Page 70 of Knot Shattered
You could feel the change. Omega shelters no longer kept their doors triple-bolted out of fear. Young omegas walked the sidewalks with their heads held higher, eyes clear and unafraid. The air seemed lighter, as if the city had finally taken a breath it had held for years. Fallon’s apartment building for the omegas had taken off successfully. She’s helped hundreds of omegas have somewhere safe to get their life back.
I got something back, too.
It wasn’t instantaneous. Healing never was. But slowly, like stone gradually carved into beauty, something inside me shifted. I woke one morning, smiling softly at the sunlight streaming through our bedroom window. Another day, in the shower, I traced fingers over my scars without feeling the sting of remembered pain. Eventually, nights passed without nightmares dragging me screaming from my bed.
Small victories. Quiet ones.
But powerful. And they were mine.
I was never alone in these victories. My pack made sure of that. Micha’s steady presence, planning, strategizing—making sure every room, every space, felt safe. Salem’s quiet thoughtfulness, brewing tea before I ever mentioned feeling tired, brushing gentle kisses across my temples when he knew my thoughts were too loud. Ravik is solid and watchful, silently patching dents in the garage walls and checking the locks three times every night without a word.
And Haze—beautiful, reckless, irrepressible Haze—who danced in the kitchen at dawn, half-naked and laughing, singing loudly off-key, teaching me that joy could be a weapon all its own.
They didn’t save me. They reminded me I never needed saving. I’d already clawed my way free from the depths. Now I was building something beautiful from the ashes.
Today, the studio smelled of fresh clay, dust, and sunshine. Henry lounged in his usual spot, sprawled comfortably on the worn leather chair in the corner, newspaper open in front of him. He pretended he wasn’t watching everything, but we all knew better. He still did his quiet patrols, guarding my peace without a single complaint. Mom had alreadycome by earlier, bringing coffee, pastries, and her radiant smile, assuring herself once again that I was happy.
I was.
My newest sculpture rose proudly from the center of the workspace. Marble shifted seamlessly from rough-hewn edges at the base, transforming upward into a woman emerging free and unshackled. Her arms stretched gracefully toward the sky, face tilted upward in defiant triumph. She was strength, but tempered by softness. Resilient, yet open to love.
She was me, carved in stone, finally whole.
Warm arms slid around my waist from behind. Micha rested his chin gently on my shoulder, his voice soft against my ear. “She’s beautiful, Odette. Strong, just like you.”
“I wanted her softer,” I whispered, fingertips skimming the smooth curves of her arm. “Not just a warrior, but a woman. Someone who knows it’s okay to break and still be strong.”
“She is,” Salem said quietly from the doorway, eyes warm and knowing. “That’s exactly why she’s dangerous. She knows when to burn everything down—and when to bloom.”
“I’m naming herBecoming,” I told them, pride blossoming quietly in my chest. It felt like an ending and a beginning wrapped together, as intricately layered as the woman I’d carved.
“It’s perfect,” Ravik murmured, joining Salem in the doorway. His dark eyes softened, his stern features relaxed into that rare, gentle look he reserved just for me.
Haze bounded into the room moments later, eyes bright, lips curved in a mischievous grin. “Great work, O, really lovely—but you still need to sculpt me next. Something heroic. Naked, probably.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You’d actually pose naked, wouldn’t you?”
“In a heartbeat,” Haze agreed enthusiastically, wiggling his eyebrows as he popped a grape into his mouth. Ravik moved past him, delivering a playful smack to the back of his head without breaking stride.
I laughed harder this time, the sound ringing clear and true. Unrestrained, real.
I glanced around at them—my pack, my family—and felt a wave of warmth ripple through my chest. This life, the one I’d carefully pieced together, was imperfect. It was messy, chaotic, and loud. It wasn’t the life I imagined, but it was so much better because it was mine.
Because they were mine.
Because we were stronger together.
I turned back to my sculpture, pressing my palm gently against the marble. The stone was smooth, strong, and solid beneath my fingertips. She wasn’t trapped. She wasn’t caged or broken.
She was rising, becoming exactly who she was meant to be.
Just like me.
Fallon
November 12th
9:21 A.M
