Chapter 168
(Astrid’s POV)
Morning came with a soft knock on our door and the sharp scent of brewing coffee wafting down the hallway.
Anna groaned from under her blanket. “Tell me it’s Saturday.”
“It’s Wednesday,” I said, dragging myself out of bed, still tangled in dreams I couldn’t remember.
I padded to the door, swinging it open. Leah stood there, balancing two paper cups and a clipboard.
“Summit Workshop Schedules,” she announced cheerfully, thrusting the clipboard at me. “And caffeine, because we’re about to suffer.”
I smiled, taking the cup. “Bless you.”
Anna emerged, hair a wild mess. She snatched her coffee and squinted at the clipboard. “Who decided 8 a.m. workshops were humane?”
“Probably the same people who think wearing full suits in 90-degree weather is a flex,” Leah said dryly.
I laughed, feeling lighter than yesterday. Maybe it was the coffee. Maybe it was the new resolve humming in my chest.
Today, I wasn’t going to get tangled in Jeremiah’s orbit.
Today was mine.
We rushed through showers and threw on clothes — I chose ripped jeans, boots, and a fitted navy-blue shirt that made my eyes stand out. Not glamorous. Not trying too hard. Just... me.
By the time we arrived at the summit hall, the workshops were already buzzing.
Today's sessions were smaller, focused. I found myself signing up for one titled "Strategic Negotiations for Future Alphas." It sounded serious. It was serious.
Inside the glass-walled room, young wolves sat around a massive oak table.
The energy was tense, electric.
And then I saw him.
Jeremiah, sitting near the front, that damn woman next to him again. Her red nails tapped a lazy rhythm on the table.
I ignored the sting.
Pulled my shoulders back.
Walked past without a glance.
I could feel his eyes on me — a prickle between my shoulder blades — but I didn’t let myself turn.
Instead, I slid into a seat between Adrian and a girl from a coastal pack named Naomi.
“You ready for this bloodbath?” Adrian whispered.
“Born ready,” I said with a small smirk.
The instructor, a seasoned Alpha named Marcus Hale, wasted no time.
“Today,” he said, pacing the room like a predator, “we find out who can lead... and who can only follow."
He divided us into groups and tossed out a challenge: Negotiate a fake treaty between two fictional packs, with competing interests, under a ticking clock.
It was chaos.
People snapped, argued, strategized, scrambled.
At first, our group fell apart — everyone talking over each other, no one listening.
I leaned back, observing. Watching the mess unfold.
And when the shouting reached a fever pitch, I cleared my throat.
“We’re wasting time,” I said calmly, voice cutting through the noise.
Heads snapped toward me.
“Everyone wants to win,” I said, standing slowly, “but if we don't compromise, we lose everything.”
I grabbed a marker and started sketching out a new plan on the whiteboard behind us — quick, clear, balanced between both sides' needs.
At first, they hesitated.
Then...
They listened.
Even Naomi, who had been the loudest opponent five minutes ago, nodded along.
Adrian grinned at me like I’d just pulled a rabbit out of a hat.
When our turn came to present, Marcus Hale watched me with a gleam of approval in his sharp eyes.
“Well done, Bloodstone,” he said. “Leadership is about knowing when to speak — and when to make others listen.”
I sat down, my heart thudding.
And across the room —
Jeremiah stared.
Not with anger.
Not with mockery.
But something deeper.
Recognition.
Regret?
I didn’t let myself hope.
After the workshop, while most of the crowd buzzed about their successes and failures, I drifted toward the patio outside.
Needed air.
Space.
The summer heat wrapped around me, heavy but comforting.
I leaned against the stone railing, staring out over the sprawling grounds.
A familiar voice broke into my thoughts.
“Impressive back there.”
I turned.
Thomas — the boy who'd given the passionate speech yesterday — approached with an easy smile.
“Thanks,” I said, a little shyly.
“You’ve got a gift,” he said, leaning casually beside me. “Most people here either talk too much or not at all. You... you command.”
My cheeks warmed. “I just hate wasting time.”
He laughed. “Spoken like a future Alpha.”
We chatted — about packs, politics, stupid summit traditions — and it was easy.
Natural.
No games. No landmines between every word.
Thomas was smart. Sharp-witted.
Not once did he make me feel like I was trying too hard.
From the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of movement.
Jeremiah.
Standing near the door.
Watching.
The platinum-haired woman said something to him, but he didn’t respond immediately.
His gaze was pinned on me and Thomas.
Good.
Let him watch.
For once, I wasn’t waiting on him.
The day blurred into more meetings, more connections.
Lunch was a noisy affair — Anna and I sat with Leah, Adrian, Thomas, and a few others.
We joked. We debated. We argued fiercely over who would win in a hypothetical brawl: wolves from Northern packs or Southern ones.
Adrian spilled lemonade down his shirt at one point, and we all dissolved into helpless laughter.
And slowly, a strange thing happened.
I felt...
Happy.
Not pretending. Not faking.
Genuinely happy.
Later, as the sun dipped low and the golden hour set everything ablaze, the summit hosted a “team-building” bonfire out by the lake.
I sat on the grass, the crackle of flames filling the air, the smell of smoke clinging to my hair.
Anna handed me a marshmallow on a stick, grinning wickedly.
“Let’s roast these until they’re carcinogenic,” she said.
“You’re insane,” I laughed.
Across the fire, Thomas caught my eye. He raised his stick in a mock salute.
I returned it with a little smirk.
And — again — Jeremiah was there.
Always at the edge.
Always looking.
But this time...
I didn’t let it ruin my night.
Music played from a portable speaker. Some wolves danced barefoot on the grass, twirling and laughing.
Someone passed around guitar, others sang horribly off-key.
Anna pulled me up. “Come on! Let’s dance!”
I hesitated for half a second.
Then threw caution to the wind.
We spun, laughing, limbs loose and wild under the stars.
For the first time in a long time, I felt weightless.
Free.
Hours later, when the fire was just embers and the stars glittered sharp and cold above, I found myself wandering the grounds alone, the cool night air soothing my skin.
Footsteps crunched behind me.
I turned.
Jeremiah.
He stopped a few feet away, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his face half in shadow.
For a long moment, we just stared at each other.
Finally, he spoke, voice low and rough.
“You’ve changed.”
I tilted my head. “You mean I’m not falling apart over you anymore?”
His jaw flexed.
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “I mean... you’re stronger.”
I smiled — not out of cruelty, but out of truth.
“I was always strong,” I said quietly. “You just didn’t want to see it.”
He flinched like I’d struck him.
Good.
I didn’t owe him softness anymore.
“Goodnight, Jeremiah,” I said, stepping past him without looking back.
The night swallowed him whole.
And for the first time, I didn't feel like I'd lost anything by walking away.
I felt...
Whole.
And maybe, just maybe —
this summit wasn’t about finding my place beside someone else.
It was about claiming it for myself.
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