Chapter 7: Goodbye Notes

Skye’s POV

I woke the next morning with swollen, red eyes.

I need to leave. Today.

The thought crystalized into certainty.

The idea gave me a surge of energy. To hell with the Breeder! I wasn't going to stay here and keep taking insults from Leon and Maya.

Of course, the first thing I needed to do was fill my stomach. I had barely eaten anything at the banquet last night.

As I went downstairs, I caught a strange smell, somewhat nauseating. Following the odor, I made my way to the kitchen where I found Mom.

"Good morning, Mom," I said, stepping into the kitchen.

She jumped slightly, turning quickly while shoving something into a drawer. "Oh! Skye, you startled me."

I wrinkled my nose. "Do you smell that? It's kind of... gross."

Mom's eyes darted to the side. "Oh, that. I found some rotten eggs when I was making cookies this morning. Had to throw them out."she said gently, setting a steaming mug of apple cinnamon tea and a plate piled high with gingerbread cookies shaped like wolves, bears, and rabbits in front of me. "I made your favorites."

The cookies were still warm, fresh from the oven. I picked up a little wolf-shaped one, its edges perfectly crisp, its center soft. My throat tightened.

Mom hadn't slept—that much was obvious from the shadows under her eyes. She'd spent the night baking my childhood favorites while I cried myself to sleep. Guilt twisted in my stomach, warring with my determination to leave.

For a moment, I wavered. How could I walk away from this love, this care? Maybe I could endure the humiliation, the whispers, if it meant keeping this—the warmth of family, the security of home.

I was halfway through my second cookie when a familiar voice carried through the open kitchen window, shattering my momentary peace.

"Ethan! Training's about to start—everyone's waiting for you!" Maya's voice rang out, clear and commanding.

Heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs as Ethan rushed to respond to the call. When he saw me sitting at the table, he paused, uncertainty flickering across his features.

"Skye, I—" he began, taking a step toward me.

"Ethan, hurry up!" Maya's impatient voice interrupted whatever he'd been about to say.

Our eyes met, and in that moment, I saw conflict in my brother's gaze—guilt, concern, hesitation. But then he glanced toward the window, toward the pack waiting for him, toward his Alpha.

"I've got to go," he said, backing away. "We'll talk later, okay?"

I nodded mutely, burying my face in my mug of tea as he rushed out the door. The choice had been made again, just as it had been made last night. And it wasn't me.

My resolve hardened. What was left for me here?

Training sessions I wasn't invited to?

A life on the periphery, watching from windows as the real pack members lived their lives?

Being the family burden, the one who needed protection because she had no wolf of her own?

I was nothing here. Less than nothing—I was a liability.

Mom settled into the chair beside me, her hand coming to rest gently on mine. "How are you feeling today, sweetie?"

I forced my lips into what I hoped resembled a smile. "Just tired. Didn't sleep well."

"That's understandable," she said softly, her thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of my hand. "You've been through so much."

"I think I'll go rest for a bit," I said, finishing my tea. "Don't worry about me, Mom. You should go help with the meat smoking. I know there's a lot to do after the festival."

She hesitated, searching my face. "Are you sure? I can stay with you."

"I'm sure," I insisted, summoning every ounce of false cheer I could muster. "Besides, Ethan and Dad brought down two deer last night. That's a lot of meat to process."

After a moment, she nodded reluctantly. "Alright. But I'll check on you later."

As soon as she left, I raced back upstairs, heart pounding with the knowledge that I had limited time.

From my window, I could see pack members gathering around the large smoking sheds where the previous night's hunt was being prepared for winter storage. The entire pack would be busy for hours, the air thick with the rich aroma of curing meat.

No one would notice one girl slipping away.

I moved quickly, methodically. My deerskin backpack—lovingly stitched by Mom with intricate beadwork along the seams—was quickly filled with essentials. Warm clothes, basic toiletries, the small stash of money I'd been saving from summer jobs.

My fingers brushed against my bone flute, a gift from Ethan for my tenth birthday. He'd carved it himself, spending hours getting the holes just right so it would play true. Despite everything, I couldn't leave it behind. Into the bag it went.

Last came my most prized possession—the silver dagger my father had forged for me after the vampire war seven years ago. Dad had named it Tink, after the sound silver makes when struck. "So you'll always be protected," he'd said as he pressed it into my small hands, "even when I can't be there."

I hadn't understood the gravity of his gift then. Now, running my fingers along its intricately carved handle, I felt its weight—both physical and emotional.

With my bag packed, I peered out the window once more. Mom was in the yard, hanging thin strips of venison on the drying racks. Dad was nowhere to be seen, probably in the smokehouse with the other senior pack members.

I returned to my desk, pulling out a sheet of paper. There were so many things I wanted to say—apologies, explanations, reassurances. My pen hovered over the blank page as words failed me. How do you compress a lifetime of love and belonging into a farewell note?

In the end, I kept it simple:

I love you all, but I can't stay. Please don't worry about me, and please don't try to find me. I'll be okay. -Skye

Tears threatened again as I placed the note on my pillow, but I blinked them back. No more crying. It was time to be strong.

Pulling on a white knit cap to hide my distinctive silver hair—so unlike the golden hues most pack members shared—I shouldered my bag and slipped out through the back door.

The keys to my birthday present—a secondhand red compact car Dad had proudly presented to me just yesterday morning—felt cold and final in my palm.

As I started the engine and carefully backed down our long driveway, I refused to look in the rearview mirror.