The mark on Scottland's neck had barely begun to heal when the whispers began.
Not cruel, not skeptical.
Hopeful.
Curious.
Omegas talking quietly in the hallway when she passed.
Young girls watching her like maybe… maybe they could be more, too.
And older ones, like Lottie, nodding with quiet approval.
Grant had changed everything by claiming her with gentleness.
But Scottland?
She was changing something else.
She was beginning to shine.
Morning Light and Small Courage
Scottland sat in the library with Wren, tucked into one of the wide velvet chairs Grant had insisted on restoring for her.
It was the first time she'd been alone in a room without a protector since her escape from Roger Pack.
And she wasn't afraid.
Wren handed her a mug of peppermint tea. "You've been quiet."
Scottland stirred it gently. "I've been… thinking."
"About Grant?"
Scottland smiled. "Always. But not just about him."
Wren raised an eyebrow.
"I keep remembering the little things," Scottland murmured. "The way the other Omegas in Roger Pack would go quiet whenever an Alpha entered the room. How they stopped talking entirely. How some of them stopped dreaming."
Wren reached over, touching her hand. "You're not there anymore."
"I know. But they are."
There was a silence, heavy and real between them.
Then Wren said, "So what are you going to do about it?"
The First Meeting
It started with a note posted to the bulletin board near the kitchens.
OMEGA GATHERING – Thursday Afternoon – East Garden
No rules. No roles. Just room to speak.
—Scottland
Grant had read it that morning while drinking coffee on the back porch.
He didn't say anything for a long moment.
Then he looked up at her and said, simply:
"Whatever you need, I'll make sure it's safe."
She kissed him on the cheek.
"I knew you'd say that."
Six Chairs in a Garden
Thursday afternoon arrived with golden sun and birdsong.
Scottland paced the East Garden in a simple floral dress, her bare feet curling in the grass.
She'd set out six chairs. She didn't know if anyone would come.
Lottie arrived first, her long silver braid trailing down her back, carrying a basket of sweetbread.
Then came Tara—a girl just a year older than Scottland, who had escaped the Kellan pack with bite scars along her shoulders.
By the hour's end, all six chairs were filled.
Scottland stood in front of them, trembling.
"I didn't call this meeting as a Luna," she said softly. "I'm not even sure I want that title yet. I called it as a girl who knows what it feels like to be afraid of her own voice."
The others listened.
Not out of obligation.
But because they wanted to.
"I don't have a plan yet," Scottland admitted. "But I think we could start small. A space where no one interrupts. Where no one takes. Where no one tells us we're too soft or too much."
Tara raised a hand. "Can we write letters? To our past selves? Or each other?"
Lottie smiled. "Can we teach the younger girls their rights?"
"Yes," Scottland said. "To all of it."
That afternoon, they didn't talk about men or heat or bonds.
They talked about healing.
And that was enough.
Grant – Watching Her Rise
He didn't go to the garden. She hadn't invited him, and he respected that.
But from the balcony above, he watched.
She moved through the chairs with grace—offering bread, laughing softly, touching Tara's shoulder when she cried.
She wasn't playing a role.
She wasn't performing.
She was leading.
Grant leaned against the rail and whispered under his breath, "My mate is going to change the world."
That Night – In Bed Together
They lay together that night beneath a quilt, stars visible outside the window.
Scottland rested her head on his shoulder.
"I think I want to do more," she whispered. "I think I want to make this a regular thing."
"I'll build you a meeting hall."
She laughed. "You're always offering to build me things."
"I'm a wolf. It's how I love."
She turned, looking up at him. "I don't want to lead just because I'm your mate. I want to lead because I see things. Things others don't want to look at."
"And you should," Grant said.
"Do you think anyone will listen?"
Grant met her eyes.
"I think they already are."
The Pain of Memory
A week later, Scottland found herself sitting with a girl named Elsie. She was barely fifteen, pulled from the outer Roger borderlands during a patrol.
Elsie wouldn't speak.
Wouldn't eat.
Just stared at her hands, curled tight in her lap.
Scottland sat down beside her, not speaking.
She waited an hour.
Then said, very softly, "They made me feel like silence was the only way to survive."
Elsie didn't look up.
Scottland continued. "But silence is heavy. It makes you forget you even have a voice."
Still nothing.
So she reached out, carefully, and placed a ribbon in the girl's hand. It was pale pink—soft and silk, something Wren had used to tie up her curls the day before.
"When you're ready," Scottland said, "you can use this to say whatever you need. Tie it around your wrist if you want to speak. Tie it around mine if you want me to speak for you."
The girl looked down.
Touched the ribbon.
Tears welled up—but she didn't brush them away.
She tied the ribbon around Scottland's wrist.
Scottland held her hand all afternoon.
The Bond Deepens
Scottland had begun to notice something about her connection to Grant.
When she was proud, he felt it.
When she was brave, he stood taller.
When she was hurting, his hands ached to hold her.
Their bond wasn't a chain.
It was a mirror.
One night, after an especially difficult meeting with a group of older Omegas, she came home quiet and tired.
Grant made no demands.
Just wrapped her in a robe, sat her on the floor between his legs, and brushed her hair out.
No words.
No pressure.
Just… love.
And that was enough.
The Turning Point – Confronting the Council
One evening, the Pack Council called a meeting. A few Elders were concerned about the "sudden shift" in Omega activity.
Too many gatherings.
Too many letters.
Too many girls asking why.
Scottland stood beside Grant in the chamber, small but unwavering.
One Elder sneered, "You've created chaos, girl."
Scottland met his gaze calmly. "No, sir. I've created awareness. Chaos existed long before I came."
Another muttered, "Omegas should be seen, not heard."
Grant rose from his chair like a storm.
"Say that again," he said coldly.
Silence.
Scottland touched his arm. "Let me speak."
He stepped aside.
She turned to face the council. "We're not rebelling. We're reclaiming. Our time. Our voices. Our stories. This isn't about power. It's about healing."
Lottie stepped in behind her. "And if you silence us now, you'll lose the strongest part of this pack."
The council didn't vote that night.
They just stared.
But no one stopped her.
And that was the beginning.
The End of the Chapter – The Voice Becomes a Song
Weeks passed.
Scottland's gatherings grew.
Elsie began speaking.
Tara started writing poems.
Even the older Omegas started teaching the pups to speak with strength and kindness.
One evening, Scottland stood on the garden's edge, watching the girls laugh around a fire pit.
She wore a soft blue shawl, her golden hair loose and curling.
Grant came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"They're not afraid anymore," she whispered.
"Because you weren't."
"They're healing."
"So are you."
She leaned back against his chest, the bond humming gently between them.
"I don't need a title," she murmured.
"You don't," he agreed.
"But I think I want one."
He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Then say it."
She turned in his arms and whispered, "I want to be Luna."
Grant looked at her like she hung the moon.
"Then you already are."