Chapter 9 : Five Steps Back

*Vanessa*

The next day is set up similarly to the one before. A tour around the compound revisiting all the groups I did before, only this time I'm supposed to be joining in a meeting to discuss the solutions I’d come up with at each station.

I worked well into the night, trying to streamline as much of their current systems as I could, but it was daunting. Not the challenge in coming up with solutions itself —I was finding that to be the easier bit.

No, it was figuring out how I was going to aim for improvement without overstepping my boundaries or giving Ashborne any more reason to suspect me. If Shawn thought he wasn’t able to change things as he wanted without the pack misreading his intentions, I wasn’t sure where my confidence was supposed to come from.

But this is the only choice I have. I have to make it work.

Aaron meets me at the same spot we did yesterday morning, his face no happier to see me than it was then. But—and it’s a very cautious ‘but’—I do notice that his posture isn’t as rigid. He still watches me closely as we walk, still doesn’t go to great lengths to spark any conversation, but he doesn’t move with the same puppet-like stiffness he did yesterday.

I don’t take it for granted though.

Meeting the full group of warriors twists my stomach into knots that won’t come undone, no matter how much I try to bolster my nerves with the memory of the small victories I’ve achieved so far. Instead, I find myself shrinking back under their collective gaze.

“Everyone, this is Vanessa, our trial strategist,” Aaron says. I knew that he was in charge of the warrior group, but I never really saw that leadership quality in him until he began to address them in front of me.

He’s not as naturally intimidating as Shawn, not as unknowingly commanding of attention and immediate respect. But there’s something about the way he stands tall before those he commands. His voice is even, tempered, and controlled. He speaks with a familiarity and confidence that I must admit I’m jealous of.

Amara, likewise, has a similar command over her own domain. I’ve seen her with other patients as well. Both of them move in a similar way, the sort of experienced comfort in addressing others here that I hope I can achieve myself one day.

As I take in the warriors before, doubt begins to creep in stronger than ever before.

There are many more than yesterday, ones that I haven’t been introduced to yet and with whom I’ll have to start all over with making a good first impression.

“She’s been tasked with coming up with some ideas to help improve the pack’s defense and attack. On Shawn’s orders, I expect all of you to listen to what she says,” Aaron adds.

I try to read their faces, but they don’t give me much to go on.

Aaron takes me down the line and as I make my way through the group, extending my hand as he names them, I notice that there is one shifter in particular that glares at me the entire time.

She looks younger than I am, or perhaps it’s just the childlike quality of her features. Her face is softer than those of most of the other war-hardened warriors, and her dark eyes are huge. Her mouth is pressed into a small pout as she assesses me long before I reach her.

When I get there, I notice that she doesn’t have quite as much muscle as the rest, and she is even more slender. Her perceptiveness and sharp gaze also makes me believe that she is most likely a tracker, and I wait for Aaron to say her name before I take a guess on whether or not I can recall her role from the piece of paper Shawn gave me a few days ago.

“This is Mylene. One of our trackers,” Aaron introduces. He’s a bit less formal with her, the way an older brother might treat a kid sibling while still trying to remain professional.

Unlike the others, Mylene doesn’t even feign a hint of respect toward me. She doesn’t take my hand immediately, not until Aaron clears his throat. But her handshake is quick, her grip almost too tight on my own.

“You're the stray?” she asks, those piercing eyes still burning holes in mine. Aaron doesn’t do anything to stop her, he doesn’t pull rank to reprimand her for her blatant disrespect. I shouldn’t expect him to. I’m not a visiting representative from another pack or someone in a higher rank whose standing with Ashborne deserves that kind of consideration.

But still … it takes me by surprise, how obvious she is in her dislike of me. The other shifters are at least more covert with it. But not Mylene. She’s deliberately offering me a challenge and Aaron is letting her do it in front of the rest of the warriors too, perhaps to glean what my strength is for his own knowledge.

The smart thing to do would be to assert myself as someone with a backbone in a way that isn’t combative. I know the politics of it. But my confidence from the day before has already been deflated, and I end up wilting, shaking my head in acknowledgment of her question before moving on to the next shifter.

I don’t miss the smirk on Mylene’s face, as though I’ve failed her test. And I probably have.

By the time I’ve finished getting everyone’s names, I’m able to pinpoint their faces to the list of names and roles I studied. Aaron quiets them down before explaining that Shawn has set up a challenge for me to come up with solutions to their shortcomings and weaknesses.

When he brings up that I’ve suggested a more structured system of training, audible groans rise up from the group and Mylene speaks up again.

