A Letter in the Snow
The letter arrived folded in three, damp at the edges from melting frost.
It was unsigned.
The handwriting was jagged, rushed, like the writer was afraid someone would catch her in the act.
They're still hurting us.
Some of us want to leave, but we don't know how.
Is it true you're safe now?
Scottland read it twice, her breath catching in her throat.
It had been months since she left the Roger Pack. Months of warmth, healing, and hope.
But the letter reminded her: not everyone made it out.
And some… still believed they never could.
She folded it carefully and turned to Grant, who was already watching her, eyes steady and blue.
"We have to go back," she whispered.
Crossing the Border
Three days later, Grant and Scottland crossed the northern ridge with a small team.
No flags.
No threat.
Just presence.
Scottland wore a thick coat over a lavender sweater, her golden hair braided down her back. Grant rode beside her on horseback, scanning the trail with quiet awareness.
It wasn't a raid.
It wasn't even a rescue mission.
It was an invitation.
The wind bit cold against their faces as the hills thinned into the borderlands of the Roger Pack—a place Scottland remembered in fragments:
A cold floor.
Locked doors.
Whispers behind hands.
The scent of fear that never quite left the air.
Wren, riding behind them, asked softly, "Are you ready?"
Scottland didn't answer right away.
Then: "No. But I'm going anyway."
The Girls at the Fence
They met at the fence line.
Four young Omegas, no older than fifteen, stood watching from behind the rusted metal posts. Two of them clung together. One trembled visibly. The fourth held her chin up, stubborn and scared.
Scottland dismounted and approached on foot, slowly, her hands visible.
"I got your letter," she said quietly.
The stubborn one crossed her arms. "You can't help us."
"I thought that once, too."
"Didn't you get marked by a royal Alpha?"
"I did."
"Then you don't understand what it's like to be worthless."
Scottland walked closer until the wind caught her scent, familiar and honest.
"I do," she said. "I used to cry in a corner of the storeroom just to feel like I was still real."
The girl blinked hard.
The youngest whispered, "You remember the storeroom?"
Scottland nodded.
"I remember everything."
The Stories Begin to Pour
They didn't cross the fence.
Not yet.
But they talked.
For hours.
Names spilled like water through a broken dam—Omegas who had been punished for disobedience, denied food, locked in cells during heats.
Scottland sat on a rock, her legs curled beneath her, coat wrapped tight.
She didn't speak over them.
She didn't ask for details.
She just listened.
And when one of the girls began to cry, she took her hands and said, "You don't have to say more than you want to. You've already survived the worst part."
Nightfall – Campfire Confessions
Grant built a fire a safe distance from the fence, using dry kindling and thick logs.
The Roger girls didn't join, but they stayed close, watching.
Scottland stood beside the fire, unwrapping a basket she'd packed in the Gray Pack kitchens.
Fruit slices.
Honey bread.
Jars of tea.
She set them out on a cloth without comment.
The first girl came forward just after moonrise.
Then another.
And when Scottland handed the stubborn one a small purple mug, she didn't speak—just accepted it with trembling fingers.
One of them finally asked, "Why did you come back?"
Scottland met her eyes.
"To remind you: this isn't where your story ends."
Grant – A Quiet Shield
Grant didn't try to lead.
Didn't posture.
Didn't even speak unless asked.
But he stayed close—letting his presence wrap around Scottland like armor made of steadiness.
When the Roger patrols rode by, he stood tall and unshaken, making it clear that this wasn't a raid—but neither was it negotiable.
He would protect her.
He would protect them all.
Not by force.
But by being there.
Unmoving.
Unflinching.
Unapologetic.
That night, when Scottland fell asleep on his shoulder, he brushed a kiss to her hair and whispered, "I'll follow you wherever this leads."
Day Two – The Fence Opens
The next morning, one of the girls approached before sunrise.
Her name was Cori.
She looked older in the daylight, though she was still barely sixteen.
She said, "I want to leave."
Scottland nodded. "You can."
"I don't have a family out there."
"You'll have one in Gray Pack."
Cori looked at the others, fear flickering in her gaze.
"They'll come after us."
Grant stepped forward then, slow and solid.
"Then they'll have to go through me."
Cori looked between them, trembling.
Then she stepped over the line.
It was small.
It was everything.
The Escape is Quiet
By mid-morning, three more girls had followed Cori.
They didn't run.
They walked.
With heads high and backs straight.
The Roger patrols glared but did not interfere—no one wanted to challenge the Alpha of Gray Pack with royal blood and cold fire in his stare.
By the time the sun reached its peak, Scottland rode back across the ridge with four new girls riding behind her.
They were dirty. Hungry. Scared.
But free.
Back Home – A Soft Welcome
The Luna Hall had been prepared in advance.
Fresh linens.
Warm soup.
Open arms.
Scottland met each girl at the entrance with a gentle hug, whispering, "You're safe now."
Cori barely made it through the door before she crumbled into tears.
Scottland held her, rocking slowly, murmuring nonsense sounds that meant everything.
They weren't just bringing girls out.
They were bringing them home.
The Aftermath
Scottland sat at the long window seat that evening, wrapped in Grant's hoodie, watching the moon.
Wren sat beside her with two mugs of chamomile tea.
"You okay?"
"No."
"Want to talk about it?"
Scottland nodded. "They're just… so young. I remember thinking no one would ever come for me. And now I see it in their eyes—the disbelief. Like they're waiting to wake up and find it was all a trick."
Wren touched her knee. "But it wasn't. You came back."
Scottland's voice cracked. "I think I need to go back again. Not just once. Often. Maybe bring letters. Blankets. Teach them how to protect themselves until they're ready."
Wren nodded. "You're building a bridge."
"And a net," Scottland whispered. "In case anyone falls."
A New Initiative
Two days later, Grant called a meeting in the Luna Hall.
Representatives from the warrior ranks, the caretakers, and the council were all present.
He let Scottland speak first.
"We're not storming the Roger Pack," she said. "We're not picking fights. But there are girls who need help. And I think we can offer them more than just escape—we can offer them education. Choice. Dignity."
Wren added, "We want to form an outreach team. Female-led. Omega-forward. With medical and mental health support."
No one objected.
Not anymore.
The Gray Pack had changed.
The Chapter Closes – A Letter Returned
That night, Scottland sat at her writing desk, the same letter from the Roger girl open in front of her.
She took a blank sheet and began to write back.
Dear sister,
I got your letter.
I heard you.
I came back for you, and I will again.
You are not invisible.
You are not forgotten.
You are not alone.
Love,
Scottland
She folded it gently and sealed it with lavender wax.
When she stepped into the bedroom, Grant was already in bed, waiting with open arms.
She crawled in beside him and whispered against his chest, "We're going to save more."
He kissed the top of her head. "I know."
And in the quiet, in the warmth of his arms, the girl who had once cried herself to sleep in a Roger storeroom finally drifted off in peace.