Lorali

"Check this out, Vanya scored fifty‑six out of one‑hundred‑and‑fifty on her embroidery. That has to be an all‑time low," Arabella laughs, holding out Vanya’s tangled handkerchief.

1

"What even is that?" I lean closer, squinting, trying to make sense of the chaos stitched into the fabric.

"It’s the sun and moon colliding," Vanya scoffs, snatching the handkerchief back from Ella’s hand, pressing it against her chest as though shielding it from our judgment.

"No way that’s a sun and moon," I gasp, shaking my head. I embroidered something simple myself, knowing my skills aren’t the best, yet she chose such a complicated design. I sigh as the three of us walk down the corridor toward the dining hall for lunch. Susie and Cleo ran ahead to secure the best seats, their laughter echoing faintly down the hall, bouncing off the walls like bells.

"How much did you get?" Vanya asks, clutching her handkerchief tighter, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Well, I got seventy‑five percent. An all‑time high for me," I say proudly, head held high, a smile tugging at my lips.

"I wasn’t asking you," she mutters, rolling her eyes. "You’ve told me your score like a hundred times. I want to know what the Headmistress’s greatest project got." Her gaze shifts to Ella, who walks on my left, while Vanya is on my right.

"Madam Orfal said it was ungradable. ’Putting a number on such a masterpiece would be an insult to art,’" Ella says with a smile just as proud as mine, her voice lilting with satisfaction.

Vanya gasps. "You’re going to have to teach me how to embroider before I fail the class. Please." Her voice is desperate, and I laugh at her dramatics. Ella laughs too, her light blond hair shimmering beneath the sun pouring through the windows.

Wait—why is her hair blond? It should be pink. She dyed it? I stop dead in my tracks. This isn’t right. Why am I back at Alma? Didn’t I graduate? No... didn’t I die?

"Lori, aren’t you coming?" Ella asks, looking back at me, extending her hand.

I want to take that hand. I want this to be real. I want to step back into the warmth of Alma, into the safety of my friends, into the simplicity of those days. But it isn’t real.

****

My eyes snap open. The first thing I see is the hole‑riddled roof above me, giving me glimpses of the morning sky. It was a dream. I’m back in my miserable reality. Gods, I would give everything to return to my days at Alma.

Wait—how am I alive? Didn’t I die from that liquid slick substance that came from between my legs?

Adrenaline surges through me. I quickly tug my panties down, feeling my private, nothing. Everything feels normal. The substance is gone. I sigh in relief, pulling my underwear back up. Nothing is amiss. I feel fine. Perhaps I was so caught up in yesterday’s events, what I saw between Keion and Walter, that I deluded myself into believing something was happening to me. Yes. That’s it. I deluded myself.

I push myself up from the floor, my body aching everywhere. The wood was hard, the cold biting. My limbs feel stiff and my back was sore. If I had slept any longer, I might have actually died.

I should get ready for my busy day of labor. And maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll see one of my mates again like yesterday. The thought warms me inside, even though I’m freezing on the outside.

I leave my humble shed and make my way to the penthouse, I step into it just as the sun begins to creep up, mist clinging to the windows. The warmth inside is a blessing compared to the icy air outside. The silence of the early morning wraps around me, broken only by the faint hum of the heating system.

I make my way down the hall into my bathroom, closing the door behind me.

The mirror catches me immediately. I look washed‑up and homeless, which I am. My hair is tangled, my skin pale, my eyes shadowed. I move closer, brushing my fingers over the heart‑shaped bandage on my cheek. The swelling has gone down a bite you and the bruise is fading.

"Thank you, Walter," I whisper, remembering the kindness he showed me last night. I would have been looking a lot worse if it wasn’t for him.

Deciding on a long, indulgent bath instead of a quick shower, I reach for the tub and flick up the tap. The pipes groan, then water gushes out, filling the tub. Steam curls upward, fogging the mirrors. As the water rises, I fold my now‑dry Alma uniform with care, smoothing the fabric before placing it neatly on the countertop. I’ll wear it again today since I have no choice, I need to wash this outfit I’m wearing, and it’s the only one they gave me. One pair of clothes. Just one. Not even a pack of underwear. What was the plan here? Did they expect me to survive on scraps of dignity?

I grumble under my breath as I strip bare, the warm mist biting against my skin, before stepping into the hot tub. The bubbles rise instantly, fizzing against my body, the scent of the dissenting bath soap filling the air. I sink down, letting the heat wrap around me, my muscles loosen and joints sigh with relief. Mhmm... this feels good. Nothing compares to the luxury of a long bath, the way it frees your limbs from tension, the way it makes you forget, even for a moment, the misery outside.

I slide deeper, until the water covers my mouth, back pressed back against the porcelain. My eyes flutter shut. Today is going to be a better day. I can feel it in my bones, in the warmth spreading through me. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll see the man I fell on yesterday. What was his name again? Onion? No, no one could be called Onion. Oril, perhaps. Yes, Oril. The picture matches. His face, his presence. Oril. That’s his name. I hope I see him today.

