The gravel crunched beneath the tires as the car turned into the long driveway of the Gray Pack estate. Sunlight danced through the tall pines, casting dappled shadows across the windshield. Scottland leaned forward in her seat, watching the familiar shapes of the pack houses come into view.
Her home.
It felt surreal to think of it that way, but as they approached the main house, her chest filled with something that was not quite relief, not quite joy—but something whole and still and good.
Grant's hand reached across the console, brushing against hers. She didn't hesitate. Her fingers curled into his, and she felt the warmth of his steady presence ground her.
"You okay?" he asked quietly, his thumb stroking the back of her hand.
Scottland nodded. "More than okay."
She wasn't scared.
Not anymore.
Grant parked the SUV, stepping out first and rounding to her door. He opened it for her without a word. Not out of obligation, but respect. She stepped out, her boots hitting the earth with soft thuds, and inhaled deeply.
Pine. Hearth smoke. Fresh bread.
Home.
"Welcome back!" a familiar voice called.
Wren appeared on the front porch, her wild auburn curls catching the sun. She carried a basket of folded linens on one hip and a teasing grin on her lips. "You two look disgustingly well-rested."
Scottland laughed. "We needed it."
Grant gave Wren a mock scowl. "Let me guess. You've been gossiping about us the whole time."
"Only a little," Wren said sweetly, before adding with a wink, "You're lucky Ezra kept me busy."
Ezra's voice drifted from inside the house. "She's lying. She's been unbearable."
Laughter bubbled from Scottland's throat, easy and unguarded. The tension she hadn't even realized she was carrying began to ease.
They were safe.
They were home.
Inside, the pack house buzzed with quiet life. The Omega girls had reclaimed corners of the home that had once felt sterile and too big. Cushions and blankets were strewn across the living room floor, puzzles and books scattered with purpose. A soft hum of chatter echoed down the hallway.
Scottland watched them as she walked past—two girls sharing a coloring book, another curled up with a novel on the windowsill, humming softly.
She stopped when she saw Rose and Ellie seated on the floor, working on a large jigsaw puzzle. Rose spotted her first and waved, her entire face lighting up.
"Scottland!"
Scottland crouched beside them, smiling. "That's a big one. Almost done?"
"Yeah," Rose said proudly. "Ellie's really good at finding edge pieces."
Ellie blushed, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. "Only because Rose found the whole sky section."
Scottland reached out and gently nudged one of the pieces into place. "You're both amazing."
Simple. Joyful. Safe.
She could still remember the silence in the Roger Pack's Omega quarters. How no one looked up. How eyes dropped and voices vanished. This—what she saw here—was something new. Something living.
It was hope.
That night, Wren caught her on the stairs.
"Got a minute?" she asked.
Scottland nodded and followed her into the kitchen. The scent of chamomile and honey lingered in the air. Wren poured two mugs and slid one across the table to her.
"We want to hold a meeting," Wren said after a moment. "Just Omegas. Just us. In the main house. Nothing formal, but… important."
Scottland took a sip of tea. "What kind of meeting?"
Wren hesitated, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug. "To talk. To listen. Maybe to build something. A council. A voice."
Scottland blinked. "A council?"
"Not with Alpha oversight. Not just a suggestion box. Something real. A place for Omegas to decide how we want to live. How we heal. How we move forward."
Scottland's heart beat faster. "You want me to help lead it?"
Wren looked up at her. "You have a voice the others trust. You've been where they've been. You know what it's like."
Scottland looked down at her hands. "I'm still figuring out who I am."
"Exactly," Wren said softly. "That's why you're perfect."
The next night, the main house filled with quiet footsteps and hesitant voices. Girls trickled in one by one, carrying blankets and pillows, some clutching each other's hands. They settled onto cushions on the floor, or leaned against the walls, or perched on the edges of chairs.
No one spoke at first. The silence felt delicate, like glass waiting to shatter.
Scottland stood beside Wren at the fireplace. Her palms were damp. Her pulse raced. But she was here.
Present.
Ready.
Wren stepped forward first.
"We're not here to relive trauma," she said gently. "And we're not here to fight. We're here to start something different."
She looked around the room, letting the silence settle.
"We've all been told what we are. What we should be. How to behave. How to submit. Some of us were punished for being too quiet. Some for being too loud. Some for existing at all."
She turned and nodded to Scottland.
Scottland took a breath and stepped forward.
"My name is Scottland," she said. "I was born in the Roger Pack. I was told I was weak. I was told I didn't get to decide who I was."
She swallowed hard.
"But they were wrong."
The room stayed quiet. Not because no one cared—but because they were listening.
"I didn't choose to come here. But I choose to stay. And I choose to speak. And I want to know who you are. What you want. What we want."
The silence stretched.
Then someone raised their hand.
"I'm Kara," the girl said softly. "My last Alpha made me eat in a kennel. He said Omegas shouldn't use the table."
Another voice. "My name's Lila. I didn't even know what heat suppression was until I got here. They let my body be used like it wasn't mine."
"I'm—" A girl near the wall hesitated. "I'm Ana. That's not the name they gave me. It's the one I picked."
Scottland felt tears burn her eyes.
Not from pain.
From pride.
They weren't just surviving.
They were beginning to live.
The meeting lasted hours.
Stories poured out, some halting, some angry, some numb. But each one was sacred. Each one a seed being planted in new soil.
Wren and Scottland said little, choosing instead to witness.
And when the stories waned, when silence returned, it didn't feel empty. It felt like space—room to breathe.
"We'll meet again," Wren said softly. "And next time, we'll talk about what we want. Not just what we've lost."
The girls nodded.
Some smiled.
And one by one, they left the room lighter than they'd entered.
Scottland stayed behind, curled in the corner of the couch. The fire had burned low, casting the room in warm orange light.
She didn't notice Grant enter until he sat beside her, his arm sliding behind her shoulders.
"You didn't say much," he said.
"I didn't need to."
He nodded. "They trust you."
Scottland leaned into him. "They're brave."
"So are you."
She didn't reply.
She didn't need to.
The next morning, Wren handed her a notebook.
"Let's start drafting," she said.
Scottland opened it to a blank page.
At the top, she wrote:
Omega Council Charter
And beneath it, in her neat handwriting:
1. Every voice matters.
2. Consent is sacred.
3. Healing is not a straight line.
She paused.
Then added:
4. We choose who we are.
Wren leaned over her shoulder. "Perfect."
For the next week, Scottland and Wren met every day. Sometimes in the garden. Sometimes at the edge of the lake. Sometimes in the main house's sunroom, surrounded by plants and silence.
They drafted rules. Ideas. Support circles. Conflict resolution plans. Leadership rotations. Anonymous confession boxes. Outreach for newly rescued Omegas.
The girls were invited to give feedback—every single one.
No decision was made without input.
Scottland found herself waking up earlier. Staying up later. Writing until her fingers cramped. Listening until her heart ached.
But she felt alive.
And when Grant came to find her at night, when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, she no longer felt like a girl hiding from the world.
She felt like a woman stepping into it.
One evening, Wren surprised her with a simple wooden pin.
"I had it made," she said, handing it over. "For you. For us."
Scottland turned it over in her hand. It was carved with the image of a small blooming flower.
"Because we're growing," Wren said.
Scottland pinned it to her sweater, and something inside her bloomed too.