I didn't go to the funeral. I couldn't.
The chapel was small and tucked away on the edge of town, surrounded by old oak trees that seemed to mourn along with the people inside. I stayed just outside the tree line, hidden in the shadows. From where I stood, I could see everything—the way Elias's family huddled together, the way his mother clung to his father as if letting go would break her.
The pastor's voice was steady, though I couldn't make out the words. It didn't matter. Nothing they said could change what had happened. Nothing could make it right.
The sight of the coffin—a polished black box that seemed too small for someone like Elias—made my stomach turn. I gripped the rough bark of a tree to steady myself, the coarse texture biting into my palm.
When the ceremony ended, people lingered in quiet groups, speaking in hushed voices. I stayed rooted to my spot, watching as they finally began to drift away. One by one, they left, until only the grave remained, fresh and raw like an open wound in the earth.
I waited until the sun dipped low in the sky and the shadows stretched long across the ground before I stepped forward. My footsteps felt heavy, each one echoing in my chest as I approached the grave.
His name was carved into the temporary wooden cross that marked the spot. Elias Moore. The dates below it blurred as my vision swam, and I blinked hard to clear my eyes.
"I'm sorry," I said, my voice barely more than a whisper. The words sounded weak, useless, even to me.
The cool evening air wrapped around me, but I didn't move. I stood there, staring at the mound of dirt that separated me from him. My chest tightened with the weight of all the things I hadn't said, all the ways I had failed him.
It was my fault he was here. My fault he was gone.
The forest behind me stirred with the sound of the wind rustling the leaves, but it didn't bring any comfort. The ache inside me was too loud. Too sharp.
"I can't leave you here," I said, my voice cracking. The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "This isn't how it's supposed to be."
The moon rose slowly above the trees, its pale light spilling over the clearing. It reminded me of the stories I'd heard as a child, whispering around the fire about Magnus Whitlock—the wizard who could bend life and death to his will.
The stories always came with warnings. Deals made with Magnus were dangerous. No one who sought him out walked away unscathed.
But I didn't care about warnings anymore.
By the time I made up my mind, the moon was high, and the forest felt colder and quieter. I turned away from the grave and walked deeper into the woods, following a path I wasn't sure was even there.
The trees grew thicker as I moved forward, their branches twisting together overhead like they were trying to hide something. The air felt heavy, pressing against me like an invisible weight.
I didn't know how I knew where to go, but something inside me pulled me forward. My wolf stirred beneath the surface, uneasy but silent.
After what felt like forever, I reached a clearing. It didn't look natural. The trees around it leaned toward each other, their twisted branches forming a rough archway. In the center stood a man.
Magnus Whitlock.
He was taller than I'd imagined, wearing a long coat that seemed to blend into the shadows. His sharp face and dark eyes were even more unsettling in the faint glow of the runes carved into stones around him. The runes pulsed softly, lighting up the clearing with an eerie glow.
"You're late," he said in a low, smooth voice, like he'd been waiting for me all along.
I stopped, suddenly unsure of myself. But then I thought of Elias—his smile, his laugh—and my doubt melted away.
"I need your help," I said as I stepped closer.
Magnus tilted his head, studying me like I was some strange creature. "Help?" he said, his lips curving into a cold, empty smile. "I don't do favors. Only trades."
"I'll give you whatever you want," I said quickly, keeping my voice steady.
His smile widened, sending a chill down my spine. "Bold," he said softly. "Foolish, but bold." He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate. "Do you even understand what you're asking? To take life back from death? To tear a soul from where it belongs?"
"I don't care," I said firmly. "I just want him back."
His dark eyes glinted with something I couldn't place. "Be careful what you wish for, wolf. Wanting something doesn't mean you're ready for the price."
I swallowed hard but didn't back down. "Whatever the price is, I'll pay."
He stared at me for a long time, his gaze sharp, like he was searching for any doubt. Finally, he raised his staff, the runes on it glowing faintly in the dark.
"The first time is always the easiest," he said lazily. "I'll take a piece of your strength. Your wolf will feel it before you do."
I nodded. "Do it."
Magnus smiled again, but this time it looked almost pitying. "You'll regret this, Blackwood. They always do."
He began to chant in a low, guttural voice. The air around us rippled and shifted. The clearing grew darker, the stones around him glowing brightly for a moment before fading into darkness.
And then, just like that, it was over. Magnus lowered his staff, his expression unreadable. "Your wish is granted," he said, turning his back to me.
Before I could respond, a soft breeze stirred behind me. It carried a scent so familiar it made my chest tighten—paint, soap, earth.
I turned quickly, my heart pounding.
"Elias?"