The woods were quiet, almost too quiet. Tall trees loomed overhead, their thick branches blocking out most of the sunlight. The air was cool and damp, filled with the scent of moss and old earth. A soft breeze rustled the leaves, and somewhere in the distance, water trickled gently. Everything felt still—watchful, like the forest itself was holding its breath.
She held her breath.
Every nerve in her body stretched taut like a wire, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. Slowly, she turned her head toward the trees, eyes searching for the source of the noise.
Then, from behind a bush, a rabbit hopped into view, its brown fur blending almost perfectly with the forest floor.
A laugh, dry and short, escaped her lips, half from relief, half from disbelief. "Of course," she whispered. "Just a rabbit."
Her legs gave way, and she slumped back onto the grass, the tension melting into exhaustion.
But even with that small relief, she knew she couldn't stay there long. The forest might be quiet now, but how long before someone, or something, found her again.
She let herself rest for only a few minutes more.
Then, with effort, she pulled her tattered clothes back on. They clung damply to her skin, streaked with dirt and blood, but it didn't matter. She had to move.
This time, she rose with a little more strength.
Her legs still ached, her back throbbed with every breath, but something inside her had shifted. Maybe it was the water. Maybe it was the Silvergrass paste she applied on her wounds. Maybe it was just survival instinct finally kicking in.
She adjusted the cloth around her ribs, tied the rest of her shirt tighter, and began walking again, slow and steady, one step at a time.
No destination. No clear path.
Just the will to keep going.
After what felt like hours of walking, guided only by instinct and the ache in her bones, she finally reached it.
The air shifted.
The trees looked different here, neater somehow, more structured. The faint scent of marked territory clung to the breeze, sharp, dominant, and unfamiliar.
She had reached the edge of a pack border.
Layla's steps slowed. Her body screamed for rest, but her mind spun with fear. Crossing into another pack without permission was dangerous, even more so for an omega with no wolf.
Before she could decide what to do, movement caught her eye.
A group of patrolling warriors emerged from the trees, eyes sharp, alert, and locked on her instantly.
"Hey!" one of them barked, already stepping forward. "Who are you?!"
Her heart leapt. She tried to raise her hands in surrender, but they barely moved past her waist.
Then everything blurred.
The world tilted sideways as her knees buckled, and she went stumbling to the ground.
Before the darkness swallowed her whole, voices reached her, muffled and uncertain.
"Did you see what happened?"
"No... who is she?"
"She crossed the border. Should we call the Alpha?"
"Yeah. But first, make sure she's still breathing."
She wanted to speak, to tell them her name, that she meant no harm, but her lips wouldn't move.
Then, silence.
The air smelled like something sterile.
Too clean. Too white.
A faint beeping sound echoed in her ears. Then muffled voices. She couldn't make out what they were saying—only the rhythm of them, rising and falling like waves.
Her eyes fluttered open for a second.
Bright lights. White ceiling. Cool sheets.
Too bright.
Too soft.
Too strange.
She blinked and shut them again.
Her back ached with fire—raw pain pulsing from where the man's claws had raked her. Her arm stung too, but less sharply, bandaged over a healing wound.
Where was the smoke? The stench of blood? The sharp bark of orders? The cold sting of stone floors?
None of that was here.
Instead, she heard a voice, low, calm, and professional.
"Vitals are stabilising. We've treated the laceration on her back, and the wound on her arm looks like it had been cleaned before we found her. She's lucky."
Another voice, female this time.
"She was found near the South border. Alone. Barely conscious."
A pause.
"Did anyone get a name?"
Her heart beat faster.
No. She couldn't talk. Not yet. She didn't know where she was… or if it was even safe to speak.
She kept her eyes shut, hoping sleep would take her again.
She didn't know how long she'd been drifting, but when her eyes opened again, the ceiling was still white. The light wasn't as harsh now as it was now dimmed to a soft glow. Something beeped steadily beside her. She turned her head, slowly, painfully.
