Chapter 2 The Wasteland

Twenty-three hours and forty minutes remained.

I sat in my apartment, the small unit the pack had provided to me as their historian, with its walls lined with research and memories as I tried to convince myself this was real. But the pain radiating through my body was too acute to be anything other than truth.

The pack bond had severed completely. That absence was worse than the rejection itself. My entire life, the collective consciousness of the pack had hummed beneath my awareness, a constant reminder that I belonged to something larger than myself. Now there was only silence. A void so profound it felt like suffocation.

My hands shook as I threw clothes into a bag. Three months of collected possessions. A life that had taken twenty-four years to build, now being dismantled in minutes. I moved mechanically, unable to process what was happening, only knowing that stopping meant confronting the full weight of it.

The worst part was that my instincts were screaming contradictions. Every omega's body recognized rejection as a death sentence. Without a pack, omegas were vulnerable. We weren't built for independence. The fear was primal, hardwired into my DNA.

But underneath that fear was something else. Something my mother had whispered to me years ago, before she disappeared: "Never forget that they need us more than we need them, little one. They're just terrified of admitting it."

I'd been five years old. I hadn't understood.

My phone buzzed. A message from Thalia, marked urgent: Don't leave through the main gates. Marcus is waiting at the south entrance with supplies. He says it's important.

Marcus. My former mentor, the man who'd taught me pack history. He'd been demoted to a regular warrior after questioning some of Lysander's decisions years ago. If he was reaching out now, it meant he knew something.

I grabbed my bag and moved to the window. The pack mansion loomed in the distance, still glowing from the ceremony. They were probably celebrating even now. Toasting Logan's new mate. Discussing my banishment with the relish people reserved for tragedies that happened to other people.

The realization struck me with fresh force: they had chosen this. The silence in the ballroom when Logan made his announcement hadn't been shocked. It had been the silence of people who'd already made their decision about my worth.

I took the back stairs, avoiding the main corridors. My instincts as an omega had trained me to be invisible, to move through spaces without drawing attention. At least that skill would keep me alive long enough to reach Marcus.

The south gate was less guarded, mostly ceremonial. Marcus stood beneath the iron archway wearing dark clothes, looking older than I remembered. When he saw me, his expression crumpled with something that looked like guilt.

"Isabel," he said softly. "I'm so sorry. If I'd known..."

"What's happening?" I interrupted. I didn't have time for apologies. Twenty minutes remained.

Marcus glanced around, then gripped my arm and pulled me through the gate. Beyond pack territory, the forest grew wild and untamed. The boundary was a physical thing I could feel, a shimmer in the air that marked where the pack's magical influence ended. "Lysander's arrest wasn't random. Nothing Logan did tonight was random. There are forces at work that you don't understand, and I need you to listen carefully because I can't be seen helping you."

"My mother," I said. It wasn't a question. "Lysander arrested her too, didn't he?"

Marcus didn't answer, but his silence was confirmation enough. The man I'd trusted had been part of the system that destroyed my family.

"There are people who can help you," Marcus continued, pressing a small bag into my hands. "Cash, identification documents, fake ones and an address. There's a safe house for exiled omegas. You won't be alone."

"Why are you helping me?" The question came out bitter. "You were part of it."

"Yes," Marcus said simply. There was no excuse in his voice, no attempt at justification. "And I've spent years trying to decide if my complicity made me a monster or just a coward. But what happened to you tonight was wrong, and I won't be part of the next stage."

Footsteps echoed from within the mansion. Guards changing shifts, probably already searching for me. Time had run out.

"Go," Marcus said. "Now. And Isabel, your instincts will scream at you that you need the pack to survive. Don't listen. They were engineered into you. The truth is far more complicated."

I ran.

The forest consumed me, and the further I got from pack territory, the more acute the absence became. The bond that had been severed wasn't just emotional. It was physical, magical, foundational. My wolf whimpered inside me, confused and terrified. Without the pack's collective consciousness, I felt like a radio frequency that could no longer find a station.

Hours passed. I have no idea how many. I only knew that I was moving, that my lungs burned, that the bag Marcus had given me grew heavier with each step. My dress, my mother's dress, tore on branches, and I couldn't bring myself to care.

The sky darkened completely. I was deep in unknown territory, surrounded by trees that felt less like shelter and more like a cage. My phone had died miles back. I had no supplies, no sense of direction, no protection. Everything my entire life had taught me said I should already be dead.

I collapsed beside a stream, my body finally giving out. The exhaustion was physical but also spiritual, the bone-deep weariness of someone who'd lost everything. I pulled the torn edges of my white dress around me and allowed myself to cry, finally, without restraint.

That's when I heard them.

Footsteps. Multiple people, moving with precision through the forest. Not pack, but something else. Something that moved with the confidence of predators.

I froze. There was nowhere to go. I was exposed, vulnerable, and whatever was approaching had already caught my scent. Through the darkness, I saw them emerge: a group of perhaps five people, all radiating power.

The man at the front was tall, lean, dangerous. He had jet-black hair with silver streaks and a scar that ran from his left temple to his jaw. His eyes were the color of amber.

"Well," he said, his voice carrying an accent I couldn't place, "what do we have here? A Pack Historian, all alone in the woods and smelling like heartbreak and bad decisions."

I scrambled backward, but his people had already circled me. They weren't attacking, but they were blocking every escape route.

"Stay away from me," I whispered.

The man smiled, and it was the smile of a predator who'd just found a wounded animal. "Oh, little omega. You're on rogue territory now, and you belong to me until I decide otherwise. The question is: are you going to die out here alone, or are you going to take your chances with someone who can actually keep you alive?"

My vision blurred with exhaustion and fear. I was about to answer when a voice cut through the darkness, so commanding it made even this dangerous stranger pause.

"Kael Thorne."

I blinked, trying to focus. Standing behind the rogues, partially hidden by shadow, was a figure I recognized. It was Lysander Cross, moving with the fluid grace of someone who'd just escaped capture, or perhaps never been captured at all.

And he was smiling at the rogue Alpha with the familiarity of family.