Page 43 of Bitter Truths

“All four.”

“What happened?” Ezra asks.

We start walking again, and somehow it’s easier to talk when I’m focused on not falling on my face.

“I’ve known them since I was little. My brother’s friends. Always felt... connected to them. Like they were meant to be mine.” The words come out between huffed breaths. “Spent years waiting for my omega to wake up so I could tell them.”

“But it didn’t?” Megan asks.

“Nope. Not holding my breath.”

I tell them about Dr. Montgomery and everything he told me.

“That’s fucked up,” Megan says.

We walk in silence for a bit, just the sound of our feet on the trail and my pathetic attempts at breathing.

“So what happened between you and them?” Ezra asks.

“Graduation night. I was going to tell them how I felt. Had it all planned out.” The memory tastes bitter. “Then I found out they’d bonded with my best friend. All of them. Someone sent me a video of them... of her heat.”

“Jesus,” Megan mutters.

“Yeah. Spent a month in the hospital after that. Couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, wanted to walk into traffic.” I stumble over a root but catch myself. “Mom took me to that town where you found me. Been there ever since, going through the motions.”

“And now you’re here,” Ezra says.

“And now I’m here.”

The trail gets worse—steeper, rockier, and more overgrown. My backpack cuts into my shoulders. My knees feel like they’re full of glass—which, technically, they were a day ago. But I keep moving because stopping means thinking, and thinking means spiraling.

“How much further?” I ask when we stop for lunch.

“Halfway,” Megan says, pulling out a sandwich.

I want to cry. We’re only halfway? But instead of crying, I eat the protein bar Ezra hands me, drink more water, and pretend my legs aren’t screaming.

“You’re doing good,” he says quietly.

“I’m dying.”

“Yeah, but you’re not quitting. That’s something.”

The afternoon is worse than the morning. Sometimes the path vanishes entirely—just rocks, fallen trees, and drops that send my pulse skittering. I slip and scrape my palm raw. My shirt sticks to my back with sweat and blood from where the pack’s been rubbing.

But my brain goes quiet.

I’m too busy trying not to die to think about anything else. No replaying that video. No wondering what’s wrong with me. No picturing their faces when they chose someone else.

Just step. Breathe. Step. Don’t fall. Step. Keep going.

“There,” Ezra says, pointing through the trees.

I look up from watching my feet and see smoke rising in the distance. Then buildings. Tiny cabins scattered through a clearing. A tiny village.

“Holy shit,” I breathe.

“Welcome to the refuge,” Megan says.