Chapter 707: What the Scalp Revealed
Chapter 706: What the Scalp Revealed
Olga did not speak immediately.
Her hands remained still, her fingers still damp from where she had touched Sophia’s hair. The snow continued to fall around them, soft and steady, dusting Olga’s dark braids and the cream-colored feather swaying from her ear.
"What is wrong?" Orion asked her. "Why do you look so worried?"
Olga exhaled slowly, her breath fogging in the cold air.
"I do not understand," she said.
Orion’s brow furrowed. "What do you not understand?"
Olga gestured toward Sophia.
"Normally, when a person’s hair is dyed—especially if it has been done for a long time and not continuously—it is supposed to show at the roots. There will be discoloration. A line, perhaps, or a difference in texture where the natural color attempts to grow back."
She paused, her frown deepening.
"But for her, there is nothing like that. Nothing at all."
Sophia’s hand moved instinctively toward her hair, then stopped.
Olga continued, her voice measured and careful. "I am quite certain that the hair has been dyed. The texture alone tells me that much. But given that Sophia washes her hair—even if not regularly—it should have shown some sign that the color was not her usual hair color by now. The dye should have faded at the roots. It should have given way to whatever lies beneath."
She shook her head slowly.
"But it has not."
Olga hesitated, choosing her words with care before she continued, her gaze on Orion.
"If what you said is true—that Victoria performed experiments on Sophia’s hair—then whatever she used was not ordinary dye. It was something far more invasive. Something designed to last. Something designed to...embed itself."
Her voice softened.
"And that would be quite difficult to reverse."
Sophia felt her chest tighten.
Olga turned to her fully, her expression shifting from troubled to curious.
"Did you have any reactions when the experiments were done?" she asked. "When Victoria first began altering your hair?"
Sophia was quiet for a moment. The memories were not pleasant, but she forced herself to reach for them.
"Yes," she said quietly.
Olga waited.
Sophia swallowed.
"I had a high fever. Things were blurry. It felt like I was going to die at some point, but..." she shrugged, a small, helpless gesture. "I did not. It also felt like my whole body was burning, like someone had set it on fire from the inside."
Olga’s frown deepened further.
"That is actually quite strange," she said. "Dye should not have that reaction at all—especially not for hair. What you are describing sounds like an allergic reaction. A severe one."
She tilted her head, studying Sophia’s scalp again.
"Another thing," she said. "There is no injury on your scalp. No scarring, no burns, no damage beyond the hair itself. I examined thoroughly. Your skin beneath is healthy."
She paused.
"Have you experienced your hair falling out at any point?"
Sophia shook her head. "No."
Olga exhaled slowly, stepping back.
"It is quite strange, really. Truly strange."
She was quiet for a long moment, her fingers drumming lightly against her thigh as she thought.
Then she looked at Sophia.
"I would like to help you," she said. "I know you are busy. We have a war to prepare for, and I understand the weight of that. But...would you let me help you? This is the only way I know how to help. I cannot fight, but I can try to help make your hair better."
"I have others in my department. Perhaps if you would be willing to come with me to the workshop, they could examine your hair as well. More eyes might see what I have missed."
She paused, her expression softening.
"And I want to use this as a way to apologize," she added quietly. "For doubting you. For not speaking up sooner when others questioned you. I cannot undo that, but I can try to make amends."
Sophia stared at her for a long moment, then she nodded slowly.
"Alright," she said.
Olga’s shoulders relaxed slightly. She stepped back and gestured for Sophia to follow.
"This way, then."
Sophia moved to walk beside her, but after a few steps, she noticed something—or rather, someone—trailing behind them.
She turned, and the someone in question stopped.
"Why are we stopping?" he asked her.
"Why are you coming with us?" Sophia asked him.
Orion shrugged. "Moral support?"
"Are you asking me?" Sophia asked him.
Orion exhaled deeply. "Why are you behaving like I cannot follow you? You never know when you might need my support," he told her.
"You have something else to do, don’t you?" Sophia asked him.
"And so do you, but this is no less important, so..."
Sophia stared at him. "Orion, I am going to a workshop to have my hair examined..."
"And I am going with you shorty. No arguments. And also, rather than focusing on me, we should focus on how to get this over and done with so we can do other things," he told her.
Sophia stared at him for a while, and then she turned to Olga.
"I’m sorry in advance for the disturbance and inconvenience he may cause," she said.
Olga laughed at that, waving her off.
"There’s no need for apologies. I’m sure some of them would be excited he’s there," Olga told her.
Sophia doubted that, but she did not say anything.
She, Olga, and Orion began their walk to the workshop then.
The compound had changed after the announcement in the square.
People still moved through the paths between buildings, but there was a different energy now—something heavier. Conversations were quieter. Faces were more serious. Some pack members bowed their heads respectfully when Sophia passed, while others simply watched her with uncertain expressions before quickly looking away.
Sophia noticed all of it.
The shame.
The curiosity.
The awkwardness.
It was strange.
Just that morning, people had shouted at her to leave. Some had looked at her like she was poison. And now those same people looked almost embarrassed to meet her eyes.
