"So where did we stop with the story?"

"The warrior has become human again!"

"Oh, yes. The man who became a serpent and became a man again. The warrior now thought he had broken free of his unintended immortality, but what he didn't know is that by changing his soul once, he had forfeited the gifts of Divinity bestowed upon humans."

"Gifts? What gifts? Was something to eat?" – The little girl asks and the mother tickles the girl's ribs, loving her daughter's childish laugh.

"All you think about is eating, little flower." – The mother plays and then stops tickling and continues the story.

"Divinity is very good; considering his creatures, and knowing the hearts of humans, the Divinity grants two gifts to our kind, during the journey with the Last Friend, the Shinigami. At the beginning of the journey, the Shinigami offers the first gift: Oblivion. If the person wants, he can choose not to remember his life before entering the Celestial Halls."

"But why would anyone want to forget their own life? What a strange thing to give away!"

"Some people have more bad memories than others, my love." – The mother answers mysteriously.

"Mnn... Alright then... What about the second gift?"

"The second gift is given during the whole journey: the relief of all the pains and sorrows that the person has had during their lives. This is one of the most beautiful gifts that Divinity gives us. Then, when the warrior became human again, he would no longer have either of these two gifts. The Shinigami warned him, in a dream, that the warrior should find a way to expunge all the pain in life, find a way to forgive himself, and have peace in his heart; for only then could he finally die and make the Last Journey with the Shinigami."

"He did it, didn't he, mom?"

"Yes. After a long time, he succeeded; because he found people in his new life who helped him to forgive himself. And he found love. But that part, I fear, will be for another day. Good night, my beautiful child."

"Mn... night, mum."

Ayla now understands how hard it was for the warrior; forgiving herself is one of the most impossible things she has ever had to do.

She missed Isaac and John. Things between them looked better, and both the July and December holidays were punctuated by family progams, laughter, and hugs. She'd convinced her brother to practice dance with her – because, you never know, right? - and her father had taken picture after picture of a very awkward Isaac trying to lead her in a dance. Then there was the project she did for the whole family to assemble a prototype wooden plane to be a decorative piece somewhere in the room, and that was one of the best family moments she had ever had in her two lives.

She was on her way to starting her fourth and junior year of college, she finally had her chakra back, she was part of a pack, and her little family seemed happy and safe in Beacon Hills. Life couldn't be better, she thinks, as she boards the plane back to California.

She had no idea that things would spiral out of control from then on.

The penultimate year of aeronautical engineering college was insane. Her brain almost turned into a mass of porridge; she had to study so much during that period. She wished her clone could also withhold information, but chakra in this world had some limitations.

Speaking of her chakra, she had to train her way from scratch all over again, doing meditation exercises and training her body every day, even though at the end of the day all she wanted was to lie in bed and not get up until class the next morning. Ayla knew she needed to keep her body in shape and be a black hole of food, or her still small reserves of chakra would be as useless as if she didn't get them back.

Chakra was like a muscle – she had to practice until it was robust enough to wear out so that it didn't hurt or leave her on the verge of collapse.

It was throughout the hustle and bustle of that year that Ayla found herself more and more frequently wearing an illusion about herself that made her look like another random person old enough to attend an adult party. The college parties she went to were a mess and she just wanted to have fun without having to worry about babysitting one of those kids.

At parties like the one she was at now, not knowing anyone, she wouldn't bother checking how drunk someone was, she could just enjoy the music and dance freely with any stranger she wanted.

"Here, man. This one is for you." – The bartender said, pouring the liqueur she had been asking for between dances. Ayla, under the face of an older, male version of herself, frowned.

"I didn't order another drink."

"She asked." – The bartender leaned over, with a mischievous smile, and discreetly pointed to the chair where a beautiful woman was sitting watching him. The redhead, a woman in her early twenties, gave her a discreet smile, with a touch of sensuality accentuated by her red lipstick.

Ayla smiled back, inwardly flattered, before taking the offered drink and raising it to her lips. She hesitated only a little, at the thought that it might be poison, but she dismissed that worry quickly. She had chakra. She could make any possible poison burn through her metabolism at an accelerated rate – the very reason why, no matter how much she drank, if she wanted to she could force herself to be sober.

She figured the exchange of glances would be the end of it, knowing that now it was her turn to make a move and Ayla wasn't interested in doing anything in that territory just yet. It was a surprise when the woman proved to be obstinate in what she wanted, moving closer when "he" showed no signs of coming to her. Many eyes followed the shape of the red-haired woman, who was wearing a strapless, tight-fitting dress of a deep shade of green, the silk fabric making her quite stunning and enhancing her red locks and fair skin.

