My tears flowed freely now, soaking into the thin mattress beneath me. I hadn’t realized how much I missed hearing that name, how much I missed her—the real Gloria. The sister who used to laugh with me, who used to love me.
It wasn’t until the moment she saved me—pushing me out of harm’s way, sacrificing herself for me—that I heard it again. "Sunshine, run!" She’d said it with so much urgency, so much desperation. It had been years since that word passed her lips, and she’d saved it for her dying breath.
Why? Why then? Why, after all those years of silence and coldness, did she use it again?
I would never know. That was the cruelty of it. She was gone, my parents were gone, and I was left alone with nothing but these questions and the crushing weight of regret. I clutched my chest, feeling the emptiness there, the gnawing void where their love used to be.
I should have gone with her that day. Maybe I could have protected her. Maybe she would have stayed my sister, the one who called me Sunshine and patted my head when I was lazy. Maybe none of this would have happened.
But it did happen, and now I was here, lying on a cold, hard bed in a pack that hated me, my heart breaking over and over again as I whispered into the darkness, "I’m sorry, Tori. I’m so, so sorry."
But the shadows swallowed my words, and there was no one left to hear them.
Nadia'S POV
A year. A whole year since I was dragged here, to this prison in the guise of a pack. Time lost all meaning in the endless cycle of torment and labor. The days blurred together, each one more unbearable than the last, each humiliation cutting deeper than the one before. My body was numb to the ache, but my soul—my spirit—was shredded beyond recognition.
Today was different, though. Today was Alpha Lucas's coming of age ceremony. His 18th birthday. The whole Lockheart Pack buzzed with excitement and anticipation. The great hall was being prepared for a feast, the tables set with dishes I had scrubbed clean until my fingers bled, and the floors polished so that they gleamed beneath the candlelight. I was given the same rags to wear, my frostbitten hands working tirelessly without a hint of compassion from anyone.