The darkness pressed in like a suffocating shroud, wrapping around me with an almost tangible weight. Each step forward felt like wading through thick, invisible sludge. My legs trembled, threatening to give way as the void stretched endlessly in every direction. My breath came in ragged gasps, loud in the oppressive silence, my heartbeat a frantic drumbeat echoing in my ears.
I tried to call out, but my voice faltered, strangled by some unseen force. A choking panic bubbled in my throat, clawing to get out. That's when the voice came.
"It's all your fault!"
The words hit me like a blade to the chest, sharp and cold. I froze, spinning around wildly. My eyes darted through the inky blackness, desperate to find the source.
"Who's there?" I managed to croak, my voice barely audible.
Silence. Then, the voice erupted again, harsher, angrier.
"We know you called them! That's why we died, you hypocrite!"
It was Leo.
His voice was unmistakable, and suddenly, he was there—standing before me. Blood streaked his face, glistening darkly in the faint, nonexistent light. His hair clung to his forehead, damp with the same crimson. A deep gash split his brow, and blood oozed from the wound, dripping steadily down, pooling at his feet.
"Leo," I whispered, my hands instinctively reaching for him. But the moment my fingers touched his form, they passed through him, like plunging my hand into a puff of smoke.
"No…" My voice cracked, shaking as much as my hands. My knees felt weak, and I barely managed to stay upright.
Leo's face twisted, his lips curling back in a sneer. "You wanted to escape, didn't you? You wanted us gone!" His voice rose, filled with venom.
I staggered back, shaking my head violently. "No! I didn't— It wasn't like that! I swear!"
"Liar!" he roared, stepping closer. "Admit it, Anne. You think they came for us by accident? You called them. You brought them here!"
Tears stung my eyes, hot and unrelenting. I stumbled further away, my feet feeling like lead. "I didn't call them!" I cried out, desperation clawing at my throat. "I didn't know they'd come! I fought them, Leo! I fought for all of you!"
His eyes flashed with fury, but his grin deepened. "You fought?" His voice dripped with derision. "Oh, Anne, you didn't fight for us. You fought to save your own skin. Deep down, you knew. You've always known. You're just like them. A wolf hiding in sheep's clothing."
"No!" The word tore from my lips, a raw, guttural scream. I clutched my head, pressing my palms hard against my ears as if I could block out his accusations. "I'm not like them," I whispered, a spark of determination igniting in my chest. "I made my own choices. I stayed with all of you. I followed my heart." My voice grew steadier. "Don't blame me for everything that went wrong!"
Leo's form began to shimmer, his edges blurring as though he were being pulled apart by an unseen wind. His expression shifted—his sneer softening into something unreadable.
"Remember this," he said, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. "This strength you cling to. It's the only thing that'll keep you alive when the real chaos begins."
And just like that, he was gone.
In his place stood someone else—a woman I'd never seen before but who felt eerily familiar. Her piercing blue eyes seemed to see straight into my soul, and her chestnut-brown hair tumbled over her shoulders in soft waves. Her lips, painted a deep crimson, curved into a smile that sent shivers down my spine.
"What do you want, Anne?" she asked, her voice smooth and lilting, like a melody carried on the wind. "Answers… or the safety of ignorance? Choose carefully."
Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could form a single word, she lunged forward and shoved me.
I stumbled back, teetering on the edge of nothingness, and then fell. The void swallowed me whole.
The sharp intake of breath seared my lungs as I jolted upright, the world around me spinning. My heart pounded erratically, each beat slamming against my ribs as if trying to escape. Shadows swayed in the corners of my vision, their ghostly forms twisting and melting into the dim light above me.
"Where am I?" My voice cracked, raspy and raw, barely above a whisper. My throat felt like sandpaper, each word scraping painfully as it passed.
"Thank goodness, you're awake."
The voice cut through the haze, familiar and warm. My mom. The knot of panic in my chest loosened slightly at the sound. Her hand clasped mine tightly, trembling as if she feared I'd slip away again. Her face, framed by disheveled hair, was a mixture of relief and lingering worry.
"You're in the hospital," she said softly, but the concern in her eyes was louder than her words.
Hospital. My gaze darted around, taking in the sterile white walls, the dull hum of machines, and the faint antiseptic tang in the air. It was suffocating.
She pressed a button, and the bed whirred softly as it lifted me into a slightly more upright position. The movement sent a dull ache radiating through my body, and I winced. "Easy," she murmured, smoothing the blanket over my legs like I was a child again.