"This liquor is very good." – She said, sliding beside Ayla, into the empty chair. The music played at a reasonable volume and the lights flashed festively. – "I was surprised to notice your choice of drinks and I simply had to taste it; the taste is divine. You wouldn't have any other flavor to recommend to a woman, would you?" – The woman lightly ran her tongue under her lips, suggestively and smiled with natural charm.

"Well, if you like a fruity and refreshing taste, there's Lillet Blanc. If you prefer something less sweet, Saint Germain, with elderflowers, is my recommendation." – Ayla replied politely, not playing with suggestive words or indicating that she was interested.

"Mnn... I was thinking of a more particular recommendation. A man like you must have quite an impressive drink collection in his house, I presume?"

"Wow, she's good. And quite direct, too, but that kind of fits her." – Ayla thinks, impressed and a little jealous; it took a lot of effort herself to be, in her past life, even minimally decent in the arts of seduction. She had a mission like that and it was a disaster. Her teacher patted her in consolation saying she shouldn't feel bad about not being able to extract the target's information or distract him, but it only made it worse.

Placing an appropriately apologetic smile on her face, Ayla replied.

"Sorry dear, I'm afraid my drink collection isn't on display tonight."

She pouted and Ayla knows that many women would question their sexuality at that moment. Then the redhead smiled, and Ayla thought she saw a flash of fascination in her before she held out her hand.

"I'm Jennifer. May I have the privilege of knowing the name of the man whose drink collection is not on display tonight?"

She squeezed the redhead's hand.

"Alan." - She responded.

Somehow after that, every time Ayla went to that particular club, Jennifer flirted with her male alter ego and ended up being a wonderful drinking companion.

To her eternal mortification, there was even a bet among the bartenders on how long it would take "Alan" to give in to the Femme Fatale (apparently, she was famous for 'fishing' the men there), or whether "he" was gay - and when that speculation, in particular, began to circulate, Jennifer wasn't the only one buying him drinks.

Ayla, despite being an adult in the body of a 15-year-old teenager, had no interest in starting a relationship with an illusion hiding her true identity and was very averse to the idea of dating someone her own physical age. So she would have to wait for a boyfriend who was old enough to hold her attention and not a sick guy who likes underage girls.

She shudders, remembering how there had been instances both in this world and in her past, of fifteen-year-olds dating people twice their age. For her, that was simply inconceivable; it wasn't about the age difference per se – she couldn't care less if a 21-year-old adult woman got involved with someone 32 or older, but there was something distinctly unsettling when one of them was just a teenager. No matter how mature, teenagers weren't adults and any decent adult would know and act accordingly. No buts.

Her wonderful drinking companion wasn't so wonderful after all.

Jennifer, Ayla later discovered, wasn't a "Femme Fatale" for nothing. She was a goddamn mermaid.

One night, Jennifer was very drunk and Ayla decided to take her home, seeing the lustful looks of some men who definitely wouldn't mind taking advantage of the redhead in that state. She took Jennifer to the redhead's apartment only to be attacked with a kiss when they arrived there.

It was a terrible "first" kiss. It wasn't simply because Ayla didn't like Jennifer that way, but also because of the way, when she pressed her lips to hers, she immediately began to take away her pain, but more intensely.

Ayla's eyes widened, and when she looked at the one kissing her, she saw the image of her dead husband, not the redhead. Surprised, she gives into the kiss for a moment, before remembering that it couldn't be real.

She pushed Jennifer away, with more force than usual, and glimpsed her bluish-grey skin and stark black eyes, as well as barely discernible gills on her neck.

"What the hell is this?" -She thinks, leaving the woman unconscious when the redhead tried to kiss her again as if her taste was addictive.

Ayla won't go back to that nightclub again.

In matters of "pack" – if Max could be said to have one, she is the only member and all – life was a little more exciting. People knew she was something and there were several other attacks on her during the year; Max, being a surprisingly zealous and concerned alpha, by the time she'd returned from vacation the previous year had taught her all sorts of tactics for defending herself, from supernatural creatures and common criminals alike.

"I swear, girl, you're the weirdest thing I've ever seen." – He commented once, during one of their training sessions together. – "Better reflexes, defying the laws of physics, teleportation, regeneration, super strength..."

"Don't forget about illusions and clones." - She added.

