Alpha Isaiah ✔️

TEN

Word Count: 1771

~Avia

I go where I know I can run into him naturally.

I'm not sure how long I stand in the kitchen, sipping from a glass of water, waiting for Isaiah to emerge from his underground room. Malin is right, this mission needs to move forward, and quickly. The longer it takes for me to get information from Isaiah, the longer I have to be here, which means at any moment, someone could realise I'm not the real Kenna.

Finally, I hear soft footsteps from the adjacent hallway, so I turn to the tap on and refill my glass. All my senses are alert as I anticipate Isaiah's entry. Speaking to him like this, in the middle of the night where he is not expecting to uphold the sensibilities of an Alpha, makes me feel painfully vulnerable.

"Another late night, huh?" he murmurs from behind me.

I don't have to fake the flutter of fright that courses through me. Turning around, I smooth down the edge of my nightdress - another calculated move - with my free hand. It's obvious he's been training, a light sheen of sweat on his bare arms and forehead, the front of his black shirt damp. My mouth goes dry.

"I'm homesick," I reply tightly, watching him over the rim of my glass as I take another sip. "Can't sleep."

"You can return at any moment you please," he reminds me, circling around the kitchen island and to the sink beside me, filling his own glass. I watch him silently, admiring his large hands, his perfect jawline from the side. I hate myself for it, but if it makes the performance more convincing... "Just say the word."

"I want to stay. I want to help you," I assure him. I can't be sent home, not yet. It's been painful aiding Isaiah with his intentions to alter the fabric of this Pack in such a terrible way, but in order to have use here, I have no other choice. I just have to remind myself of what will come of my actions. An Alpha will no longer be a concern of mine.

He steps back, resting against the counter opposite to where I stand, looking at me. I try not to fidget as his gaze glides down my person, before pausing on my bare legs. Mercifully, he looks away, clearing his throat uncomfortably, accompanying it with a long drink of water.

"I get homesick too," he mumbles, ruffling the few dark strands of hair plastered against his forehead.

I frown. "What for? Don't you live here full time?"

"Not for a place exactly," he corrects, closing his eyes for a moment. "I get homesick for something else. Like I'm missing some place, someone I haven't even met yet."

When he opens his eyes, they are dark, pained. A traitorous part of me aches, knowing that feeling, of not belonging no matter where I am. Even in the rebellion, I have had doubts of if I should run it alongside Malin. She's better at making decisions, telling people what to do. Too often I've had to remind myself of what this is for, what we plan to accomplish. I would dare tell Malin of my doubts, though, or even Kadrick.

"You hate it here?" How could any not?

"It's hard to tell." He shrugs, jaw settling into a firm line.

Indecision. I should jump on it, perhaps work on turning him against the very position he possesses. In those meetings, he seemed as though he was tired of questioning things, focusing instead on justifying it. Maybe if I tugged on that melting resolve, there's a chance I can get more out of this then just information...

"You could make it better by starting to not let those people walk all over you," I say slowly, calmly. I don't want him to think I'm challenging him, that I'm calling him weak. "I know you have the power to make it stop."