Each muscle screamed as I shifted slightly. The weight of everything—both physical and mental—was crushing. My eyes scanned the room, falling on the familiar faces clustered near the window. Allyson and Henry. My sister's shoulders were stiff, her arms crossed tightly as though holding herself together. Henry leaned against the sill, his face carefully blank, but his clenched fists betrayed his tension.
Dad stood at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest in his usual imposing stance. But something about him was different—there was an unease in his eyes, a stiffness in his posture that wasn't just authority. And there's Dale, lingered near the wall, looking like he wanted to melt into it.
And then, there was him.
The man standing beside Dale was impossible to ignore. His stark white hair gleamed under the fluorescent light, and his piercing red eyes burned with an intensity that made my skin crawl. He wasn't just watching me—he was studying me, like I was some kind of experiment. His presence filled the room, heavy and unyielding.
Memories slammed into me without warning—flashes of crimson-streaked fur, pleading eyes, and the metallic tang of blood. The foxes. I pressed my hands to my face, nausea rising as guilt twisted my stomach into knots.
"Did you really have to go that far?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, shaky and laden with accusation.
The room fell into a silence so heavy it felt like the air had been sucked out. I lowered my hands slowly, glancing at my father. His expression hardened, his brows knitting together like he was bracing for a fight.
"Then what would you have us do?" he said, his voice sharp and clipped. "Talk to them? Do you honestly believe they would listen to reason?"
"But you fought us too," Allyson said, her voice trembling. She took a step forward, tears brimming in her eyes. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. "We're your family. How could you?"
"They didn't have a choice," the white-haired man interjected smoothly, his voice cutting through the tension. He stepped forward, his presence commanding all attention. "A pack follows its leader. Always. Obedience is absolute—family, love, even loyalty to blood means nothing if the alpha commands otherwise."
My head spun, his words circling like vultures. A pack follows its leader. The implications hung in the air, too heavy to ignore.
Henry straightened, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the man. "So… we're connected to you, aren't we?" His voice carried a sharp edge, as though he had already pieced it together but needed to hear it aloud.
The man's crimson gaze flicked to Henry, but he didn't answer. The silence that followed was damning.
The door burst open with a resounding bang, cutting through the tension like a blade.
"We have a problem—"
The woman who stormed in froze mid-step, her wide, ocean-blue eyes locking onto me. Her silver hair shimmered under the harsh lights, and her expression morphed into one of shock and fury.
"Why is she here?" she demanded, her voice cold and biting.
"That's what I want to know," the white-haired man echoed, his gaze snapping back to me. The intensity of his glare was like a physical blow, and I felt myself shrinking under its weight.
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, hot and stinging. Every gaze in the room was fixed on me, pressing me deeper into the bed. The walls seemed to close in, the air growing heavier with unspoken accusations.
"Let's not do this now," my father said, his voice sharp but strained. His eyes flicked to mine briefly, and for a moment, I thought I saw something there—regret? Pain? Fear?—before he turned away. "We need to focus on the immediate problem."
The silver-haired woman stalked forward, her expression unreadable. Before I could react, she grabbed my hand in a vise-like grip and unsheathed a small blade.
"Wait, what are you—"
The blade sliced across my palm, the sharp sting making me gasp. Blood welled up immediately, dark and glistening, dripping onto the floor in soft, rhythmic splashes.
"Stop!" I choked out, my voice trembling. I tried to pull my hand back, but her grip was iron. "What are you doing?"
She didn't respond, crouching to draw intricate symbols on the floor with my blood. The motions were precise, almost mechanical, and low murmurs spilled from her lips—a chant in a language I couldn't begin to understand.
"Things seen and things not seen,
let this girl walk in between.
Though they look, they shall not see.
Grant invisibility, for I am Arson, Sorcerer of Furvus,
and it harm none, so mote it be."
The blood began to glow faintly, casting eerie, flickering shadows across the walls.
Warmth spread through me, dulling the pain in my palm. The glow intensified, wrapping around me like a cocoon, and I couldn't tear my gaze away from the glowing symbol. It pulsed with power, its meaning a mystery but its presence undeniable.
The glow from the symbol on the floor faded, its light retreating into the cracks and crevices of the hospital room, leaving behind a faint hum that resonated in my bones. The woman—Savienne, they'd called her—rose from her crouch, brushing her hands together as if shaking off invisible dust. Her gaze shifted to my mother, her expression sharp and grim.
"She needs to rest," Savienne said, her voice flat, brooking no argument. "Once the IV finishes, take her to Harold's house. You can't go home anymore."