My eyelids feel like they're made of bricks.
I force them open, and the room slowly comes into focus. The dim light filters in softly, casting a warm glow on the faded wallpaper, and I feel a faint, painful dryness on my lips, like my mouth is made of sandpaper.
I prop myself up, groggy and disoriented, as the room comes into full view.
A musty scent fills the air, something earthy and old, thick with the weight of forgotten things. It makes me want to sneeze. I glance to the side, noticing the worn curtains that barely cover the window.
A strange sense of awe fills me as I realize I've reached Westfall. The full moon outside, massive and bright, throws its eerie glow across everything, casting shadows that dance across the walls.
I swing my legs over the bed, still half-asleep, and push myself to stand.
Pain jolts through me, sharp and searing just below my ribs, making me wince. Limping towards the window, I clutch the frame to steady myself, my fingers digging into the cool, smooth wood.
Outside, constellations glitter, woven together in a breathtaking expanse of stars. It's strange to see them so clearly, without the usual haze of city lights.
A small, bittersweet smile tugs at my lips.
"Hey, you're not supposed to be up, young lady."
I gasp, spinning around with a startled squeak, my fists clenching as I back up against the window. The sudden movement sends a wave of pain through me, and I wrap my arms around my body, trying to hold myself together as the ache pulses through my every nerve.
The old woman reaches out, steadying me with a gentle hand under my shoulder. She guides me back to the bed, her voice carrying a soft, steady assurance.
"You woke up in bed for a reason, you know?" Her voice is warm but crackles with age. "Sweetheart, you've been in a terrible accident."
My heart pounds as her words sink in, my mind racing.
"Evan," I murmur, the name slipping from my lips like a plea. I scan the room, desperate, wild, hoping to see him. "Please, let me see him. I need to see him!"
The woman's face softens, a sad shadow crossing her eyes.
She shakes her head gently, guiding me back to the bed, her frail arm supporting me as I stumble back under the covers. I search her face for anything—any sign, any hint of him—but the walls stare back, blank and empty.
This room... it's an inn, some place lost in time.
"That name doesn't ring a bell." Her voice is soft, but there's something urgent in it as she steps back towards the door. "No one by the name of Evan here."
A surge of panic grips me as I struggle to sit up.
"You're lying. I saw him!"
Her eyes narrow slightly, a shadow passing over them, making them look darker than before. "You didn't see right," she says, her voice taking on a cold, warning edge. "You're lucky it was me who found you. If someone else had, you wouldn't even be in a bed right now. You'd be... gone."
"Is this about that strange ritual of yours?" My voice is rising, frustration leaking into each word as I stand, despite the pain, taking a step towards her. She moves deftly, sidestepping to block my way, her eyes never leaving mine. "I don't care what you people do here. I don't want to stay—I just want Evan. I'll leave after, I swear!"
The woman sighs, her hands trembling slightly as if weighed down by an exhaustion that runs deep.
"There's no Evan here. I already told you."
"Impossible," I whisper, my hand reaching out, desperation twisting my voice. "I heard him. I know his voice. I'd recognize it anywhere."
Before she can answer, a bone-chilling howl shatters the silence outside, making the hairs on my arms stand on end.
A wolf. Or something that sounds like one.
I barely manage a gasp before the woman's hand presses hard against my lips, her eyes filled with an urgency that turns my blood to ice.
In a flurry of movement, she grabs my arm and pulls me towards a small, cramped closet, practically shoving me inside. Dust floats up around me, filling my nose and making my eyes water.
"Stay in here, no matter what." Her voice is barely more than a whisper, yet each word is loaded with dread. "Do you understand?"
The dust settles as I cover my nose, blinking through the dim light and my own confusion.
"What's happening?" My voice is muffled as I try to piece together what's going on. "What was that noise?"
"Cover your mouth, and don't breathe."
"What?"
She doesn't answer, just slams the closet door shut and moves away. But as she steps back, a gust of air cracks the door open just enough for me to see a narrow sliver of the room, faintly lit from the moonlight spilling through the window.
I press my hand against my lips, holding my breath as the front door slams open, shaking the walls.
A booming voice crashes into the room, filled with an authority that chills me to my core.
"What the hell, Lydia?"
