#Chapter 97: Support Rallies

Amelia When the orphanage director appeared on the morning broadcast, my hands froze halfway through my braid. The woman was in her sixties, with neatly pressed curls and a face lined with decades of care. Stern but kind, always consistent in her expectations and love, and grounded in a moral certainty that came from years of raising children without promises from the world. “I’ve known Richard since he was barely older than the children we raise. He’s donated every year, quietly. He helped us expand to three locations. He’s a good man. A protective man. And Amelia is not the first young woman he’s lifted up with opportunity. She is simply the first he’s ever let himself love.” The segment played on loop for hours. It broke the rhythm of the day, unspooled something tight inside me, unraveled a tension I hadn’t even realized I was holding in my chest. Videos from the western territories began flooding the Pack’s digital channels. Footage, blurry and wind-scraped, showed warriors