"What can't you do?" - He asks rhetorically.

Ayla shrugs, knowing full well the answer. Unfortunately for her, there was no manipulation of nature with chakra.

"You're like a one-woman army. At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if you were some kind of deity or something. Seriously, you don't even need this poor old alpha here."

Ayla huffs, throwing the towel to wipe the sweat off him, and he catches it easily.

"Poor and old, my ass." – She says, looking pointedly at the huge room; a gym in the middle of the man's "humble" residence, and then to Max himself, who was in all shirtless glory with defined muscles that would make many a boy envy.

"Brat, you suck." – He laughed in amusement when he noticed that she was looking at him shamelessly, although, she noticed with a lot of humor that he had the tips of his ear red and he put on a shirt almost too quickly.

"Look how cute, the tough lonely alpha is shy!" - She laughs inwardly.

Life was no smoother during the holidays. A few months ago, she felt the warmth and love of her family.

That year it was drastically different; something changed, though she didn't know what or how Isaac and John's relationship had become so cold in such a short time.

[But it was a short time, really? She wasn't there to see how so many little things had accumulated over the years; to see how, after all, it wasn't so sudden that her family was breaking apart].

By chance, Ayla saw something through the open door to Isaac's room that stopped her in her tracks in the hallway. Her eyes widened and she felt protective anger shoot up her spine seeing her little brother like that. Isaac had bruises on his body.

"Who did this to you?" – She asks her brother, who jumped scared and tried to cover up his body. Ayla didn't let him, stepping fully into the room and approaching the teenager with a mixture of concern and anger.

" This is nothing." – He speaks, trying to free himself, but she holds him with her gaze.

"Nothing? Nothing? Your body was used as a punching bag, repeatedly as far as I can tell, and you tell me it's nothing?" – Ayla hisses angrily, and the boy flinches and her heart bleeds for him at the involuntary reaction. – "Tell me who did this. Was it some neighborhood kid? Are you being bullied at school? If so, we need to tell Dad and..."

"No!" – The boy exclaims, in a hurry. – "Don't say anything, please."

Ayla looks at him, conflicted. She knows what it's like to not want to tell the parents about her struggles. She remembers the first time she came back from a mission with her arm broken and her whole body covered in cuts and bruises, how her parents cried all night when they thought she couldn't hear. But she had been trained for that life. Isaac was a civil kid.

She takes a deep breath and runs her hands through her hair, sitting on the edge of his bed and swallowing the urge to scream and hunt down the bastard that done this.

"What happened, Isaac?" – She asks, a little more softly. She slowly rests her head on his shoulder they both stay like that for a moment, and Ayla clasps her hand in his, waiting for the moment when he speaks.

"It's complicated." – He says, leaning back against her too, and squeezing her hand back tenderly.

"Simplify, then. Please?" – Ayla asks, her voice soft and with that pleading lilt she has honed over the years.

Her twin sighed.

"A... friend... did it. He didn't, uh, he didn't really want to do it, it just kind of, err... got out of hand. When he realized what he had done he swore he wouldn't do it again and I - I believe him, so, uh, yeah. That's it."

Ayla arched an eyebrow and looked at him a little skeptically before huffing.

"First: you need to choose your friends better. Second: how come he 'didn't really want to do it' and 'got out of hand'? Third: Why did you guys fight and last but not least: tell me that asshole got beat up too."

Isaac looked at her in disbelief at that last statement and seeing her completely serious, he chuckled. Ayla tilted her head in confusion.

"What?"

"No, it's just-just... I figured... that you were more, you know, all about peace and stuff... and that you'd be upset that I got into a fight... I never thought..." - He says between laughs, gesturing inarticulately to her who opened a smile and rolled her eyes.

"You never thought I could wish someone would get hurt?"

"Yeah." – He says and then calms down from his laughter, letting out a satisfied sigh. – "Since you wouldn't hurt a fly and all."

"Okay, Isaac, little brother, I think you're quite wrong about that." – She comments, really surprised that he thought that of her. Heavens, the amount of anger and spite she could build up inside her was colossal. And he thought she was what – some kind of saint?

That was crazy.

"No, I'm not and you know it! I mean, what about Kara or Care or… whatever her name was? She literally beat you to a hospital and you forgave her in a heartbeat. Hey, that also means you can't judge me for making bad friends! Sounds like a family thing, huh?" – He says, teasing her, and Ayla couldn't answer because, from his point of view, it wouldn't be much different from what she did.

