Chapter 63: Erin
Erin Pov
"E..."
"Eri..."
"Erin..."
"ERIN!"
I finally snap out of my thoughts, my head jerking up to meet the worried gaze of my longtime friend, Doctor Eliona Mose.
"Are you okay? Should I call someone?" she asks, her voice tight with concern. Am I okay? No. I am very far from okay. But saying that won’t change my fate. "I know this is hard for you, but you can’t give up hope, things will get better." Eliona says, though I can hear the lie in her tone. She’s only trying to comfort me, to keep me from collapsing under the weight of it all.
"I’m fine, Eliona. Thank you for your concern," I lie, forcing my lips into a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. I don’t want to burden her with things she cannot control. "I shall take my leave now."
I rise from the chair, my movements stiff, and she flashes me another concerned look. I simply smile again, shallow and empty, before making my way out of her office.
"Afternoon, Mr. Boleyn," a patient greets as he’s wheeled through the hallway by a nurse.
"Afternoon, Mr. Smith. Off to your bingo game, I presume?"
Mr. Smith is one of the longest‑staying patients at this hospital. He’s been here since we opened eight years ago. He thinks we don’t know he’s perfectly healthy, that we’ve let him stay out of concern for his health. But the truth is, we do know he’s faking it. We let him stay because he has no one else. He’s an omega whose mates died eight years back. He was supposed to be placed in another pack, but he loved his previous one so much he refused to move on. So he faked an illness to stay here, to keep the council off his back.
"You know me well," he laughs, his voice warm despite the years of grief.
"After all these years, your schedule has never changed," I chuckle, glancing at Nurse Rina, the one responsible for his care. And yes, I know her name. I make it a point to remember all my patients and staff. My memory is sharp, and I might as well use it for something meaningful.
"Alright, I hope you have your first win today," I say, offering the nurse a wave before leaving.
I never thought I’d share parallels with Mr. Smith. But look at me now. Alone.
I make my way to the center of the hospital, where a large tree rises through the atrium. The hospital stretches twenty‑nine floors high, and I’m on the seventeenth. Like every other floor, there’s a circular area at the center with benches surrounding the tree. My packmates thought it would be inspiring to place a tree on every level, a place for people to write their wishes on strings and hang them up, to give them hope when all hope feels lost.
I stop and stare at the tree, watching patients and doctors alike tying their wishes to its branches. My vision blurs, and before I can stop it, tears spill down my cheeks. Everything hurts. Every day I return to an empty house. I live in memories of the past, reminders of the present that I have no one. That I am alone.
"You’re not alone." A handkerchief appears in my line of vision, followed by a voice.
"Never suffer in silence. It’s a slippery slope. If you need help, reach out to someone close or a professional."
I look up at the owner of the voice. It’s a girl. A girl I know. She’s the one my packmate danced with back at the gala. The one who rejected my pack.
Why is she here? Why is she covered in bandages? Am I dreaming? Am I already dead and imagining this?
"Here, take it. Wipe your tears."
Her warm hand, smelling faintly of vanilla, meets mine as she presses the handkerchief into my palm.
"I have to go now," she says quickly, hurrying off down the hall.
I just stand there, staring at the handkerchief in my hands, my heart pounding against my chest.
Is this how my packmate felt when she danced with her?
Oracle Pov
"I know it was you."
I look up from the document I wasn’t even reading to see Walter barging into my office, his face twisted with fury and grief. I glance around the room, half‑expecting so see some lingering spirit he might be addressing instead of me.
"What?" I tilt my brow, my expression twisting into confusion. I am the only person here other then him.
"I know you were in cahoots with Torin, going public about Lorali." His voice trembles, livered and sad all at once, his anger barely masking the wound beneath.
"Walter, where on earth did you get that idea?" I ask, baffled. Yes, I am loyal to Torin, but I would never scheme against Walter. If I had an issue with him, I’d face him directly. I don’t deal in backstabbing.
"Straight from the source. I know you’re bonded and fated to Lorali, and never once have I forced you to do anything to her for me. You chose to stay away from her, no one made you. So I don’t understand why you’d stab me in the back now."
I stare at him in disbelief. "Look, the only thing I knew was that she was back. I had no idea Torin was planning to go public about her." After all I’ve done for him, how can he think so little of me? That I am capable of betraying not only him but this pack, the pack I literally gave my fated mate up for.
"That’s even worse. You knew about her and didn’t tell anyone." He scoffs, his voice cracking, his eyes burning with hurt as he looks at me like I’ve broken something sacred.
