The morning sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains, but the warmth it usually brought seemed absent. The air in the small dining room was thick with despair, suffocating even. Zoelle sat across from Maxwell at the breakfast table, her gaze fixed on the cold cup of tea in her hands. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of failure and self-blame. She hadn't found the wolf she needed, and that failure felt crushing. She could already imagine the disappointment in her superiors' eyes. She was sure she would be fired, cast out with nothing but her regret.
Maxwell sat opposite her, staring blankly at his untouched plate. His face was pale, and his eyes were distant. He hadn't spoken a word since waking up. Though Zoelle wanted to reach out, her own guilt kept her silent. How could she offer him comfort when she had let him down so completely?
The silence between them was shattered when the television, left idly playing in the background, caught Maxwell's attention. A news anchor's voice echoed in the room, but it wasn't the words that made Maxwell stiffen—it was the image on the screen.
There, in crisp black and white, was a picture of Edward Jones, his grandfather. Maxwell's breath hitched, his chest tightening as the words reached his ears:
"Edward Jones, beloved leader of the Jones pack, has passed away in his sleep. Sources report that his death was due to natural causes. The pack mourns the loss of a great man, as preparations begin for his grandson, Ryland Jones, to take his place as the new pack leader."
The world seemed to stop. Maxwell's eyes widened, and his hands began to tremble uncontrollably. He stared at the screen, as if willing the image to change, for the words to be different. But they weren't. Edward Jones was gone. The man who had raised him, who had been his anchor, his only family—dead.
"No," Maxwell whispered, his voice cracking. The word hung in the air like a ghost. His body shook violently, his breathing shallow and uneven.
"Maxwell," Zoelle said softly, rising from her seat, her heart breaking at the sight of him. "I'm so sorry. I—"
Before she could finish, Maxwell let out a strangled cry. He clutched his chest as if the pain there was too much to bear. Tears streamed down his face, falling freely, unchecked. "He's gone," he choked, his voice raw and filled with agony. "He's really gone."
Zoelle reached for him, desperate to comfort him. "It's okay, Maxwell. It's going to be okay."
But Maxwell shook his head violently, his sobs growing louder, more uncontrollable. "No, it's not okay!" he shouted, his voice breaking. "He was everything to me! He was all I had left!"
The depth of his pain was too much for Zoelle to handle. Her own eyes welled with tears as she watched him unravel, utterly helpless. Maxwell pushed himself away from the table, stumbling to his feet.
"Maxwell, wait!" Zoelle cried, panic rising in her chest. He was in no condition to leave, not with his injuries. "Please, don't go!"
"I can't stay here!" Maxwell yelled, his voice a mixture of anger and heartbreak. "I can't breathe in here! I need to—" His words broke off into a sob, and he turned, bolting for the door.
Zoelle ran after him, her heart pounding. "Maxwell, please! You're not healed! You'll hurt yourself!" But he didn't listen. His grief propelled him forward, faster than she could keep up. Soon, he was gone, disappearing into the streets, leaving Zoelle behind with tears streaming down her face.
---
Maxwell didn't know where he was going. His legs moved on their own, driven by a pain so intense it consumed him. His lungs burned, his muscles screamed, but he didn't care. All he could think about was the loss, the emptiness swallowing him whole. Edward Jones was gone. The man who had saved him from darkness, who had given him a home, a purpose—ripped away. The grief was unbearable, like a gaping wound that refused to close.
Eventually, Maxwell found himself standing in front of an old house. It was worn and weathered, but familiar in a way that made his heart ache. He knocked on the door, not even sure why he was there.
The door creaked open, and an elderly woman stood there, her eyes widening in shock. "Maxwell?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Maxwell didn't say a word. He collapsed into her arms, clutching her as if she were the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely. His body shook with sobs, his tears soaking into her shoulder. "He's gone," he cried, his voice broken. "Grandfather's gone."
Andria, his childhood caretaker, held him tightly, her own tears streaming down her face. "Oh, my sweet boy," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "I'm so sorry."
Maxwell clung to her, his sobs growing louder, more desperate. "I can't do this without him, Andria," he said, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "I don't know how."
Andria stroked his hair, her own heart breaking for him. "You're not alone, Maxwell," she said softly. "You're stronger than you think. Your grandfather believed in you. He always did."
Her words only made the pain worse. Maxwell pulled back slightly, his face a mess of tears and anguish. "He was all I had," he whispered. "And now he's gone. Just like that."
Andria guided him inside, helping him to sit down. She knelt before him, her hands resting on his knees. "Maxwell, I need to tell you something," she said, her voice trembling. "They're saying it was natural causes, but... I don't believe it. Not after everything that's happened."
Maxwell's eyes narrowed, his grief momentarily replaced by a flicker of anger. "What do you mean?"
Andria hesitated, guilt and fear warring on her face. "After what Elizabeth did to you... after what she forced me to do... I wouldn't put anything past her."
Maxwell's fists clenched, his knuckles white. The mention of Elizabeth brought a storm of emotions crashing over him. Anger. Hatred. Pain. "If she had anything to do with this..." he began, his voice low and dangerous.
Andria placed a hand on his arm, her touch gentle. "Please, Maxwell. Be careful. She's dangerous. I don't want to lose you again."
Maxwell nodded, his jaw tight. He wiped at his tears, though they continued to fall. "Do you know where Mister Adam is?" he asked, his voice steady despite the storm inside him.
Andria hesitated but eventually nodded. She gave him the address, her expression filled with worry. "Maxwell, promise me you'll be careful."
He looked at her, his eyes burning with determination. "I promise."
---
When Maxwell found Mister Adam, the older man didn't recognize him at first. He shifted into his wolf form, ready to attack. Maxwell cried out, his voice raw and desperate. "It's me, Maxwell! Stop!"
Adam froze, his wolf eyes wide with shock. Slowly, he shifted back to his human form, his expression filled with disbelief. "Maxwell? Is it really you?"
Maxwell nodded, tears spilling down his face again. "It's me."
Adam's face hardened, and he shoved Maxwell back. "You shouldn't be here! Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to show yourself?"
"I don't care," Maxwell said, his voice trembling. "I need your help. I need to learn to shift."
Adam stared at him for a long moment before sighing deeply. "Fine. I'll train you. But what's your plan?"
Maxwell's lips trembled, but he forced himself to speak. "The full moon," he said. "The night Ryland is named leader. That's when I'll return. We'll crash the ceremony, and I'll take back what's mine."
Adam nodded, though his face remained grim. "You'll need more than training, Maxwell. You'll need strength. You'll need courage."
Maxwell wiped at his tears, his grief burning into something stronger—resolve. "I have nothing left to lose," he said quietly. "This ends with me."