The air left Freya’s lungs and her hands became clammy. She could feel the back of her neck heat up as she thought about her aunt’s proposal. She desperately searched for answers as to why her aunt thought it would be a good idea for her to face her nightmare again. Why erase nine years of much-needed therapy to go back to the sorry excuse for a pack regardless of how superior it apparently was?

Even though her back was turned to them, she knew her aunt and dear cousin were anxious for her answer with the way she heard her cousin take a sharp breath in, and the hesitancy in her aunt’s voice when she told Freya of the dreaded news.

She tried not to think about the reason why she left, she didn’t have the energy to unpack her emotions and besides, she never gave them a definite answer.

Light showed through the large windows of their apartment, reflecting against the teacup on the wooden coffee table that was placed in front of the coach Freya sat on. The skies were clear as the last remaining hints of sunlight smeared across the horizon just as nighttime was beginning to take over. Their apartment was quite cluttered, a biology textbook lay open on the kitchen counter and crumpled pieces of lined paper were not far off, pens were rolling off the coffee table and coffee mugs stained with last night’s round of hot chocolate lay in the sink.

Freya couldn’t tell if the air was warm because of the broken air conditioning or if it was just her sympathetic nervous system. Perhaps her body was rightfully warning her that danger was to be lurking by uninvitingly.

She sighed, biting her bottom lip as she pondered the idea. She had a great job here in Toronto, working at a popular practice while getting involved in cutting-edge research in women’s health, they had just finished their study on the implications for bedrest in werewolf women in the third trimester. She was a new person here even though she didn’t have much to show from it, different from that little girl who felt like the weight of the world was on her shoulders.

“It’ll be such a great opportunity to get experience, especially with a pack like Meadow Stream,” her aunt said.

She wasn’t wrong, Meadow Stream is a strong pack, one of the most influential in the Kingdom of Roscoe, so having a job there wouldn’t be the worst idea. But why would they want her? Her resume only had a couple of research studies where she assisted her mentor, Dr. Allens, the owner of the practice she worked at. She wasn’t anyone special. They should’ve just used her to get to Dr Allens for their consulting position instead.

But they’re in a crisis situation in Meadow Stream, their lack of doctor due to the rising tensions of the war left child-bearing women without proper medical care, many of them at risk for succumbing to complications that could’ve easily been avoided. She couldn’t just turn her back on them regardless of her own personal feelings, it was an oath she took when she went into the profession.

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Besides, she probably was sought out because her father was a delta of the Meadow Stream Pack, most likely a case of nepotism.

That and there was less paperwork since she was still a member of the pack.

Deltas were like council members, each specializing in a different sector of the pack such as education, health, foreign policy, and all that boring government jazz. Her father, a son of Danish immigrants had worked from nothing to get to where he is today, an effort that required sacrifices, the notion of a reputable image to display to the pack as to why he should be and continue to remain so a delta.

Being the daughter of a politician, she was expected to go into a more…let’s say a more corporate path, well, maybe not her specifically considering pack members never looked past her limitations, but expectations were high for the Laursen children.

She internally snorted, yeah, cause that worked out so well.

A career in economics like her parents wanted would’ve been practical, but learning about supply and demand or the threat of privatizing their healthcare system didn’t and never would sound meaningful to her. Or her aunt liked to put it, satisfy her soul.

Whatever that meant.

A throat cleared, “Why don’t you sleep on it?” her aunt suggested, “You must be so tired after being up all night.”

On cue, Freya yawned, reliving the trauma she endured helping Georgie study for her NCLEX exam. Times like this she was glad she was a midwife and didn’t need to see the gross pictures of an infected wound, Like birth is any more aesthetically pleasing, she sarcastically thought.

Freya stumbled into her room, her whole body tired as she consoled her dear cousin half the night when she failed a practice exam. She couldn’t help but be in awe of Georgie, having accomplished such a difficult program only to face a case of imposter syndrome. Life had a peculiar way of screwing you over.

She had Alexa play her playlist as she made her way to her bed. Her bedroom was nothing special, everything was where it was supposed to be and she liked to keep it that way, it was simple. She never understood the concept of home decor anyway, the basic necessities seemed to be enough for her but some people, like her mother liked to put on a show through books that are never meant to be read on a bookshelf, or tall vases filled with fake flowers along the entryway. Ridiculous.

Richard Strauss’ A Hero’s Life played in the background as she climbed onto her bed, feeling a hard surface against her knee. She pulled it out, finding the book under the blankets, remembering her feeling of the pressed white poppies Georgie had given her when she graduated from her midwifery program. Freya often liked to graze her hand over it, feeling the ridges that made up the flower as she thought about how far she’d come.

Perhaps that’s what this offer was for her, a chance to show Meadow Stream how she was able to build herself back up again.

But was this a good time? Last she’d heard, tensions at their borders were at an all-time high, she ran her hand over that flower again right before her head grew light and felt the weight of it hit the floor.