-Ryland Grayson:
I've been told my entire life that I was born for this.
Not in the soft, proud way most parents talk about their children—but like it was a fact. Something already written into my bones before I ever learned how to walk, before I ever spoke my first word.
I was the next head alpha of our pack.
I stand in front of the mirror in my room, staring at my reflection like I don't quite recognize the person looking back at me. My hair has grown longer than it used to be, dark strands brushing the back of my neck, just messy enough to look intentional. My shoulders are broader now, my body built from years of working out in the gym. Strength isn't something I think about anymore—it's just there, in the way I stand, in the way I breathe.
In the way people look at me.
Grayson.
The name carries weight. Expectation. A future that doesn't leave room for hesitation.
I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly, before turning away from the mirror. My room is half-packed already—bags open on the bed, clothes folded with a precision that has nothing to do with neatness and everything to do with control. I don't like things out of place. Never have.
Maybe that's something I got from them.
From my parents.
Voices drift up from downstairs—familiar, overlapping, warm in a way that most people don't expect from a family like mine. I pause for a second, just listening.
Dad, who is one of the greatest witches to ever walk this earth, is the easiest to pick out. His voice is calm, steady, the kind that fills a room without needing to be loud. He's always been like that—the center, the one everything else seems to orbit around. People respect him without question. They listen when he speaks.
They follow.
Papa, the head alpha of our pack who is also an omega, is different. Sharper. There's always something teasing in his tone, something alive. He argues more, laughs louder, and pushes where Dad steadies. And somehow, it works. It always has.
Pops, who is our Luna, even though he's an enigma, we're not quite a traditional family… he's quieter. Not weak—never that. Just controlled in a way that makes people underestimate him until it's too late. When he does speak, it matters.
Three Amazing men.
Three very different men.
And somehow, they've built something that's built with love, perfection, and warmth.
Love, in our house, isn't soft. It's not fragile. It's loud in some moments, quiet in others, but it's always there—solid, unshakable. I've seen it in the way Dad reaches for Papa without thinking, in the way Pops watches both of them like he's always measuring, always protecting.
It's… constant.
Reliable.
I don't think about whether I'll have that one day.
I think about whether I'll have time for it.
A sharp knock pulls me out of it.
"Ryland," Papa calls from the other side of the door, not bothering to wait before pushing it open. "You're not planning on leaving without saying goodbye, are you? Because that would be deeply offensive, and I would absolutely hold it against you for the rest of your life."
I huff out something that almost resembles a laugh, glancing over my shoulder as he steps in. He leans against the doorframe as he owns it, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room before landing on the bags.
"Wow," he adds. "You actually packed. I was expecting chaos."
"I'm not Julien," I reply dryly.
"Rude, stop bothering your little brother," he says, completely unbothered.
Footsteps follow him—slower, more measured. Dad steps in next, Pops just behind him. The room feels smaller with all three of them in it, not because they take up space physically, but because of what they are.
Power recognizes power.
Even here. Even now.
Dad's gaze settles on me, steady and unreadable for a moment before something softer slips through. "Everything ready?"
"Yes."
One word. Simple. Enough.
Pops' eyes flick to the bags, then back to me. "You're leaving earlier than expected."
"It's a long drive," I say. "I'd rather get there before night."
He nods once, like that makes sense. Like it's the kind of decision he would've made too.
Papa sighed and looked at me.
"Listen," he says, pushing himself off the doorframe, "I know they're all going to be very serious and give you meaningful advice, so I'll just say the important thing—don't let anyone think they can challenge you."
Dad exhales, but there's no real annoyance in it.
"He'll be fine, honey. He won't let anyone think of challenging him," he says calmly.
I won't.
There's no doubt in my mind about that.
This isn't something I'm nervous about. It isn't something I'm unsure of. The Alpha training camp isn't a question mark in my future—it's a step. A necessary one.
Every Alpha goes.
The strongest rise.
And the next head Alpha of the pack?
He doesn't just rise.
He dominates.
Dad steps closer, stopping just in front of me. For a second, neither of us speaks. Then his hand comes to rest on my shoulder—firm, grounding.
"You know what this is," he says quietly.
Not a question.
I nod.
"I do."
His grip tightens slightly, just for a second, before he lets go.
"Good."
That's it. No long speech. No unnecessary words.
He doesn't need them.
Pops moves next, his hand brushing briefly against the back of my neck—subtle, but deliberate. "Control matters more than strength," he says. "Remember that."
"I will."
Pops lingers for a second longer, studying me like he's trying to memorize something. Then he smiles proudly, light but real. "Try not to terrify everyone too quickly," he adds. "It's more fun if they think they have a chance first."
I shake my head, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder.
"I'm not there to entertain them."
"Shame," he mutters.
Downstairs, Julien and Caspian are waiting—both of them talking over each other the second I step into view. Julien is already asking questions I don't bother answering, Caspian is quieter but watching me in that way he does, like he's taking everything in.
They don't understand it yet.
Not fully.
What does it mean to leave like this?
What it means to come back different.
I don't linger.
Goodbyes aren't meant to be long.
By the time I step outside, the air feels sharper, cooler against my skin. The car is already waiting. The driver nods once as I approach, taking my bag without a word.
I pause just before getting in.
The house stands behind me—familiar, solid, everything I've ever known.
For a second, it almost feels like something is shifting.
Like this is the last moment before everything changes.
Then it's gone.
I get in the car without looking back.
The door shuts.
The engine starts.
And as we pull away, I don't think about what I'm leaving behind.
I think about what's waiting for me.
And how easily I'm going to take it.