5

The scent of rain-dampened earth and firewood pulled me from the depths of unconsciousness.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t waking up to chains.

No damp dungeons. No silk sheets masking a prison.

Just… air. Crisp, cool, and unclaimed.

I cracked my eyes open, wincing at the unfamiliar brightness. The ceiling above me wasn’t carved stone or polished wood—it was rough, woven from thick tree branches, their intertwining limbs forming a shelter against the elements.

A hut.

The realization sank into my bones, along with something else.

Something foreign. Something dangerous.

I pushed myself upright, my muscles screaming in protest. My body ached, but the agonizing burn from the rogue’s curse had dulled to a manageable throb. Someone had treated me—wrapped the worst of my wounds, wiped away the dried blood.

But why?I wasn’t supposed to be alive.

And yet—I was.

And I wasn’t alone.

The moment I moved, the heavy flap of fur covering the doorway shifted. A figure stepped through, his broad shoulders blocking out the early morning light.

I knew him before he spoke. The rogue from before.

The man who had pulled me from the forest floor and whispered truths I hadn’t wanted to hear.

"They threw you away, didn’t they?"

Now, in the daylight, he was even more imposing.

Tall. Too tall. Built like someone who knew violence—who had lived it, survived it, and come out on the other side with nothing left to fear.

His wild gold-and-silver eyes flickered over me, assessing, measuring.

Then he spoke, voice low and calm—too calm.

"You’re awake."

I swallowed hard, forcing down the unease curling in my stomach.

"Where am I?" My voice came out hoarse, cracked from disuse and betrayal.

The man tilted his head, studying me as if I were a puzzle missing too many pieces.

"Home."

I stiffened.

"This isn’t my home," I snapped, shoving the blanket off me. "I don’t belong here."

He gave a slow, sharp smile—one that didn’t reach his eyes.

"You don’t belong anywhere."

The words hit harder than I wanted to admit.

I clenched my fists, ignoring the sting of truth buried within them.

"Who are you?" I demanded. "What do you want from me?"

He stepped forward, his presence filling the room without effort.

"I’m Cassian," he said simply. "And I don’t want anything from you."

A lie. I could feel it.

Men like him didn’t keep people alive without a reason.

I narrowed my eyes. "Then why save me?"

Cassian’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his gaze.

"Because I had a choice," he said. "And so do you."

The Settlement of the Lost

Cassian led me outside, and the sight that greeted me stole the air from my lungs.

It wasn’t a rogue encampment. It was a settlement.

Nestled deep in the heart of the untamed wilderness, hidden beneath a dense canopy of trees, a village thrived.

Not makeshift tents or crumbling ruins—homes. Built from salvaged wood and stone, woven into the land itself. Smoke curled from chimneys, the scent of roasting meat and fresh bread filling the crisp morning air.

Children laughed, weaving through towering warriors with scarred hands and weary eyes.

Women sharpened blades beside men stripping animal hides, their voices low, watchful.

Everywhere I looked, there was strength.

Raw, untamed. Self-sufficient.

And no one bowed.

No ranks. No submission. No oppressive weight of an Alpha’s command pressing down on their spines.

My breath caught in my throat.

This was impossible. Rogues weren’t supposed to be like this.

Rogues were supposed to be wild, starving, desperate.

But these people—

They weren’t just surviving.

They were living.

Cassian watched me carefully, gauging my reaction.

"Not what you expected?"

I shook my head slowly. "This… shouldn’t exist."

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest.

"And yet, here we are."

I tore my gaze from the settlement, my heart pounding. "You’re not a pack."

"No," he agreed. "We’re not."

I met his gaze. "Then what are you?"

Cassian’s smile was slow, dangerous.

"Free."

He led me to the center of the settlement—a wide clearing where a fire pit burned, its embers crackling against the wind. A circle of worn wooden logs served as makeshift seats.

Cassian motioned for me to sit. I hesitated but lowered myself down, my muscles still aching.

He remained standing.

Towering. Unshaken. Unmoved.

"You want answers," he said. "So let’s get to it."

I nodded stiffly, waiting.

"First—this isn’t a charity." Cassian’s voice was measured, firm. "I didn’t save you out of kindness. You don’t get to sit here and recover while we hand-feed you back to health."

Cold dread settled in my stomach.

"Then why—"

"Because you’re useful," he interrupted smoothly.

I went still.

"To who?" I asked warily.

He smirked. "That depends."

I swallowed hard, my pulse thrumming.

Cassian took a slow step closer, his gold-silver eyes darkening.

"You’re in my territory now, exile."

Exile.

The word burned.

"And you have two choices."

I met his gaze, waiting.

"One—you fight. You pull your weight, prove your worth, and earn your place here." He tilted his head, voice dropping slightly. "Or two… you walk back out into that forest and take your chances alone."

A long silence stretched between us.

I didn’t need to ask what would happen if I chose the latter.

I had already felt the rogue’s curse creeping through my veins.

I had barely survived last night.

Out there, alone?

I wouldn’t last a day.

Cassian knew it.

He was giving me the illusion of choice, but the reality was stark and simple.

Survive.

Or die.

My fingers curled into fists.

I had been tossed aside before.

I had been discarded, humiliated, broken.

Liam thought I was dead.

Lisa thought I was nothing.

They thought they had won.

But they hadn’t.

Slowly, I pushed myself to my feet.

Cassian arched a brow, waiting.

"When do we start?" I said.

A slow, satisfied smirk pulled at his lips.

"Good answer."