“We’ve never had any programs set up before,” she says, directing a cold look to me. My stomach drops. “Why would we start now?”

“That’s Shawn’s decision,” Aaron answers, and even though I know he’s uncertain about me, he does trust his friend. “I know the thought of change might be uncomfortable, but we don’t have the time to squabble over it. If our Alpha thinks this is the best decision, then we are in no position to question him.”

“Of course, we answer to our Alpha.” Mylene folds her arms. “But 'she' is not our Alpha. She’s of no relation to the pack at all, so I struggle to see why we owe her any kind of allegiance.”

Aaron rolls his eyes. “You don’t owe her your allegiance. But you do owe it to Shawn. If he had the time to introduce her to everyone, he would. He’s also decided that I should be the one to handle this seeing as … what is my position again?”

Mylene narrows her eyes. “You’re the head warrior. We get it. But you aren’t the pack’s Beta either.”

“Yet,” Aaron replies.

Something about that exchange piques my interest. Mylene is obviously proud of her pack and of her position in it. But the way she speaks of Shawn and of Aaron tells me that there’s more to this than the little glimpse I’m afforded right now.

Aaron keeps her stare and eventually, she backs down, though not without having achieved her goal of knocking me off balance. When Aaron gives me the stage to explain my plans, I stutter through my words.

“Well … I think that … it’s just …” I clear my throat. “My first suggestion is to have both groups of hunters and patrol guards learning the other’s skill. What you lack in numbers you make up for in versatility and capitalizing on your skill sets.”

I’m met with condescending snorts and mutters.

“We specialize for a reason,” Mylene says, her voice dripping with callous amusement. There are grunts of agreement around her.

Aaron says nothing and I know I’m on my own to try and convince them of why my ideas are actually good. But for some reason, the words stick in my throat.

“I know that, but I’m just saying that it would help. I mean, Ashborn is short on members. You’re spread too thin and—”

“Wouldn’t it all just be a waste of time? If we’re in such a bad spot, then why not just focus on what we already know we’re good at? Why bother trying to acquire skills we don’t have?” she asks.

Because that would keep them weak, I think to myself. Because that doesn’t solve their numbers problem. It leaves them vulnerable to slacking on either their patrol runs or their hunting.

I should explain that. But I can’t. I’m a coward, and Mylene knows that. All of them know it, even Aaron with his guarded expression. So I keep my rebuttal to myself and push on with the next idea.

“I think exercise and combat training rotations should also be implemented. There should be a bigger focus on strength conditioning as well. You guys have speed, but will need to work on brutality.” My voice is quiet. Pathetic. In fact, I sound so pathetic that more shifters begin to give me pushback.

They’re not listening to me. At best, some of them are just silent. But no one gives me any indication that they’ve taken any of what I’ve said to heart. I want to tell them that I’ve watched them and paid attention to where they fall short and that I have a good knowledge of what they’ll need to strengthen themselves.

“Quiet,” Aaron snarls, and they fall into restless silence, but I know that they’re only listening because of him.

I want to defend myself.

I want to tell them that beyond this being the singular chance I have at any kind of redemption and belonging, I genuinely want to help them.

But I don’t and I hate myself for it.

When I finish, I’m stung by their distrust of me, despite it being expected. The good feeling I was beginning to have after yesterday and the meeting with Shawn the day before has just been shattered into the same dismissiveness I felt back home.

It’s like I took one big step forward and fell five steps back.

I finish with very little success and walk with Aaron to repeat the same failure with the shifters in charge of resource collection and management. The closest silver lining is that they, at least, are less openly brash with me, relegating their disapproval to the realm of side-eyes and the occasional tongue click.

It’s much of the same thing.

Heading back to the infirmary, I feel utterly defeated.

I chide myself for my cowardice, for my inability to stand up for myself. It shouldn’t be on Aaron to begrudgingly do that for me, or for shifters like Mylene to police what they say. I should be able to take care of myself.

Still, that doesn’t make anything easier.

While Aaron still obviously hasn’t approved of me yet, the poor show I had must have inspired some level of pity because he doesn’t watch me as closely. In fact, he gives me enough room to walk beside him so I can actually have some odd semblance of privacy for my thoughts.

It’s the closest I think we’ll have to some kind of truce and I’m grateful for it because I want to be alone.

I don’t talk to Amara too much beyond the bare minimum details and she seems to understand, simply checking on my injuries again before leaving me in my room.

When I’m truly alone, I allow myself to cry. I allow myself to feel everything I beat back and get everything out because I know that tomorrow I’ll have to try again.

And I’ll keep trying until I finally have some kind of breakthrough. I have to.