Monitors, IV drip, White sheets, and Machines she didn't know the names of.
Her heart began to race.
This wasn't home.
This wasn't anywhere she knew.
She tried to sit up and immediately regretted it as pain flared through her back and ribs.
A soft gasp escaped her lips.
The sound was enough to bring movement. A nurse, in light-blue scrubs, appeared beside her bed with a small smile.
"You're awake." Her voice was kind. "Don't move too much. You're still healing."
Layla blinked at her, trying to speak. Her throat was dry.
"Water?" the nurse asked gently.
She nodded.
The nurse helped her sit up just enough to sip from a straw. The water tasted like mercy.
After a few sips, she croaked out, "Where am I?"
"Crescent Moon Pack Infirmary," the nurse replied. "We found you near our South border. Do you remember what happened?"
Layla froze.
Crescent Moon.
Her heart began to pound, harder this time—not from pain, but panic. She had heard of them. Everyone had. A powerful, merciless pack with a reputation for brutality. Ruthless warriors. A cold, calculating Alpha who ruled with iron discipline. Crescent Moon didn't take in strays. They destroyed threats.
And she was a stray.
Her breathing quickened. Her fingers gripped the bedsheet, eyes flicking toward the door.
The nurse must have noticed.
"It's alright," she said softly, "You're not in danger."
But she was.
Or at least… she thought she was supposed to be.
Why wasn't she in chains? Why hadn't they thrown her back out, or worse?
Why was this woman looking at her like she mattered?
Nothing made sense. The kindness. The clean bed. The gentle voice.
It clashed so violently with everything she thought she knew that it left her more shaken than the beating had.
She lowered her gaze.
"Your wounds are healing well," the nurse added quietly. "You were lucky... someone found you when they did."
Layla didn't reply. She didn't trust her voice not to crack.
She was still waiting, waiting for the moment everything shifted. For the cruelty she'd always associated with the Crescent Moon name to finally show itself.
The nurse sat beside the bed, her tone still soft but more deliberate this time.
"What's your name, sweetheart?"
Layla hesitated, her throat tightening again. She could lie… but even lies were dangerous here. Especially here.
She swallowed hard.
Her lips parted, but the word caught.
"I…"
Her voice cracked. She tried again.
"L–Layla," she croaked, barely louder than a whisper.
The nurse leaned in gently. "Layla?"
She nodded, eyes still fixed on the bedsheet, fingers twisting the fabric like it could anchor her to safety.
"That's a lovely name," the nurse said kindly, like she hadn't noticed the tremble in her voice or the fear buried in her bones.
But Layla could tell she had noticed. She was just choosing to be gentle.
And that scared her even more.
Why be kind to someone like her? Someone whose pack had no status, no wolf, no worth?
Someone Crescent Moon warriors should have left to die.
Just as Layla started to settle into the silence, the door creaked open again. A different woman in scrubs stepped halfway in, tablet in hand.
"He's here," she said simply.
The nurse's head turned. "The Alpha?"
The woman nodded. "On his way up."
The room shifted.
Something sharp and electric sliced through the air. Not from them, but from her.
Layla's heart slammed against her chest. Her monitor beeped faster, louder, her pulse spiking wildly.
The nurse turned back instantly. "Layla, hey, breathe. It's alright."
But it wasn't. Not to her.
The Alpha?
Here?
No, no, no.
She'd heard stories. Everyone had. The Crescent Moon Alpha was ruthless. Unforgiving. She was an outsider, a rogue, an omega with no wolf and nothing to offer.
Why would he want to see her?
The monitor screamed her fear in digital beeps.
The nurse touched her hand, gently pressing it down. "You're safe. He's not here to hurt you."
Layla's breathing came in ragged gasps, eyes wide, lips trembling.
But nothing, nothing could stop the panic blooming in her chest.
Because no one called on the Alpha… unless there was something wrong.
And she had always, always been the wrong one.