Chapter 180
There’s a certain kind of silence that hovers over the Summit compound early in the morning. Not eerie, not peaceful—just... empty. Like the world’s holding its breath before something chaotic happens. I should’ve taken that as a warning.
But instead, I pulled on my boots, tied my curls into a high ponytail, and headed to the mess hall where I was supposed to meet Anna and Tomas for breakfast. The air smelled like pine and something suspiciously burnt. Probably Tomas’ idea of “helping” in the kitchen again.
When I arrived, I found them exactly where I expected—bickering over a plate of lasagna.
“Tomas, for the last time, lasagna is not a breakfast food!” Anna groaned, dramatically pushing her tray away. “You’re a menace.”
“It has eggs, cheese, and meat. That qualifies it as a breakfast meal,” Tomas defended, grinning smugly.
“You’re an abomination to the concept of breakfast,” she snapped, though the twitch of her lips betrayed her amusement.
I slid into the seat across from them. “Did I miss the Great Lasagna Debate again?”
Anna pointed a fork at me like a weapon. “Back me up. He’s trying to turn us into monsters.”
“I don’t know,” I said, peeking at Tomas’ plate. “That cheese stretch looks divine. Is that béchamel?”
Tomas beamed. “Finally, someone with taste.”
“You both disgust me,” Anna muttered, but she was smiling.
It was the first morning in a long time that didn’t feel like a storm was rolling in. There were no secret missions, stolen relics, moody Alpha glances, or unresolved soulmate drama hanging in the air. Just me, my friends, and food that was questionably categorized.
After breakfast, we headed to the east courtyard for strategy simulations. While everyone else griped about the workload, Tomas was bouncing beside me like a Labrador.
“I’ve got a plan today,” he said, wagging his eyebrows. “A foolproof strategy.”
“I swear, if this plan includes distract-and-dance tactics again, I’m sitting this one out,” Anna warned.
“That only failed because you refused to do the distraction part,” Tomas argued.
“I refuse to dance in front of Alpha Oliver’s council! I have self-respect!”
“Cowardice, plain and simple.”
Throughout the morning, the three of us somehow managed to work as a team, if only because Anna kept everything organized, Tomas kept us laughing, and I kept Tomas from launching into wild monologues during negotiation practice.
At one point, while role-playing a peace treaty, Tomas stood up dramatically and declared, “As the esteemed representative of the Southern Crescent Pack, I demand a lifetime supply of strawberry tarts and diplomatic immunity in all culinary affairs.”
“You are not a baker, Tomas,” Anna deadpanned.
“But I could be. Look at these fingers—perfect for kneading dough.”
“Your idea of ‘kneading’ is probably punching the dough into submission,” I added.
He gasped. “How dare you.”
We collapsed into laughter, drawing glares from some of the more serious participants. I didn’t care. For once, I didn’t feel like I had to prove anything or carry the weight of secrets and expectations. With them, I could just be Astrid.
During our lunch break, we sprawled out under the old fig tree behind the northern wing of the compound. Tomas had somehow smuggled extra pastries from the kitchen—again.
“Okay,” Anna said, wiping sugar from her fingers. “Serious question. If you had to fight a rogue wolf with nothing but a kitchen utensil, what would you choose?”
“Ladle,” I said immediately.
Tomas snorted. “A ladle?”
“Think about it. Long reach. You could scoop out an eye.”
“Gruesome,” Anna said, nodding approvingly.
“I’d go with a rolling pin,” Tomas said. “Classic. Heavy. Symbolic.”
“Symbolic of what?”
“Righteous food justice.”
I threw a piece of crust at him.
We laughed until our stomachs hurt, until tears welled in Anna’s eyes, until even the shadows in my mind seemed to ease.
They didn’t know all of me—yet. But they knew enough. Enough to see the real Astrid, not just the girl tied to prophecy, power, and bloodlines. They saw the girl who liked fig pastries, who sparred with too much enthusiasm, who had an unhealthy obsession with cheese-based meals. And for now, that was enough.
Later that afternoon, we were lounging on the balcony outside the east library. The golden sun warmed the stone beneath us, and the scent of blooming jasmine lingered in the air.
Anna rested her head on my shoulder. “You ever think about what comes after this?”
“After the summit?”
She nodded. “After all of it. After we’re not junior ambassadors anymore. After people stop expecting us to save the world.”
I paused. “I think… I think I want to go home someday. But not just to visit. To change things. To be the kind of leader my people need.”
Tomas let out a low whistle. “Wow. That was beautiful. Almost as beautiful as my dream of opening a five-star werewolf-exclusive bakery.”
“Baking while shifting sounds dangerous,” Anna said.
“Exactly. It’s high risk, high reward. Imagine cinnamon buns with a hint of fur.”
“Gross.”
I laughed. “You’re impossible.”
But inside, something warm flickered in my chest. These two—sarcastic, chaotic, wonderful idiots—were the best part of this program. They reminded me I was more than a mate, more than a legacy. I was Astrid. And I was finding my place, piece by hilarious piece.
As the sun dipped below the treetops and the golden light turned orange, we sat in peaceful silence.
That’s when Anna blurted out, “So... be honest. Are we ever going to talk about the way Jeremiah stares at you like he wants to kill you and kiss you at the same time?”
I choked on air.
Tomas perked up. “Finally! Someone said it!”
“You’re both ridiculous,” I groaned, face heating up.
“Come on,” Anna pressed, nudging me. “You don’t just accidentally radiate awkward unresolved mate tension.”
“I’m trying to stay focused,” I muttered.
“Oh please, even your focused face screams, ‘I’d like to strangle him and make out with him in the same breath.’”
Tomas sighed dramatically. “Love is such a violent thing.”
I laughed despite myself. “You guys are the worst.”
“Correction,” Tomas said, holding up a finger. “We’re the best.”
“Objectively,” Anna agreed.
And somehow, in that ridiculous, perfect moment, I knew they were right.
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