The morning sunlight spilled through the windows like a silent promise Sybil wasn't ready to accept. She sat on the edge of her bed, still in her wrinkled white top and shorts from last night, staring at the single suitcase by the door. Her clothes had already been taken. Only what Alaric approved had remained.
Her throat felt tight, dry. Like no matter how much she swallowed, nothing could ease the sensation of loss. Not just of her home — but of her freedom. Her choices.
A knock came, sharp and controlled.
She didn't have to ask who it was.
"Come in," she said quietly.
Her father entered, his greying hair slightly damp from the morning dew. He didn't speak at first — just stood by the door, his hands behind his back.
"I know you're angry," he began.
Sybil didn't look at him. "Angry? I'm being given away to a stranger who announced my mark in front of the entire pack like he was reading off a damn grocery list."
