Hope sat on my chest, easy to ignore as Marianne Linden led us through the farmhouse. It was a beautiful home, with the ceilings lined with wooden beams and the painted walls decorated with framed photos. A plush carpet guided us first into the sitting room where pictures of Kale and Nyssa decorated one wall.

I was drawn to the pictures of their younger faces, my smile blooming unbidden and warm. They were opposite sides of the same coin. While Nyssa was poised in all her photos, Kale beamed out into the world like the sun had left a drop of herself inside him and he could not contain it. Both so beautiful.

There were music notes left on the side of the couch, marked with an elegant scrawl. Kale kicked a pair of boots under the couch as we flooded into the room. He caught my eye, his cheeks reddening. I quirked an eyebrow.

"Sorry." He mouthed.

Double doors opened from the sitting room into a quaint kitchen heavy with the scent of braised beef and cookies that sat cooling on a wire-tray. A bloom of flowers sat in a white vase marked with whorls of blue and green. A coat hung over the back of one of the island counter's stools. The windows over the deep sink where open and beyond it, there was a pair of donkeys nibbling at grass. Another sat contentedly under the shade of an apple tree whose branches stretched out wide.

"Sorry, everything is very all over the place." Marianne's cheeks reddened. "I meant to have everything spick and span for your visit, but the day just slipped away from me, and the dog got inside and into the washed linen and... it was a mess."

"It's lovely." I smiled.

I traced the marble of the island counter. Easton had given them a good house to live in, but it was obvious that the place was well loved and well lived in. Marks of their years were everywhere if I looked. Another picture of Kale on the fridge, smiling widely as he held a cert for passing his swimming test. One of Nyssa, holding her first violin. A picture drawn by Nyssa when she was just in infants' class. A family of four with large misshapen heads and bodies shaped like love hearts.

A slap jolted me, and I turned swiftly, calming only when I saw Kale rubbing his hand. He gave Mam a reproachful look, but she only brandished the wooden spoon higher. "Don't even think about it."

"Why make all this food if we can't eat it!"

"You can't start eating before the guests have had some food!" Mam admonished. "You know that. Don't act dull."

"Believe me, he isn't acting." Nyssa slipped onto a stool.

"Oh wow, Nyssa. So quick-witted." Kale rolled his eyes. "Nova, take a cookie, would you? I'm starving."

"I made you lunch an hour ago." Mam set down the spoon. "You surely cannot be hungry."

"My stomach doesn't lie."

"Here," Sounding amused, Easton reached forward. "Marianne, can I try a cookie?"

"Of course, you can. Our home is your home." Nyssa said sweetly.

Easton plucked a cookie up and bit into it. My lips pressed tight, hiding a smile as he chewed, with steam still ebbing from the chewy centre. He kept going, never the one to appear rude. I knew it was burning him and I waited for a crack in his resolve, knowing it would only break me into pieces of laughter.

Easton smiled and there was a drop of chocolate on the corner of his mouth. "Now a guest has had some."

"Unreal." Kale reached forward, ignoring Mam's warning to only take one. Easton looked down at me warmly, a brow quirking as I reached for his face.

"You have chocolate on your face."

"Oh? How lucky am I that you spotted that?"

"You would have been humiliated otherwise." I hummed, wiping the corner of his mouth with my thumb. "The big Alpha Supreme cannot conquer a cookie?"

"Thank you." And with that warm, low tone, he leaned down and kissed me. As easy as breathing. As if we had been doing this for years. It felt like that, but only us knew about what transpired that night before. I didn't care if they did either way, but I heard the way Nyssa's breath caught in her throat.

I glanced at her as Easton's hand slid down to the small of my back. Her cheeks had gone a dark red and her gaze was focused on us wholly, as if I had stricken her.

"You've cooked beef?" Easton questioned. "Marianne, that is my favourite."

"You said salmon was your favourite last time, and lamb the time before that." Marianne waved the spoon at him. "I believe you are trying to butter me up."

"Your cooking is exceptional, Marianne. Whatever you serve me instantly becomes my most favourite dish."

I snorted. Charmer. My mother, like me, was not immune to him. Like Kale, the sun must have left a drop of light inside of him too. His smile was enough to break Nyssa from her reverie, as she shoved her stool back and bestowed us with her own. "Are we ready for dinner?"

>

Dinner passed in a shower of laughter, old stories and exceptional food. My mother had a made a feast that fed even my dominating hunger. I didn't remember the food being as delicious when I was younger, but then again, my senses had been much weaker. I cleared three plates and Easton cleared four and when dessert came around, the both of us would have finished the cake by ourselves but we remained mannerly.

It must be a pain to feed Lycans. It took a lot to fill them and many of them would gladly eat more if offered. Marianne had clearly been subject to feeding Lycans before because she had cooked two lumps of beef. Easton and I saw to it that this beef was not wasted.

As we cleared the plates, Easton's phone rang. With an apology, he strode outside, and I listened for a moment to hear if there was tension or anger in his voice. There was none.

"Do you mind if I use the bathroom?"

"Work away. Down the hall and to the left." Mam took my plate and I rose. The quick movement shook her, and I grabbed her arms, steadying her.

