neutral. "You're here because the Alpha has a task for you. It's not punishment. It's not evaluation. Just something we thought you might be suited for."
She shifted where she stood, unsure. "Okay?"
Cael glanced at the Alpha briefly before continuing. "You'll be assisting Mira at the infirmary today. Think of it as… orientation. She's been expecting you."
Layla blinked. The infirmary?
Then it clicked.
The talk about 'heat.' The rule she didn't understand. The one Cael had promised someone would explain. She hadn't forgotten — it had just buried itself beneath the weight of everything else.
She gave a small nod, suddenly feeling even more exhausted.
Cael offered nothing more. No smile. No reassurance. Just a simple, "Mira will be waiting. You're dismissed."
Layla stepped out of the Alpha's office, the door clicking shut behind her with finality. The quiet in the hallway pressed in, only broken by the occasional distant murmur or soft footfall echoing through the stone corridors.
She began walking — slowly, her body sore from training and her mind foggy from lack of rest. The route wasn't unfamiliar anymore. She'd passed the infirmary wing several times over the past few weeks, but this was the first time she was going in with purpose.
Just as she turned a corner, the soft sound of footsteps approached from the opposite direction. Layla didn't look up until a familiar voice called out.
"Layla!"
Janet.
She wore a loose white sweater over leggings, her hair tucked in a bun as always. There was a book in one hand and a bottle of something green in the other.
"Hey," Janet said as she caught up, her smile easy. "Heading somewhere important?"
Layla gave a small nod. "The infirmary."
Janet raised a brow. "You okay?"
"I'm not sick," Layla clarified. "They asked me to meet someone. Mira."
"Oh, Mira," Janet laughed softly. "Good luck. She's nice… in a strict, might-choke-you-with-science kind of way."
Layla gave a faint smile.
Janet tilted her head, noticing the heaviness around her friend's eyes. "You look like you haven't slept since last year."
"I've just been... tired," Layla murmured.
"Well, if Mira doesn't scare you back to bed, I'll bring cookies tonight. Deal?"
Layla's smile grew a little. "Deal."
They walked together a few more steps before Janet veered off toward the east wing. Layla continued forward alone, the faint antiseptic scent in the air letting her know she was close.
And somewhere deep inside, the nerves stirred again.
The infirmary smelled sterile — like antiseptic, clean linen, and something faintly minty. Layla stepped in slowly, her boots making soft taps on the tile floor. The white walls, silver railings, and quietly humming machines made the place feel more like a human hospital than anything she ever knew.
A woman stood at the far end of the room, flipping through a tablet. Her coat was snow-white, sleeves neatly rolled up, dark braids pulled tightly into a bun. She didn't look up when Layla entered.
"Mira?" Layla asked softly.
"Yes." Mira's voice was clipped and precise. She tapped once on the screen before finally lifting her gaze. Her eyes were sharp — not unkind, but focused, like someone who'd memorized your vitals just from looking at you.
"You're Layla," she said without question. "You were told I'd be the one explaining your... condition."
Heat prickled at Layla's neck. "Yes," she replied, voice small.
Mira gestured to a stool. "Sit. This will be quick."
Layla obeyed, nerves twisting.
"There are things your body will experience as an omega that you haven't been properly educated on," Mira began. "Heat, specifically. Think of it like a biological cycle — except it's hormonal, not monthly. It doesn't follow a calendar."
Layla nodded slowly, eyes wide.
"It'll happen when your body is ready — triggered by stress, change, or close proximity to strong alphas. It's intense, overwhelming, and… primal." Mira paused. "The first time is usually disorienting. You may feel vulnerable. Emotional. Physical. Pulled."
Layla swallowed.
"You won't be expected to train during your cycle. There are protocols in place. Medication. Rooms. We monitor everything closely."
"And… what if I don't want to—" Layla hesitated, unsure how to finish the sentence.
"You don't have to do anything you don't consent to," Mira cut in flatly. "Ever."
Relief flooded Layla's shoulders.
"If you ever feel something coming on — nausea, feverishness, a sudden increase in scent sensitivity — come here. We'll help manage it." Mira's tone softened slightly. "You're not alone here, Layla. You may not have had guidance before, but you'll get it now."
Layla nodded slowly, absorbing the words.
"You may go," Mira said, already returning to her tablet.
Layla stood, still quiet.
As she reached the door, Mira spoke again without looking up. "The more you understand your body, the less afraid of it you'll be."
Layla left the infirmary with her head full and heart heavier than she expected. The hallway outside felt colder somehow — or maybe it was just her nerves catching up to her.
She walked slowly, each step dragging slightly as exhaustion settled in. The sun had shifted lower in the sky, casting soft amber light through the tall windows that lined the corridor. Everything felt too quiet. Too still.
By the time she reached her room, she was no longer thinking about heat, or omegas, or anything Mira had said. She was just… tired.
She pushed the door open and stepped inside. Familiar walls. A neatly made bed. The folded blanket. The tray from lunch still sitting where she'd left it.
Safe.
She closed the door quietly behind her and leaned against it for a moment, letting her head fall back.
She was still healing. From wounds deeper than the skin.
And for now, she just needed to rest.
A knock at the door startled her awake.
Layla blinked against the dimming evening light spilling through the curtains, disoriented for a moment. Her body ached in quiet protest as she sat up slowly, realizing just how long she had slept. The shadows were longer now. The world quieter.
Another knock, softer this time.
She shuffled to the door and opened it.
Janet stood there, hands behind her back, wearing a warm smile. Her auburn hair was pulled into a loose braid, and she looked like she'd just come from somewhere casual and easy — the kind of life Layla wasn't used to.
"Hey," Janet said, her voice gentle. "I figured you might've dozed off. We're heading down to dinner soon. I thought I'd check if you wanted to come."
Layla hesitated, blinking sleep from her eyes.
Dinner?
She hadn't even realized the day had slipped so far.
"I…" she paused, then nodded. "Yeah. Just… give me a minute to freshen up?"
Janet smiled wider. "Of course. I'll wait."
The warm water soothed her body as she stepped under it, washing away the sleep and sweat clinging to her skin. She let her fingers trail down her arms, over the faded bruises and healing wounds — a silent reminder of everything she had endured. Of everything she had survived.
She didn't have a wolf.
But sometimes, in moments like this, she wondered what it would feel like — to have something inside her, fierce and loyal. Something that belonged to her and her alone.