THE SILENT REBELLION

Chapter 6

The Silence Begins

I awoke in my room, face down on the stiff mattress that had done little to cushion me from the discomfort of the night before. Every part of my body ached, a deep and lingering pain that left me wincing as I tried to shift. I sucked in a shaky breath, hoping to soothe the throbbing, but the awful metallic collar still sat around my neck, heavy and cold. It burned like an iron brand, pressing into the bruises and cuts from my earlier punishment. I reached a trembling hand to the back of my neck, fingers fumbling as I searched for some kind of release. The lock was still fastened tight, refusing to budge even as I tugged with what little strength I had left.

Suddenly, a soft hand covered mine, startling me. My heart skipped a beat as I turned my head, only to see one of the omegas standing quietly beside me, her fingers warm and gentle as she coaxed my own away from the cruel device. She had a kind face, though worry darkened her features as she worked in silence. Her gaze flicked nervously toward the door, and she pressed a finger to her lips, silently reminding me of my punishment. No talking. No sound.

I swallowed, understanding, and forced a watery smile. My gratitude must have shone in my eyes because she seemed to relax a little, though her movements remained quick and efficient. She dabbed a warm sponge against my back, the heat easing some of the worst pain, and I could almost feel my wolf's relief echo through me. My back was healing faster than expected, the wounds not as deep or angry as they had been. My wolf had done her work while I slept, knitting the flesh back together bit by bit. I sent her a silent message of thanks, feeling her drowsy satisfaction before she returned to her slumber.

The omega's expression turned puzzled as she wiped away the last traces of blood and grime. It was as though she was surprised by the speed of my recovery. Perhaps she had seen others in similar states and knew that their healing didn’t compare. I’d seen that same surprise earlier that morning at breakfast, before Grandmother had cut in. It was something I’d have to think about. Maybe there was something different about my wolf, something that set me apart.

I had a whole month of silence to contemplate these mysteries, thanks to Grandfather's harsh punishment. I hated him for it, but I also realized there was a silver lining. Time. Time to think, to watch, to learn. Maybe I’d discover some way to fit in or, even better, find a way to escape this place. My parents hadn’t been the only rogues in the world, and the idea of forming an alliance with others who had left pack life for similar reasons whispered a small seed of hope into my mind. Perhaps freedom wasn’t as unattainable as it seemed.

The omega gave me a worried look, perhaps puzzled by the small smile that had slipped onto my face, but she said nothing. She couldn't. Instead, she continued tending to me, careful and diligent. When she finished, she gently squeezed my shoulder before stepping back. As she gathered her things, I reached for her hand impulsively, only to have her shake her head in alarm. No communication. No contact. I’d almost gotten her in trouble.

I mouthed, "Sorry," and her brow furrowed as though the concept of an apology was foreign to her. With a nervous glance at the door, she fumbled in her apron pocket and pulled out a small, well-worn pocketbook. On the front, the name *Sophie* was scrawled in delicate, uneven letters. She showed it to me, her eyes wide with both pride and fear.

“Sophie,” I whispered, so quietly even I barely heard it. She must have seen the way I mouthed her name, and for a moment, something like joy flickered across her face. But then she snapped back to reality, hurrying to the door to check for any eavesdroppers before returning. She pulled out a small jar of balm and began to apply it to my back, her hands swift and soothing. The cooling salve worked wonders, and I wanted to cry from relief.

She then pulled a soft shirt from her bundle, urging me to put it on. It was against the rules for her to give me these comforts, and I couldn’t help but feel immense gratitude. I slipped the shirt on quickly, lying back on the bed as she made her escape. Her footsteps faded down the hallway, and I finally let out a shaky breath.

I noticed the pocketbook she had left behind on the floor. For a moment, I hesitated. It wasn’t my place to read it, yet curiosity won out. I picked it up, flipping through the pages. It wasn’t a diary, not exactly. Each page was filled with lists of chores, crudely written and ticked off. The handwriting was rough, and I remembered that omegas weren’t given the same schooling as the rest of us. Scattered among the lists were heartbreaking notes: *Stupid. Worthless. Useless.* My chest ached at the thought of Sophie believing those lies, undoubtedly drilled into her by years of mistreatment.

None of Ori’s creations were useless. How had Stone Mountain forgotten that?

I flipped to a clean page and wrote a note, keeping the sentences short and easy to read:

*Dearest Sophie,

You are kind. You are brave. You are strong. I am thankful for you. I am glad you are here. I look forward to knowing you more.

Your Friend.*

I hoped it would never be used against her, but it was the least I could do to let her know she mattered. Carefully, I tucked the book under some papers in the drawer. Satisfied, I lay back on my pillow, exhausted despite having done little. Sleep pulled me under once more.

---

When I awoke again, the sky outside was dim, the colors blurring between dusk and dawn. I stretched, feeling the familiar soreness in my muscles but noting the remarkable progress in my healing. My wolf stirred, pleased with herself. I sent her a wave of appreciation, sensing her playful satisfaction in return.

My back, once a canvas of bloody gashes, was now a landscape of bruises and faint, pink scars. The worst of the pain had faded. I checked myself in the small mirror, amazed at my wolf’s work. It was still tender, but I no longer had to worry about the wounds reopening.

The early morning air was crisp, and I slipped to the window, lifting the sash and inhaling deeply. It smelled like dew and the promise of a new day. I climbed onto the ledge, savoring the quiet.

My mind drifted back to life before all this. Before my father’s funeral. Before Grandfather had come for me. Mornings back then were filled with warmth: my mother’s cooking, my father reading the paper aloud, and the laughter that echoed through our little home. I’d loved helping in the kitchen, dreaming of one day becoming a chef. I’d even sent applications to culinary schools, hoping to work in a real restaurant.

But everything had changed in the blink of an eye. Grandfather had torn me away after Dad died, and the Council’s rules had stripped me of everything else. All because a doctor had reported my mother’s illness, suspecting our family’s intentions.

Grandfather had arrived, and my world had shattered.