The three days leading up to a full moon don't move like normal time. They stretch and blur, the atmosphere in Oakhaven thickening until every breath feels like inhaling silt. For Reid, the transition wasn't a sudden snap; it was a slow, agonizing erosion. His senses were becoming weaponized. The sound of Clara turning a page in the other room was as loud as a gunshot; the scent of the rain-damp cedar was a roar in his nostrils.
They spent the first of those days in the cellar. If Chapter 4 was about the heart, Chapter 5 was about the cold, hard reality of the bone.
"My father built this for a reason," Reid said, his voice sounding tighter, more metallic. He stood in the center of a small, windowless room beneath the ranger station, miles from Clara's cabin.
The walls were reinforced concrete, but it was the floor that drew Clara's eye. Heavy iron bolts were anchored deep into the stone, attached to thick, industrial-grade chains. They weren't meant for a man. They were meant for something that could bend rebar.
"You come here every month?" Clara asked, the damp chill of the room settling into her skin.
"Every month since I was sixteen," Reid said. He wouldn't look at her. He was staring at the shackles. "It's the only way to be sure. Silas… he stopped coming here years ago. He prefers the woods. He says the cage is what makes us monsters, not the blood."
Clara walked over and touched the iron. It was freezing. She thought of Reid, alone in the dark, screaming into the concrete as his body tore itself apart and put itself back together. The "humanity" of the story wasn't in the wolf; it was in the man who chose the chains to protect people he didn't even know.
"I'm staying with you this time," she said.
Reid snapped his head toward her, his eyes flashing a vivid, electric gold. "No. Absolutely not. You saw what happened at the cabin. That was just a Tuesday. On the night of the full moon, there is no Reid. There is only a hunger that doesn't recognize faces."
"I've been reading the journals, Reid. My father noted that the 'anchor' is the only thing that mitigates the autonomic rage. He wrote that the presence of a 'calming stimulus' a heartbeat he recognized could keep the prefrontal cortex from shutting down entirely."
"You're talking about me like I'm a laboratory animal," Reid growled, though the edge was softened by a flicker of hope he couldn't quite hide.
"I'm talking about you like a man who is drowning," Clara corrected, stepping into his space. She took his hands. They were hot again, the fever returning with a vengeance. "If you're alone in this dark hole, you give up. You let the wolf take over because the pain is too much to bear as a human. But if I'm here… if you can hear my voice… maybe you have something to hold onto."
Reid gripped her hands, his strength almost bruising. "And if I break those chains, Clara? If the wolf looks at you and sees meat instead of a memory? I couldn't live with that. I would rather stay in this hole and never come out."
"You won't break them," she said with a certainty she didn't entirely feel. "And I won't be in the room. I'll be behind the steel observation door. But I'll be talking to you. I'll be reading to you."
Reid let out a long, shaky breath, leaning his head against her shoulder. "What would you read to a monster?"
"The same things I read to the man," she whispered.
They spent the afternoon gathering supplies water, heavy blankets, and the journals. But as they drove back through town, the "human" world felt increasingly hostile.
At the general store, the air was thick with a different kind of tension. Groups of men stood by their trucks, speaking in hushed tones. Deputy Miller was among them, his eyes narrowed as he watched Reid's truck pull in.
"Ranger Blackwood," Miller called out, his voice devoid of its usual professional warmth. "We found another deer out by the creek. Or what was left of it. Something's not right this season. The kills are… messy. Spiteful."
Reid didn't stop walking. "It's a hard winter, Miller. Predators get desperate."
"It's not desperation," Miller said, stepping into Reid's path. He was a big man, but compared to Reid, he looked brittle. "It's sport. We're putting together a hunt for tomorrow night. Local volunteers. We're going to clear out the ridge."
Reid froze. His entire body went still the kind of stillness a landmine has just before the pressure is released. "The ridge is federal land, Miller. You don't have the authority."
"I have the authority of a man who doesn't want his kids playing in a yard where something is gutting livestock for fun," Miller snapped. He looked at Clara, his expression shifting to one of pity. "You're Newland Vaughn's girl, aren't you? You should be careful who you associate with, Clara. This town has deep roots, and some of them are rotten."
"I think I'm capable of judging character, Deputy," Clara said, her voice ice-cold.
Reid pulled her away before the Deputy could respond, but as they got into the truck, Clara saw Silas standing on the roof of the hardware store across the street. He wasn't hiding. He was perched on the edge, silhouetted against the gray sky, watching the scene with a predatory grin. He raised a hand in a mock salute to Reid and then vanished into the shadows of the roofline.
"They're going to start a war," Reid whispered as they drove away. "The town is waking up, and Silas is poking the nest. He wants the hunt. He wants to show them what happens when you try to trap the wind."
"We have to get you to the cellar early," Clara said, her mind racing. "If the hunt starts while you're shifting…"
"If they find me," Reid said, his voice heavy with a terrible realization, "they won't see a ranger. They'll see a trophy. And Silas will be right there to watch them try to take it."
That evening, the first signs of the "pack" appeared. It wasn't a group of wolves; it was the quiet, unsettling presence of strangers in town. Men with eyes too bright, women who moved with a too-silent grace, all converging on Oakhaven like iron filings to a magnet. Silas was calling them home for the moon, and Reid was the only thing standing between the town and a night of red glass.
Back at the cabin, Clara began to pack her father's most resilient books. She looked at Reid, who was sitting on the floor, his head in his hands, fighting the first tremors of the coming change.
She realized then that this wasn't just a story about a curse. It was a story about the breaking point of a man's soul, and whether a woman's love was a strong enough cage to keep the beast at bay.
"Reid," she called softly.
He looked up, his face contorted in a brief spasm of pain.
"I'm not afraid," she lied.
He looked at her, the gold in his eyes now a permanent, burning ring around his pupils. "You should be, Clara. That's the most human thing there is."