Page 177 of Psycho Pack

Plague moves through the shop with quiet purpose, occasionally murmuring to the shopkeeper about custom ordersand delivery schedules. But I don't miss the way his gaze keeps drifting back to me, warm and adoring.

As I run my hands over a bolt of buttery-soft leather, my mind wanders. I can almost see it. A future here, in this impossible city of white stone and golden light. A life where I'm not constantly looking over my shoulder, where I don't have to fight for every scrap of comfort.

A life where I can build a real home.

"Are you alright, little omega?" Valek's voice is uncharacteristically gentle. When I look up, I'm surprised to see genuine concern in those usually sharp eyes.

I nod, not trusting my voice. How can I explain how I'm feeling? The hope and the fear, the longing and the doubt, all tangled up so tightly I can't tell where one ends and the other begins?

But Valek just nods, like he understands.

Maybe he does.

We're all broken in our own ways, after all.

"Here," he says, pressing a silk blanket into my hands. It's a deep, rich midnight black, shot through with threads of silver that catch the light. "For when you need a reminder that even the darkest night has stars."

I clutch the fabric to my chest, overwhelmed by the gesture. By all of it. The kindness, the care, the sheer normalcy of shopping for bedding with my pack.

My family.

"Thank you," I murmur, and I mean it for so much more than just the silk. I'm still planning on having the talk to end all talks with him when we have a moment alone, but for now, it can wait.

Valek's smile is softer than I've ever seen it, the corners of his lips peeking out above his scarf. He reaches out, like he wants to touch me, then thinks better of it. Instead, he just nods and drifts away to terrorize another display of throw pillows.

I turn back to the mountain of fabrics we've accumulated, running my fingers over each piece. The forest green of Whiskey's blanket. The midnight blue of Thane's silk. The sapphire of Wraith's faux fur. The shimmering black night of Valek's blanket.

And there, nestled in the center, a swath of pure white silk adorned with delicate golden embroidery.

Plague's contribution.

It reminds me of Surhiira itself, of the pristine beauty of this place that could be our home.

Our home.

Is that what I want?

To stay here and put down roots when all this is over?

I pick up a small throw pillow, running my fingers over the embroidered words stitched in gold thread.

Home is where the pack is.

And I add it to our basket with a smile.

Chapter

Thirty

IVY

Through the window, Surhiira's gleaming spires fade into the distance, replaced by the stark wasteland of the Outer Reaches. My hand traces idle patterns on the cool glass of the train window as I think back to the past few days.

I never expected to fall in love with a place. But Surhiira, with its white stone buildings and golden accents, carved out a space in my heart. The way sunlight danced off the geometric patterns adorning every surface. The quiet dignity of its people in their white clothes and veiled faces. Even the strict social rules felt comforting in their predictability.

It's hard to believe we were only there for a few days. It feels like our time in Surhiira was simultaneously so much shorter and so much longer. Maybe it's because it's so isolated from the rest of the world, it feels like it's in its own parallel universe, separated from my own perception of time.

Plague sits beside me, reading a leather-bound book. He's traded his usual dramatic outfits for the simple yet sharp black suit with gold accents he selected during our shopping trip to the market in Surhiira. His dark hair is tied back at the nape of hisneck, a few long strands falling forward over his angular face as he pores over his book.

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