The old woman—the one he called Lydia—snaps back at him, her tone sharp and unfazed. "Just because you're the boss now doesn't mean you get to talk to me like that, boy."
A low, growling groan rumbles through the room, so deep it sounds almost like an animal.
"Fine," he mutters. "Sorry, Lydia. Didn't mean to snap. It's just that Pike told me what happened at the border—how that damn rookie screwed up. Can't believe Naomi even vouched for him."
"Are you going somewhere with this?" Lydia's voice drips with impatience.
A strange noise fills the room, a harsh, rumbling growl, and through the narrow crack, I catch a glimpse of broad shoulders, clad in black, with a posture that screams tension and fury.
"You mind not calling me that?"
"Kieran, do you honestly care what I call you right now?"
Lydia's voice is laced with barely restrained anger.
The man—Kieran, as she called him—lets out a sharp, animalistic snarl.
"It's the full moon tonight! I have to prove to my father and everyone else that taking charge was worth it. And I need to know what really happened at the border."
My lungs burn, screaming for air, and against my better judgment, I pull my hand away and inhale sharply.
Big mistake.
A hand yanks open the closet door, grabbing me by the collar, dragging me out with one brutal tug. I crash to the floor, a startled scream tearing from my throat as I look up, dazed.
"What the hell, Lydia?! Why is there a human here?"
I raise my head, straining to see past the shadows, to make out the features of the man who threw me down.
I've never been handled like this, never treated so roughly. A cold fury begins to bloom in my chest, mixing with the hurt radiating through my limbs, filling me with an anger I can't explain.
Lydia steps between us, positioning herself as a barrier, her gaze steady as she faces him.
"She doesn't know anything," she says, her voice soft but firm. "Let her be. She'll be gone by morning."
"Gone?" Kieran lets out a harsh, bitter laugh. "Lydia, she'll tell everyone she saw us."
"She won't," Lydia insists, sounding almost weary. "Just let her leave."
Kieran's voice drops to a mutter, his fury contained but barely.
"First Naomi's mess, now this. What are you even thinking, Lydia?"
A heavy, icy silence fills the room as he glares down at her, and I can feel the weight of his anger pressing in on me. But something inside me snaps. I refuse to cower, refuse to let this stranger make me feel small.
Pushing myself up, I step forward, moving in front of Lydia.
I narrow my eyes, daring him to meet my gaze.
And he does. His green eyes lock onto mine, a strange stillness settling over him as he stares, unblinking.
"So, you kiss your mother with that mouth?"
I hiss, trying to keep my voice steady despite the way my body aches.
A flicker of shock flashes across his face. His features would have been striking, his strong jawline and fierce expression handsome in a different light. But all I see is arrogance, anger—someone too proud to see past himself.
"Who do you think you are, screaming at her like that?" I demand, hands clenched into fists, feeling my pulse race. "What?! Not so tough now?!"
Kieran stares at me, frozen, and something unspoken passes between us. I turn away, focusing back on Lydia, trying to calm my racing heart.
"Are you alright?" I ask softly, searching her face for any signs of pain.
She nods, her gaze unreadable. "I'm fine, sweetheart."
I manage a small smile, feeling a swell of relief. Glancing back, I look directly at Kieran, my voice steady and clear.
"All I want is Evan. Just let me find him, and I'll go. I don't care what you do after that."
A deep sigh escapes Lydia's lips, her shoulders sagging with what looks like defeat.
"I told you. There's no Evan here."
"You're lying," I say through gritted teeth, holding my ground. My hands are trembling, but I don't back down. "I know his voice—I heard him. Don't tell me I'm wrong."
Kieran watches me, his expression unreadable, a hint of something else flickering in his gaze.
"This…Evan," he says, his voice quieter now, yet somehow cutting through the tension. "Who is he to you?"
The memories flood my mind, filling me with a mix of sorrow and longing. I open my mouth to answer, but then I hear it—a voice, so familiar it brings tears to my eyes.
"It would be great if we could find out together."
I freeze, my heart pounding as I turn toward the doorway.
Standing there, in the soft light, is Evan.
My fiancé. The one I thought I'd lost.
Tears spill down my cheeks as I press my hand to my mouth, unable to believe what I'm seeing.
"Evan—"
But he cuts me off, his face cold, distant.
"That's not my name," he says, his tone indifferent, as if we're strangers. "Who are you?"