I woke before dawn, not because of a nightmare, but because the silence felt wrong.
Crescent Valley was never truly quiet. Even at night, when most of the town slept under its thick blanket of fog, the forest itself seemed to breathe. Branches shifted, whispering against one another. Leaves rustled with a sound that could be mistaken for wind. Somewhere, something always moved. Always. But this silence this morning, this pre-dawn quiet felt deliberate. Held. Like a breath paused too long, just on the edge of breaking.
I lay still, staring at the wooden ceiling above me. The room Kael had given me was simple to the point of discomfort. No decorations, no pictures, no soft touches of home. Just a bed, a small dresser, and a single narrow window facing the forest. It was functional, clean, and entirely devoid of warmth.
No mirror.
I had noticed that the first night, but I had been too shaken to question it. Now, lying there with my thoughts sharp and restless, it bothered me more than it should have. There was a purpose to this austerity, I realized, though I had yet to understand what it was. Every detail, I knew, had intention. Nothing in Kael's life was accidental.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood slowly. The floor was cold beneath my bare feet, seeping through my socks and chilling me to the bone. As I dressed, a faint noise made me pause: voices. Low and controlled, muffled yet deliberate. They came from downstairs.
I moved closer to the door and pressed my ear to it.
"…can't keep hiding it," someone said.
"We don't have a choice," another voice replied. Kael's.
The sound of footsteps followed. Then silence.
The moment I opened the door, the house seemed to shift around me. The air itself grew heavier, charged with tension. I stepped into the hallway just as Lyric appeared from the opposite end, leaning casually against the wall like she had always been there, as though she had been expecting me.
"You're awake early," she said, smiling, though her eyes carried a sharper intelligence than her words suggested.
"You're standing in my way," I replied, keeping my voice steady.
Her smile stayed, but her eyes narrowed slightly. "Kael doesn't want you wandering around alone yet."
"I'm not wandering," I said. "I'm listening."
She studied me for a moment, her head tilted slightly, then stepped aside. "Then I'll listen with you," she said, almost as if it were a concession, an unspoken truce.
We walked downstairs together. The pack members gathered in the main room went quiet as soon as they saw me. It wasn't sudden or obvious, just a subtle fading of sound, like conversations dissolving into nothing, like the room itself had taken a breath and held it. No one met my eyes. Not even Lyric, who had been so casual before, now seemed to shrink slightly under the weight of my presence.
I counted three empty seats at the long table. Breakfast was already prepared, untouched. A subtle, tense aroma of cooked eggs, bacon, and coffee hung in the air, but none of it had been disturbed.
Kael stood by the window, arms crossed, his attention fixed entirely on the tree line. The light from outside barely touched him, but I could see the sharp lines of his jaw, the way the morning fog clung to his shoulders.
"You're watching it like it's about to attack," I said, breaking the silence.
He didn't turn. "It might," he replied simply.
The words sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with the cold morning air. I forced myself to sit and eat, even though my appetite had vanished entirely. Every bite tasted metallic, like my mouth had absorbed the tension around us.
I paid attention to everything. Kael never turned his back on the windows. Lyric kept glancing toward the door, eyes flicking nervously. A tall man with dark hair and sharp features kept tapping his fingers against the table as though counting time, perhaps, or waiting for something I couldn't see.
"Where's the eastern patrol?" I asked suddenly, my voice too loud in the charged silence.
The room froze.
Kael turned slowly, expression carefully blank, controlled. "They were reassigned," he said.
"Where?" I pressed.
His jaw tightened, and he didn't answer. "That's not your concern," he finally said.
"They're missing," I said quietly. "Aren't they?"
Lyric inhaled sharply. Her hand twitched, and I noticed it.
Kael stepped toward me, his presence overwhelming, a physical force that made me step back without thinking. "You don't understand how dangerous it is to ask questions here," he said.
"I understand enough to know when people are lying," I shot back, holding his gaze.
For a moment, something wild flickered in his eyes: anger, fear, restraint, all at once. Then it was gone, replaced by that calm, controlled mask he always wore.
"We will talk later," he said flatly, turning away from me.
That was not an answer. Not even close.
By midday, the weight of everything pressed down on me like a storm about to break. I left the pack house and walked toward my grandmother's home, needing something familiar, something human. The forest felt oppressive, pressing in from all sides, every branch and shadow seeming to watch me.
Her house smelled like old books and dried herbs. She sat by the fire, staring into the flames as if they were speaking secrets only she could understand.
"You shouldn't be here," she said without turning toward me.
"You said that before," I replied cautiously.
"And I was right."
I told her about the forest, about the shredded backpack, about Kael. I avoided certain words, watching her expression closely, gauging her reaction. She didn't flinch. Didn't react with surprise.
When I finished, she stood and locked the door. My stomach dropped.
"There are things in this valley that do not like being watched," she said quietly, her voice threading through the stillness. "And you have always been very good at watching."
"Do you know what Kael Draven is?" I asked.
Her hand tightened on the lock. "I know what he guards."
"And what am I?"
She hesitated. That hesitation told me everything.
She lifted a loose floorboard and pulled out a small wooden box. Inside were old drawings, symbols, and faded letters. One page caught my attention immediately.
A woman stood beside a massive wolf. Their shadows merged into one.
"You were never meant to come back," my grandmother whispered. "But now that you have, the valley remembers you."
That night, sleep refused to come.
The forest pressed against the walls, alive and aware, listening. I slipped outside, drawn by something I didn't understand, something primal and magnetic.
The air was sharp. Cold. Alive.
Kael was waiting at the tree line. His presence was impossibly still, perfectly composed, yet he radiated tension, power, and danger.
"I told you not to come out alone," he said quietly, eyes never leaving mine.
"You don't tell me much," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt.
He studied me for a long moment. "Because the truth would bind you to this place."
"Maybe I'm already bound," I said softly, letting the words hang between us.
"You don't know what's moving in the dark," he said, his voice low, almost a growl.
"Then stop hiding it from me," I demanded.
The forest howled. A long, low, haunting sound that seemed to circle us.
Kael closed his eyes. His chest rose and fell slowly, deliberately.
And at that moment, I understood. Whatever was coming had already noticed me.
And it was patient.