"Why do my decisions keep coming back to bite me in the ass?" – She thought absently and then crossed her arms, pouting.

"All right. I still want answers though."

"It was kind of because of a girl. I think." – He replied with a certain reluctance and shrugged. – "And like I said…it got out of hand."

Ayla sighed in resignation as she realized that her brother would say no more, no matter how much she insisted; she wouldn't press any further, and she knew when to stop. And then she smiled at him a little mischievously.

"I can't believe my little brother got into a fight over a girl. This girl knows she has two guys fighting over her, huh?"

Isaac, contrary to what she imagined – a very ruddy and good-to-mock brother – was quite serious when he said, firmly:

"No, she can never know. We both love her dearly; if she found out we fought because of her, she would be devastated."

"Well, damn, this is some intense shit." – Ayla thinks, a little stunned by the way Isaac speaks and how serious he is about loving this girl, whoever she was.

It was disconcerting. Although deep down, she thinks that no teenager really knew what it was like to love, she doesn't tease him – once she was that age and really thought that the great love of her life was her team partner.

In fact, she even married the said partner, although only many years later did she realize that that love of hers was much more like obsession than genuine, pure love, as she dreamed of as a child.

She cleared her throat, drawing her twin's attention.

"Okay, I won't say any more about that. But I'm going to teach you some things I learned from self-defense. Just in case."

"Do you know self-defense?" – He asks, surprised.

"Oh, brother of mine. I know many things."- She says, in an enigmatic way.

But she didn't know everything. Because if she had known, for example, that Isaac was actually talking about his father, and that the "girl" was her, Ayla would never have let it go.

She would have stopped her father from hurting her brother, even if it meant putting herself and Isaac in the adoption system. She would have made her father treat his alcoholism.

She would be there for them.

[For someone who knew a lot of things, she somehow always missed the most important information in her life].

Senior year of college promised to be nothing to worry about. But the feeling that there was something wrong with her family lingered in the back of her mind, after that December, neither Isaac nor John was on speaking terms. None of them said what happened and she noticed that Isaac's letters became more sparse and not really talking about his day; her father had also decreased the frequency with which he called her and the calls were short, almost hurried. For the first time since she'd started college, she looked forward to the holidays not out of joy but out of apprehension.

Then July came and shit happened.

She wasn't prepared for the massive fight that erupted at lunch between her dad and Isaac over his decision to quit the swim club and the horrible things her dad said. She had never seen him like this before and when he raised his hand to hit Isaac she was still somewhat on automatic as she grabbed his raised arm and held it tightly in place.

Ayla couldn't even speak, staring dumbfounded at her father, because the man before her looked anything but a father. It was only when he looked into her eyes that he seemed to realize what he had done and left the house without a word.

She turned to Isaac, the 15-year-old – soon to be 16-year-old – and tried to see if he was all right. The cold shoulder he gave her and the way he pushed her hand away hurt like someone had plunged a knife into her heart and twisted it.

Her dad didn't show up until the early hours, filthy drunk, slumping onto the couch almost immediately after arriving.

At breakfast, neither Isaac nor his father looked like they were going to talk about what happened, acting like it was nothing.

"Well, not with me here." - She decided, clearing her throat.

"We need to talk about yesterday."- She said, firmly, and Isaac looked at her apprehensively. Her father ignored her.

"Hm, so what was that project you mentioned anyway? What are you going to have to do at the end of the year..." - Isaac tried to deflect the subject but Ayla didn't take her eyes off her father.

"Father." -She repeats, incisively, without paying attention to the almost desperate looks that her brother gave her.

John sighed, taking off his glasses and massaging his temple.

"What, Ayla?"

"I'm the one asking. What was that?" - She asks, letting some of her irritation seep out.

"Nothing. Go back to eating."- He replied, evasive and she blinked repeatedly, astonished that he really thought she would accept that.

"No, I'm not going back to eating and you can't expect me to believe that ridiculous outburst of anger was nothing."

The man glared at her and pointed a finger at her.

"Do as I say."

She watched his hands shake and his face turns red; he looked like an animal about to attack.

"Ayla, let it go." – Her brother pleaded beside her, touching her knee briefly to try and dissuade her.

Ayla closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves.

"Father, you can't pretend that nothing happened. What is happening?" - She tried, in a softer tone of voice, but the man was too irritated to be calmed and John stood up abruptly, letting the chair fall behind him and the cup in front of him fell to the floor.

