The night is quiet except for my sobs and the distant howl of wind. But deep inside, that wild power still hums, waiting. Watching.
Ready to change me again when I need it most — or when I least expect it.
I stay curled up like that for what feels like hours, my bare skin scraping against leaves and twigs, every cut from the glass stinging like fire. Blood trickles down my arms and legs, mixing with dirt. I'm freezing, teeth chattering worse than back in that
bathroom. No clothes. No mates. Just me and this stupid, uncontrollable thing inside my head that turns me into random animals.
Get up, Ravine. You can't stay here.
But my body won't listen. Exhaustion pulls me down heavier than his hands ever did. My eyes drift shut, and for a second, I almost let sleep take me. Then it hits — a sharp, burning twist in my belly, like something is boiling inside. My eyes snap open. A voice, not the same helpful one from before, but colder, mechanical almost, echoes in my skull.