~...~

A little while later.

~...~

I stand with my hands on my waist, flabbergasted. When I went to bed yesterday, this place was decent. Cushions properly arranged on the couch, the floor clean, the kitchen spotless, dishes done. But now? Now it looks like a battlefield. Are these people pigs?

In a matter of hours, the dishes have stacked so high in the sink it looks like a year‑end function just happened. Plates, bowls, cups were towering, teetering and threatening collapse. The kitchen is a mess, and that’s putting it simply. Stains streak the floor, sticky patches catching the light. And then there’s the white substance smeared across the tiles.

I pause, narrowing my eyes. If I remember correctly, that white substance is more or less around the place Keion and Oracle were standing last night. Did they spill something and not bother to clean it up? Or maybe they forgot.

I walk around the island, and the other side is even worse. Muddy footprints trail across the floor, grass clinging to the soles, scattered like confetti. Grass. In the kitchen. How? No. This has to be a setup. There’s no way anyone could create this level of chaos in a matter of hours without intention.

I sigh, rolling up the sleeves of my uniform, the fabric stiff against my arms. I tie my hair into a messy bun with the black tie on my wrist, strands falling loose around my face. So much for having a good day. Looks like I’m going to have more work than yesterday. And as if this wasn’t enough, I still have ironing later. That takes ages, especially with clothes as big as an Alpha’s.

"Hold on, Lorali," I whisper to myself, voice low but firm. "Your suffering will bear fruit."

Walter

A Couple Of Hours Later

I am on a mission, two missions, in fact. The first is to drag Oracle out of his self-imposed exile, and the second, far more daunting, is to apologize to Lorali for what she supposedly saw yesterday.

If I don’t do it, I won’t know how to face her properly. Awkward or not, both tasks must be completed today. Determination sharpens my stride as I take a sharp turn into the laundry room, the place Yurena told me Loreli would be. Nothing, however, prepares me for the sight that greets me.

She stands gracefully behind the ironing board, the sunlight spilling through the window and wrapping her in a golden glow that makes her look almost ethereal. My throat tightens instantly, the speech I rehearsed collapsing into dust.

"Oh... W–Walter, you’re here," she stammers, lifting her head from the shirt she’s pressing. Her cheeks flush pink at the sight of me, and I feel my carefully prepared words dive straight out the window.

"Umm... ummm. Hi, L–Lorali," I manage to cough out, my voice embarrassingly dry.

"Hi to you too," she replies with a smile that softens everything.

Her cheek looks better than yesterday, the swelling has gone down, though the heart-shaped bandage still clings to her skin. It looks almost cute on her, and even better because I’m the one who—No. No, not happening. I shove the thought away before it can take root.

"I just wanted to say... I’m sorry for yesterday. I really didn’t know you were there. Next time I’ll be more... conscientious about where I have sex since you’re here," I blurt out in one breath, desperate to get it over with.

She tilts her head, confusion flickering in her brown eyes. "I... I don’t think I understand what you’re apologizing for."

"Oh. Kei told me you walked in on us having sex yesterday. I’m just... sorry about that," I explain, equally confused.

Her brows knit together. "Sex as in... gender? How can you have a gender? Well, no, okay, scratch that—you can have a gender, but what does what I walked into yesterday have anything to do with a gender?"

If my jaw could hit the floor, it would. Does this girl truly have no idea what she saw yesterday? Has she not the faintest clue what sex is? Then again, it makes sense. She spent most of her life at Alma. I doubt they taught her anything beyond vague explanations of heat cycles, and even those must have been watered down. I remember back at the institution, some of the omegas had no knowledge of the outside world at all, including sex, because they had been confined there their entire lives. I was lucky, I was a late bloomer so I still had a normal school and life experience.

Should I tell her? No. It would be awkward, and it isn’t my place. She isn’t my pack member. Eventually, she’ll leave and join a pack of her own, one that can teach her all of this.

"You shouldn’t worry about that. Just know I apologize," I say quickly, then turn on my heel and bolt out of the room before she can ask another question.

That couldn’t have gone any better, I suppose. Her ignorance of the other meaning of sex made the whole ordeal less awkward and, strangely, easier for me.

Now, onto my next mission: getting Oracle out of his room. I head back upstairs, down the hallway, and stop at the first door on the right, the one still bearing the "In Session" sticker I slapped on when he first moved in. I’m surprised he hasn’t removed it even once.

"Oracle, it’s Walter. Please open the door," I call, knocking firmly.

Silence.

"Oracle, I know you’re in there. Augi needs your help, he—" I stop myself. No, I shouldn’t mention Augi being arrested again. That will only irritate him, and he’ll dig himself deeper into hiding.

"Not Augi. I need your help. Come out," I press, leaning my ear against the door, straining for any sound. Nothing. Radio silence.

This isn’t going to work. I need to tempt him, lure him out with something irresistible. And I know exactly what might do the trick, I just need to go buy it.