"Sorry, Nova. I can never seem to get used to how quickly Lycans move."

She was a head shorter than me and wouldn't meet my eyes.

"I am not a Lycan." I reminded her. I am something worse, but I don't feel like that. Not today.

When she was steadied, I headed down to the bathroom. Before I reached the door, I spotted another potted plant. A bloom of vivid lavender sitting in a similar vase of blue and green. I hadn't even smelled it. Wrapped up in my own happiness as I was, I hadn't even scented it.

But now I could, and the smell scorched my nostrils, driving me past it and into the bathroom where I slammed the door shut. When I shoved the bolt over, it broke off the door and I held the frail metal thing in my hand for a moment.

"It's just a smell." I gripped the edge of the sink. "Just a smell."

The marble of the sink cracked under my hands. I jerked back, forcing in a long and shuddering breath. These things happened. Smells made memories and lavender reminded me of my worst. How much did a marble sink cost? Much more than I earned in the town-hall, but would by coveted savings cover it? I checked the sink again when I finished, wincing at the spider cracks along the marble. I held my breath when I passed the lavender pot again, my nose buried in the neck of my shirt.

Only on the way back, did I notice the shrine. A table immaculately kept with an unlit candle. My photos lined the table, with cards that I had written from my mother lay there. A shrine to the dead. The flowers had to be freshly changed and I touched one of the soft petals, eyeing the smiling girl. I looked the same, only older. The same crooked smile – when I did smile – and the cow's lick that refused to obey. Ears that stuck out.

"That woman is not my daughter."

I froze. My mother's voice was low and desperate. Low enough that I knew she was trying to hide her words. Low enough that I knew she didn't mean to hurt me. But, hurt me she did. Ever word was a razor against the frantic thudding of my heart, cutting through hard muscle and pooling blood into frozen limbs.

"Mam..." Kale implored, his voice leaking under the door.

"Our Nova was a gentle, smiling girl. Nova never would have hurt someone, even if it meant survival. I heard the stories about the Omega, Kale. We all did."

"You have no idea what she had to do in there." Kale flamed.

"And you do?" Nyssa asked. "Kale, come on."

"What the actual feck is wrong with all of you?" I heard the rush of his blood and could imagine the bloom of red across his cheeks like one of Easton's paintings. "Do you think people just snap back after eight years of shite! None of us have any idea what Nova went through, and I am sick of you treating her like some kind of freak."

"She isn't a freak." Nyssa snapped back. "She's a monster. I read the files in Easton's office. They cooked her up and snapped bits and pieces of other creatures. Whoever Nova was, is gone. It's her body they're using, but that's not Nova."

"Mam!" Kale implored. A squeak of shoes on the tiled floors.

I held my breath, though I knew their dulled senses would never catch me out.

"Nyssa is right, Kale. I try and try and every-time I see a glimpse of the old Nova, my heart shatters all over again. She can only hold the façade for a moment and then... that creature returns."

When I lifted my hand, it was shaking. What surprised me was the wash of wet on my cheeks. My lashes were damp. I drew my hand away, expecting blood but the liquid was clear. Tears.

The front door squeaked, and the kitchen fell silent. Quickly, Mam began chattering about her new recipe for sourdough bread and Nyssa joined in, her voice a joyful chime. Kale remained silent. The comforting scent of soil and paint washed over me, his tread heavy before he touched my shoulder. "Are you alright?"

My next breath shuddered. "Fine."

"Nova?" Easton turned me, scouring my expression. "You are crying."

I wiped my cheeks, feeling that familiar tiredness creeping in like a choking poison. Overcome with the sudden onslaught, I pulled his hand from my shoulder. "I am trying. I am."

His brow knotted, his head tilting. "I know you are."

"I am trying." I slipped around him, desperate to feel the free wind on my face. "I am trying. It took eight years to become what I was but how can I be something different after a few months. Why are people so impatient?"

"Nova, if I've..." Easton followed me out.

"I am trying."

"I know."

"I am trying my best."

"I know you are. Nova, if you want to leave..."

The farmhouse was framed by rolling hills. The curve of flaming orange and yellow peeked over the soft curving land. A little slice of heaven. Even if I hadn't been confined to a white cell for so many years, I would have appreciated this beauty. I knew I would have. But now, as grief mixed inside my chest and such beauty spilling out before me, I couldn't shove it down. Words - broken like my bones had been into shards that ripped open my skin – spilled from me. "I'm trying, but it isn't enough. If you could have seen what I was like this time last year, you wouldn't recognise me. I taught myself how to live in this world, to pay bills, use the bus and even how to ..."

Lordie. I had been afraid to shower in the early days. They had hosed me down with just enough force to feel my skin tearing that I had to work up the courage to shower again. I had used cloths first before ducking my head under a gentle spray. I was trying.

He didn't touch me but moved closer so that I could feel the ebb of warmth from his skin. "Progress isn't marked by a single line."

"What motivational book did you get that from?"

"You're going to have a lot of bad days, Nova." Easton pressed. "A lot.

"That makes me feel better."