"Sorry, I needed a bit of time to process that my bonded mate, who had been gone for two months, had magically reappeared before I could tell you about it," I say sarcastically, the apology hollow, not meant in the slightest.
"Oh please, you don’t mean that." He picks up on my tone instantly. "I’m really disappointed in you, Oracle."
"In me?" I throw the file onto my desk, the papers scattering. "I have given everything for this pack, even my mate, and you have the gall to be disappointed in me? I’m the one who should be disappointed. You think I’m capable of scheming in the shadows? Is that how little I mean to you?"
I scoff, my lips curving bitterly. "Every day, I have to ignore the bond that connects me to Lorali. Every day, I watch Torin get closer to her than me, her actual fated mate. Do you know how much that hurts? But I do it anyway. For you. All for you. Because that is a pain I can bear if it means you will be happy."
I move past him toward the door, my hand brushing against my temple as if to steady myself. "Walter, I think you’ve lost yourself in hatred. The sooner you realize Lorali is not your competition, the happier your life will be." I glance back at him one last time before leaving him in the office and all I can see is his shoulders sag.
I’m so over this. I have been nothing but loyal. Every day I drown myself so Walter can keep his pack without problem. But none of that matters now. Torin has made it clear Lorali is here to stay. She’s not going anywhere.
I hate that Torin can do whatever he wants without a care for how it affects anyone. He isn’t even fated to Lorali, yet he has fallen for her, even though he refuses to admit it. I’ve seen the way he looks at her–the way I want to look at her–but I can’t. Because I rejected her.
I’m forced to watch her and Torin grow closer every day, and there is nothing I can do about it. Because I’m the one who rejected her.
Am I supposed to live out my entire life like this?
I don’t know what to do. I can’t betray Walter, but I also can’t bear to see Torin and Lorali living out their happily ever after right in front of me.
I hate this. I hate it all.
Torin can have it all. Why can’t I?
Torin Pov
"Will you be able to eat with that cast?" I ask, pointing to the plaster wrapped around Lorali’s arm. I had no idea the bones in her right hand were fractured. Apparently, she didn’t notice because of the adrenaline. It sounds absurd, I didn’t believe it until I saw the X‑ray. The doctor, whom I still don’t trust, found no other internal problems, only the fractured bone.
"Yep. I’ll just eat with my left hand. How hard can it be?" she replies, her tone light, almost playful. She’s been really happy since she got that cast on.
I nod at her words, though my thoughts drift. This is our first dinner together, and she’s in a cast. This will be quite a story to tell our future children. Wait, children? Torin, what are you thinking? You’re getting ahead of yourself. That probably won’t ever happen, no matter how nice the thought feels.
"The Caesar salad for you, sir," the waiter says, interrupting my spiraling thoughts as he places the greenest salad I’ve ever seen in front of me. Did I seriously order a salad? I must not have been concentrating.
"And short rib ragu over hand‑rolled pappardelle for you, Mrs."
Lorali’s eyes light up as her pasta is set before her. I’ve noticed she’s as much of a foodie as Walter is. The two of them have so much in common, it’s honestly strange how they don’t get along.
She picks up her fork with her left hand, awkwardly maneuvering it. I watch her struggle, the pasta slipping, the fork clumsy in her grip.
"Do you want me to help?" I offer gently, leaning forward, my hand hovering as if ready to steady hers.
"No, I’m fine," she insists, determination flashing in her eyes. "I can do this."
I sit back, amused, watching her battle the pasta. She manages a few bites, but then, in her effort to spear a piece of broccoli, she flicks too hard and the broccoli launches from her plate, sailing through the air like a tiny green missile.
It lands squarely on the forehead of a man on the other side of the restaurant.
He jerks upright, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Who did that?" he bellows, his voice echoing through the restaurant attracting all the attention as his hand flies to his forehead, eyes scanning the room with fury.
Lorali freezes, her face paling. She cowers, sinking deeper into her chair and bringing her hand up to cover the side of her face, her wide eyes darting to me.
I meet her gaze, and instantly we both stifle the laughter we’ve been holding, shoulders shaking and eyes gleaming with mischief.
The man continues to rage, spinning in circles and harassing the staff, demanding to know who threw the broccoli. Lorali leans closer, whispering through her laughter, "Oh my goddess, I can’t believe that just happened."
I chuckle, my voice low. "You’ve officially weaponized vegetables."
She hides her face in her hands again, giggling uncontrollably, while I bite back my own laughter, the absurdity of the moment washing away the heaviness of the past few days.