LOGINJuneTrees close in around me, tall and quiet, their trunks dark against the sky. I press my back to one of them and slide down until I’m sitting in the leaves, knees bent, breath finally evening out. My bag rests at my side. My pulse hums, not frantic, just like I have been walking for a while.Night wraps around the woods like it belongs here. The dark does not scare me. It never has. There’s something about being outside when the world sleeps that loosens something in my chest. The air feels wider. Cleaner. Like I can take up space without asking permission.I tilt my head back and look up through the branches. A few stars peek through, shy but stubborn. I smile without meaning to. This, right here, feels like freedom. Like this is kind of place where I can belong.I’m not foolish enough to think the trouble is gone. Men like Hayden don’t fade away because they were embarrassed or hurt. They circle. They plan. I know that. I accept it.And yet, I’m not worried.There’s a strange ca
JuneThe apartment smells like old paint and dust when I close the door behind me. The lock sticks, like it always does, and I have to lean my shoulder into it until it clicks. One room. Cracked walls. A ceiling stain shaped like a cloud that never goes away no matter how many times the landlord promises to fix it. The heater rattles even when it is off. The window lets in more cold than light.It is home. Temporary. Mine.I drop my bag on the chair that has one leg shorter than the rest and kick my shoes off near the door. The floor is cold through my socks. The bulb above flickers when I turn it on, then settles into a dull yellow glow that makes everything look tired. That is fine. I am tired too.I move to the corner where my bed sits, pushed against the wall. The mattress sags in the middle, but it is clean. I sit on the edge and pull the small first aid box from under the bed. It rattles when I open it. Gauze. Thread. Alcohol wipes. A needle already threaded because I hate wasti
June I finish wiping the last table by the window, the one that always gets fingerprints no matter how many times I clean it. The café is quiet now, the kind of quiet that only comes after closing. Chairs are flipped upside down, lights dimmed to a soft yellow, the smell of coffee still hanging in the air like it refuses to leave.I like this part of the shift. No customers, no small talk, no pretending I am softer than I am. Just work and the quiet hum of the fridge in the back.I rinse the cloth, wring it out, and hang it where it belongs. Countertops are clean. Pastry case wiped down. Cups stacked just right so the morning crew will not complain. I double check the espresso machine, run water through it, wipe the steam wand until it shines. Everything ready for tomorrow, like the place can wake up without me.I check the clock above the register.Too late. Or close enough to it.If I do not leave now, I will miss it. I turn off the last light and head to the staff locker room.The
CalebI walk up the gravel path toward the main facility, boots crunching underfoot, jacket unzipped because I ran here without meaning to. Old habit. The building sits wide and solid against the treeline, steel and stone mixed with old pack symbols carved above the doors. Jake’s idea. Honor the past while preparing for whatever hell is coming next.A couple of trainers are already outside, running warmups with a group of young wolves. Some of them notice me and straighten like they’ve just spotted trouble.“Morning, Caleb,” one of them calls.I lift a hand and nod. That’s all they get. I’m not here to chat. I’m not here to inspire. I head straight for the entrance like I always do.Inside, the sounds hit me at once. Feet pounding mats. Commands being barked. The crack of fists against pads. Jake’s office is at the far end of the hall. I don’t knock. Never have.Lucas is already inside, leaning against the desk, arms crossed, eyes sharp as ever. Jake stands by the window with a table
I am running before anyone tells me to.Cold air slices my lungs. Trees blur. The forest smells like iron and wet bark and something sharp enough to make my pulse jump. Good. That means there is trouble. Trouble means movement. Movement means I can forget everything else.My wolf loves this part. The burn in my legs. The way the world narrows to speed and sound and instinct. I vault a fallen log, land wrong, feel my ankle scream. I don’t slow. Pain is a suggestion. I ignore suggestions.The scent gets stronger. Three rogues, maybe four. Not smart enough to mask themselves. I grin even as my chest tightens. This is the kind of math I like. Simple. Me versus whatever thinks it can cross our territory.They don’t see me until it’s too late.I shift mid-stride, bones snapping, skin tearing, the familiar rush crashing through me like lightning. My wolf slams into the first body hard enough to knock the air out of him. The second lunges. I catch him by the throat. My claws go in deep. Hot b
AuroraThump. Thump. Thump.My heart keeps a rhythm like it is practicing for something important. It presses against my ribs, impatient, curious, refusing to calm down. I notice it the same way I notice everything lately, like my body is a room I am walking through, touching the walls just to make sure they are real.Sophia stands in front of me with safety pins held between her teeth, brows pulled together in focus. She adjusts the back of my dress with careful fingers, tugging once, then again, checking the fall of the fabric like she is solving a puzzle. Her hands pause. She tilts her head. One more pin. Then she steps back.There it is. Her smile. The satisfied kind. The one that means she approves.I look down at myself. The dress feels heavier than I expected, not in a bad way. More like it carries meaning stitched into it. I smooth my palms over the fabric without thinking. My fingers tremble a little. I pretend not to notice.The door opens without warning.Anastasia barg