"Damn, girl, are you deaf? I told you to eat and stop bugging me! Fuck, see what you did? You messed up breakfast." - He yells and leaves the dining room, exhaling anger. A few minutes later, the sound of his father slamming the door and starting the car is heard.

"What the hell?" - She asks incredulously, still not understanding how her loving and concerned father was acting that way.

"It's nothing personal, Ayla." - Isaac answers, getting up and picking up some pieces of the broken cup. The girl moves to help, picking up a clean rag to wipe the floor while they talk.

"I just don't understand what's going on. That wasn't our father, that was a madman."

"You have no idea." - The blonde says and then sighs when he realizes that he will have to explain exactly what was happening to their father. Then Ayla finds out about his drinking problem, which got worse after his last failed relationship earlier last year.

"I'll talk to him. He needs to realize what's going on; he needs treatment." – Ayla says then and Isaac takes her by the shoulders, a very alarmed look on his face.

"Ayla, please don't. Don't do anything to make him angrier, for God's sake, he could really hurt you, and I - I can't protect you. Heavens, I can't even protect myself, if he does something to you..."

The blonde studied him with concern, his fear very palpable as he spoke. She swallowed hard, gripping one of Isaac's arms and looking him in the eye with apprehension.

"Isaac... did our father hurt you?" - She asks because, even with all the evidence pointing to yes, she needs to hear it. She doesn't want it, but she needs it.

"Y-yes. Yes." - Her twin says, looking down and there's such a defeated expression on him that it makes a weight settle in your stomach.

"Frequently?"

A nod.

"How strong is he...?"

Ayla doesn't finish the question; She does not need it. The teen rubs his watery eyes and reluctantly takes off the sleeved shirt he was wearing.

"Oh. Fuck." - She thinks and lets out a scared sigh.

"Oh, Isaac…" – She says, running her hand ever so gently over the bruises on her brother, every shudder in him making her want to go and do the same to their father. "Why didn't you tell?" It was on her mind, but all she found herself doing was gently pulling him into a hug and letting him cry.

She found herself crying along with him, at one point, and, when her knees were numb from being knee-hugging, they finally broke the embrace, slowly but not pulling away. Isaac leans his forehead against hers, hesitant to let go of that comfort his sister provides, that tender touch he was hungry to have again.

"I'll fix this, Isaac. I promise I will." - She affirms, taking his face between her hands and placing a brotherly kiss on his forehead.

When John Lahey returns, drunk, Ayla asks that whatever he hears, Isaac doesn't come to see what's going on. Then she takes a bucket of ice water and throws it over her sleeping father on the couch, looking at him with a somber expression.

Any retaliation or reaction he thinks he might have is suppressed by Ayla's icy gaze, which wastes no time casting an illusion around the room. The lighting dims, and she conjures up the shapes of her mother, John himself and his brother Camden, and Isaac behind her. To her father, they would seem like ghostly figures. His eyes widen, stumbling to his feet and falling to the ground.

"This is the house where my mother built this family; the house where my brother Camden played with me and Isaac. The house where my father raised his three children. I won't see you destroying this with bad memories. You'll go out, seek treatment, and won't come back here until you're sober. The suitcase is already outside." - She points, and indeed, the door was open and there was a suitcase nearby.

"You can not do that. This house is mine!"- He says, stunned, and approaches as if to grab her, but Ayla surprises him by placing a single index finger in the middle of his chest and stopping him.

"Like Hell I can't. I want to see you try to convince anyone to let you into this house while you're like this."

He opens his mouth to say something else, but the bell interrupts; she grabs him by the shirt, dragging him with her, and the man, stunned and not understanding what was happening, hardly noticed that he was being guided into a taxi and placed with almost no difficulty by his own daughter; if the driver thought it odd that a girl that size would carry his weight, he said nothing.

"Leave him at a hotel. Don't listen to any drunken bullshit from him if he wants to go back to drinking." - She says.

When she returns home, she sees her brother's adorable confused expression and doesn't regret a thing.

"Did you just... throw Dad out of the house?"

"Yep." - She says smiling.

"Wait, but can we do this? Like, is it legal? Because, you know, this is his house, after all."

"Brother, relax. I have contacts. Our dad only steps into this house again after he's clean and nobody's going to say otherwise, okay?"

He shakes his head, impressed.

In Pasadena, Agent Campbell, on his lunch break, receives a call. On the screen, the display identifies it as "little genius" and he answers it in a good mood, waiting for one more of the brief calls she always made to ask if he was okay.

