Chapter 5

The first month felt like withdrawal.

I couldn’t breathe without pain.

Wolves don’t just “miss” others.Our bodies map them—scent memory, heartbeat patterns, the subtle mental ping that says mine is near.

Alfred and I were never formally bonded—no bite mark, no public claim—but years together still left an imprint.

I could smell him in places he’d never been. My wolf woke up and searched the air like a starving animal.

I stopped sleeping. Stopped eating. Stopped recognizing myself.

I avoided social media. Avoided people. Avoided anything that could tell me how Alfred was doing without me.

Then one night, my mother called.

“Sweetheart,” she said, “did you get the oranges I mailed?”

I stared at the huge box by my feet.

“Mom,” I groaned, “it’s too many.”

“Share some with Alfred,” she said automatically. “You live near his campus, right?”

Then, casually:

“Oh—Prima said Alfred has a new girlfriend. Did you know?”

My world tilted.

I don’t remember hanging up. I only remember grabbing a bag of oranges and showing up at Alfred’s door at 1 a.m., shaking like I’d been hit.

He opened the door looking perfect. Fresh haircut. Clean hoodie. The same face I’d forgiven a thousand times.

“Don’t listen to my mom,” he said instantly. “Wanda was visiting your hometown with friends. I showed her around. That’s all.”

He put his jacket over my shoulders, like he already knew I’d come begging.

And I let him.

That night, we fell into old habits because my body didn’t know how to stop.

Afterward, while he slept, my heart cooled in a way it never had before.

I wasn’t there to save the relationship.

I was there to cure myself of him.

The next morning, I went to a wolf clinic on the edge of the city—one that specialized in “separation support.”

The clinician didn’t ask for details. She looked at my dilated pupils, my restless hands, my scent profile screaming imprint.

“You want to detox,” she said simply.

I nodded.

She offered three options, all legal, all common, all quietly heartbreaking.

Scent-blocking. Link dampening. A severing protocol.

I accepted all.

If love was a habit, then detox had to be, too.

When I left, the city smelled less sharp. Less haunted.

And when I woke, my first thought wasn’t Alfred.

It was my inbox.

I got out of bed, opened my laptop, and replied to the offer email I’d been sitting on for weeks:

Yes. I accept the Buenos Aires rotation.

Now, years later, in that lounge, he looked at me as if he’d finally noticed I’d been bleeding on the inside for a long time.

His scent finally smelled like fabric again instead of a trigger.

And the only thought I had was: I don’t want to fight for my place anymore.

It's time.