Page 68 of Knot in Their Wildest Dreams: Part 1

“You have to tell the world. I’m not sure what will happen.”

I was scheduled to leave the island the next day, my visitor pass only good for less than a week. As I went through the check points, the guards looked at my phone and deleted any photos I had of the island. They were hiding any proof of wrongdoing.

I’d spent the next week reaching out to journalists to try to get someone to look into what was going on with the mine collapse, but with the remote nature of the island and the lockdown of communication, no one would take the story.

I waited for my cousin to contact me, but I heard nothing. Not until I saw a breaking news report that the new interim CEO of Harringday, daughter of the late CEO and protege set to take over the company, was visiting the island. The strike was finally making headlines. Harringday leadership had found out about the mine collapse that initiated the uproar, and was sending her to the island.

Celeste, and a few key members of the board, had come to fix things. At first, it seemed like a miracle. She’d removed the management that had delayed the rescue and vowed to implement new safety measures, increase wages, and replace all staff to ensure that it was a safe environment for everyone. There was a big show of announcing the changes, and the agreements went so well that she managed to get everyone to drop their strike and shake on it. From what the news said, it was like a dream, a new era of prosperity.

“Harringday Industries ushers in a new era of worker safety”the headlines read. There was even grainy footage of Celeste, young and freshly in charge, standing at a podium as she shook the hands of one of the miners.

At first, I felt immense relief. It seemed like Arkala would get the change they needed, and violence would be averted.

Then, that night, everything changed.

My phone rang several times in the middle of the night, and I reached for it, seeing a strange number. When I answered, it was my cousin. His call was frantic, pleading as it came through.

“They’re killing everyone, Dante! Everyone!” My body froze as I heard his words, my mind racing as I heard his words. “It’s a massacre! They are killing everyone who participated! She promised us things would change, but she lied!”

She.

I gripped the phone tighter.“Who?”

My cousin gasped, catching his breath before he finally spoke. "Celeste Harringday."

“What’s happening?” I cried, shouting into the phone and feeling helpless, stuck in the Eastern Province while my cousin begged for help.

“When everyone left - the media - they told us we’d pay for our uprising. It’s a massacre!”He said, and I felt my heart race as I wondered what I could do to save him.

“I ran out, they are throwing their bodies in the collapsed mine!” He said, “I’m hiding in the forest, I don’t know where to go. They aren’t letting anyone leave!” He said, his voice trembling. Suddenly, I heard him gasp through the line, his voice now far away and muffled as the phone dropped.

“Please, no! Don’t!” He begged, and then I heard the voice of a strange man, heartless and cruel.

“You should have known your place.” The man’s voice said, smug and calm as my blood turned to ice. I heard the muffled sounds, then the man spoke once more. “Courtesy of Celeste Harringday.”

A gunshot. My cousin moaning, then going silent.

*******

I arrived on the island a week too late. It was already over.

The authorities kept me at arm’s length - wouldn’t let me near the mines, wouldn’t let me set foot near the place my family had once called home. When I demanded answers, I was met with vague reassurances.

“They’re away at the moment,” they said.

But I knew. I knew what “away” meant.

They were gone. Just like so many others. An unspoken death toll buried under silence and red tape, denied by officials, erased from public knowledge. And I had no proof - no bodies, no names, no justice.

There was never a report. Just the whispers from those who still dared to speak: a mass burial in the mines, dozens buried alive. No rescue. No proper graves. Just rock, and silence, and the unspoken message carved into the dirt:

This is what happens when you go against Harringday.

Back then, I was a nobody. A low-tier alpha barely scraping by with a fresh pack and a shaky startup. We had no leverage, no money, no voice that carried beyond our own walls. And on that island, where Harringday’s reach ran deep and filthy, asking the wrong question was a good way to vanish without a trace. So I grieved quietly. I bit my tongue. I boarded the next transport home, my fists clenched and my soul shattered. And I started planning.

My pack was furious. Heartbroken. What happened forged our purpose with a new resolution - we would change things. And we would stop Harringday. We would tear Harringday apart at its core, piece by corrupt piece.

My cousin was murdered. My family, my people - all crushed beneath greed and silence. Those left behind were worse off than ever, their lives a cycle of exploitation and fear. And the woman responsible? She had moved on like it was just another business decision.

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