"Hi, impossible brat. How's life in Beacon Hills?"

"Max." - She says, the most serious tone he's ever heard her use and he adjusts in his chair, immediately knowing something had happened. - "I need help."

The alpha replies without hesitation:

"Whatever you need, Ayla."

Mr. Lahey was furious and embarrassed the next day. So much, in fact, that he didn't return home that day, afraid of doing something he would regret.

At the time, Max Campbell had taken the day off and caught a plane to see his "beta". He arrives to be greeted with an expression of relief and trust so genuine he knows he'll do whatever he can to help her. He listens to Ayla's account of Lahey's situation, and what could be done without the two of them ending up in the adoption system.

"You know I should call the child protection agency to deal with this, don't you?" – He asks, sighing when all he gets back is that adorable, innocent look that would melt anyone.

"Max, please! Our father needs a little help, but I know that when he is clean he will be the same as before. He's a good dad when he's not an alcoholic asshole with anger issues. Right, Isaac?

"Yeah, he, um, he's still our dad, you know?" - The boy says, looking nervous about the presence of the federal agent. The alpha narrows his eyes and says he'll see what he can do, but he wants to have a talk with Isaac first. "Yes, alone, Ayla. Now go take a walk around town. I'll know if you're spying." - He says and she pouts but ends up giving in.

Then, when they are alone, he tells Isaac that he wants a glass of water and the boy will get it; he explored the house, following the pungent scent of fear and anxiety, he could smell from miles away.

"Holy shit." - He thinks, nauseated when he opens the freezer and sees the marks the boy made trying to get out of his captivity. He hears footsteps and turns his head to see the teenager with a stunned expression.

"Don't tell her." - The boy asks, an expression so pleading on his face that leaves no doubt that he is Ayla's twin; Max sighs.

"Boy, be honest; did the abuse really come only after the drinking? Because if he's like that even without drinking, I'll have no option but to denounce him, despite what you're asking me to do. Hell, in any other situation, I'd arrest your dad myself right now, no chance of hurting you again."

"Yes, I swear. He only started... this... when he started drinking uncontrollably."

The alpha stares at him intently, the boy shifting uncomfortably in the middle of the basement stairs, as far away from where Max was currently standing as possible.

"Isaac." - He calls the teenager's name until the blonde looks him in the eyes. – "If your father tries that again, you're going to call me right away."

The blonde nodded. Max frowned and pressed:

"You have to promise me, boy."

"I... I promise. If he does it again, I'll call you."

The federal agent was already thinking about what a headache it was going to be to convince their father to treat himself because he won't be able to issue a restraining order or prevent the man from legally entering his house, and this whole thing was so irregular... He decides he needs to scare John Lahey. Both as a federal agent and as Ayla's alpha.

"He's supposed to be out of the house for a month or two after I talk to him. When he comes back, let me know weekly if he's been treating you well, and if he's had any relapses."

"Ok. As for Ayla...?"

Max follows the boy out of the basement and replies:

"I won't tell, but she will eventually find out. You know, your sister is really good at figuring things out."

And she finds out, eventually. She knocks on his door in the middle of the night, a disheveled mess with puffy eyes and a red face.

Her expression is heartbreaking; he sees none of the hopeful girl reuniting with her family of a few weeks ago.

He sees a young woman who was weary of the world.

The end of the year arrives anticlimactic at her college. She graduates with honors and is called upon by several airlines across the country and her tutor says that if she ever changed her mind about going into the military, he would make a few calls and she would be in. She chooses to send her resume to the airport in her small hometown and is hired as an air traffic coordinator.

A week before returning to Beacon Hills, Max takes her to a baseball game - she doesn't see the fun in it, but Max likes it and she enjoys the alpha's company - and what should have been her "farewell speech to the alpha " ends up becoming an incoherent babble of how she will miss him and that she would like him to come along.

"Not that you need it, and I know it's selfish to ask, but would you please consider? You know what, forget it, I have no right to ask you that, I mean, you have a job, a life here and I have no right to ask for that and..."

"I already bought a house for myself in that city of yours, and I've had the transfer planned since the beginning of the year. You're not getting rid of me anytime soon, impossible brat."

To say that she gave a very girly squeal hugging him in genuine happiness would be quite accurate.

And now she was here, in her dorm one last time. Ayla took one last look around with a smile on her face and packed her bags.

"Time to go home".

Ayla returns only to discover the ruins of a home.