The cut of my voice, one of sharp bone-shards, did not sway him. He looked out across the orange brushed horizon and to where the clouds in the sky drifted like the brushes from a lazy paintbrush. "You are going to have a lot of bad days and then some good days. Slowly, that balance will tip. The good days will melt into each other, but a bad day will rear its ugly head when you smell something, see something that reminds you of the old days. The bad days get easier to deal with when you realise how rare they have become."

"Have you had a lot of these bad days?"

"There are still bad days to break up my good days." He told me. "Days when I hear a noise too sudden and loud and imagine the bunkers we hunkered down in during the days of rebellion. I see someone kneel and remember an old friend's face glaring up at me, spitting insults and the feel of his blood on my hands even though they are dry. Sometimes I need to be alone and some days, I am grateful for the memories. They remind me to be the kind of Alpha that is needed, relied upon. That my power was hard fought for and should be carefully applied."

"And what should I take away from my memories?" I asked. "What should I take away from the memories of years of vile hatred. Of watching men and women in white coats approaching with cattle-prongs, of moving through dark halls and relishing in the fear I created. I can remember how easy it is to pluck someone's ribs out like little toothpicks, but I often forget to smile. I forget to pick up my knife and fork, because it's easier to tear food apart with my fingers. What if somehow, Nova Linden was killed but I was too busy to notice it happening because they were pulling me apart and slotting pieces in and ... maybe, I'm a rotten creation wearing her face and trying to fit myself into a world that doesn't have space for me anymore."

"I think that you were always built to survive, Nova Linden. Survival is raw and brutal and only those who've found themselves faced with a painful death or a painful decision can truly decide if what you did. It's easy to look in front the outside and say you would never do this, or do that, but if it came down to it, they would do the same. How many people tried to kill you in the Ravi's prison?"

"Many."

"And if you hadn't fought back, if you had pleaded to their good nature, would they have spared you?"

"No."

"I would bet that they were good people. Desperate, but good people trapped in a hellhole and the only way to survive was to kill. I know I can tell you that I think you're a good person all day, but until you start to believe it, it means nothing."

"Your opinion matters to me."

"...Thank you."

The wind touched my cheeks, and I closed my eyes, taking a breath that cleansed my insides. "I would like to be alone for a few minutes. Then, I'll say my goodbyes."

"Do you want to go back to Lunar?"

"I want to go home."

I wanted to go back to the house with the music room where the only soul brave enough to enter without permission was Muffin. I wanted to sit on the couch and let Lux braid my hair and try and hide my laughter when she peppered Easton and Blav with questions about movies she always falls asleep during.

"Okay Nova. We'll go home." He said softly.

"Thank you."

He stepped back inside; his hesitation clear. I didn't turn back as I trekked along the farm. My destination was close, and I was overcome with the inexplicable need to see it. I left the path and the ground beneath me rose, the grass growing wild and long. Little heads of white clover broke out and I tried to avoid crushing them.

I reached the top of the low hill, and the wind was growing here, picking at my hair and dragging it away from my face. I turned and looked.

I remembered this place. This exact spot.

Remembered the pain that sliced through me, right down to the heart. I watched them on that hill, my beloved twins, and knew that I had been no good for them. Half-wild. Half-mad. I had wanted nothing more for eight long, dark years, than to see them again.

Knowledge that I had been right only made the pain keener. Wind rustling through the long grass brought the scent of apple and I closed my eyes, lacing my shoulders tight. I had been right. My mother thought I was a monster. My sister despised me, but for reasons other than the things I had done. I had been ignorant to it before, but I was piecing it together. Her anger flaring whenever Easton and I interacted. The ugliness of it that she could not hide. Lux's strange rudeness whenever Nyssa asked after him. There were other things too, but she would need time to get over it. I would not lose my sister because of a man, but I wouldn't lose Easton because I was afraid of hurting her feelings.

As for Mam – well, the Nova she had lost eight years ago was gone. I wasn't some sixteen year old full of excitement about what the world had to offer me. I was twenty-four, bordering on twenty-five and I had seen everything rotten that the world had to offer. I couldn't forget, nor did I want to. Easton was right – I had become a survivor and nothing about survival was pretty.

A strange scent drew me from my reverie. I scented the air, my earlier worry forgotten. The sprawling farmland of Alpacina before me, broken only by the low rise of hills looked peaceful. I held still, my breath slowing. Claws broke from my hands as I scoured the low hills and the land.

The cows continued to low and eat, their tails flicking at pesky flies. The donkeys continued to bray to each other, and the farm-dog was chasing his tail at the front door. The scent was barely there, hidden under the heavier one that permeated the small farm. I recognised it.

Ravagers.

More than one. I could only scent what seemed like one because the wind carried it straight to me, but if Doc-Mai was responsible, she wouldn't send just one after me. She wouldn't send one to my family's home. One wouldn't make an impact. Not with the Alpha Supreme and the Omega there.

I tapped my claws against my thighs, eyed the undisturbed farmlands before me, before I turned on my heels and walked back down to the farmhouse.

If the Ravagers were created to be anything like me, they loved it when their prey ran.