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I sob harder. For her. For me. For the part of me that’s still that little girl waiting for a mother who never came home. Ray doesn’t let go.

And in the middle of that filthy Brooklyn street, under the flickering glow of a busted streetlamp, I let myself mourn. Let myselffeelit all.

And for the first time in years, someone stays. Just holds me, while I fall apart.

21

RAY

Life doesn’t just fall apart—it explodes.

Just a week ago, both my brothers were alive. I ran on adrenaline, not grief. The wind tasted like freedom—not ashes.

Now, all that’s left of Sammy fits in a box—dust and bone. That’s what remains of the one person who always stood taller than life to me. He’s become memory. Silence.

The worst part? I had three hours today—three chances to think of anything but that brutal truth. I failed. Every time.

How could I? The pain claws at me from the inside. It doesn't leave room for distractions. It owns every part of me.

The forest rolls by as I drive, Stacy silent beside me, each mile tightening the pressure in my chest. She’s hurting too—God, I know she is. Her entire world twisted sideways. Finding out about her mother, that her father knew and had kept it from her. Finding out what sheis.

A shifter. Like me. Or the potential for it. We’ll have to figure that out, but she has the genes.

I doubt he ever planned to tell her. If I hadn’t gotten suspicious, she might’ve gone her whole life believing she was just human. He would’ve let her carry on, blind to the truth and to the sacrifice her mother made. That Catherine died of a broken heart—a pain I carry now like a mirror, cracked down the middle.

When we reach my cabin, tucked deep enough into the trees that the silence thickens—alive, watching, I hand Stacy the keys.

“I need some time alone,” I say.

Her eyes meet mine, dark with her own grief, but she nods without a word. She’s good like that—reading the spaces between the words.

“Be careful,” she says, her voice tight with unshed fear. “Sammy’s killers are still out there.”

I give a faint nod, but we both know the warning won’t stop me. It’s too late for caution. The wolf in me has had enough of leashes. As soon as I step into the forest, I let go.

Bones stretch, muscles tear and rebuild. My skin rips and reforms. The pain is an old friend. It doesn’t lie. It reminds me I’m still alive. Then I’m gone—Raymond dissolves, and what remains is instinct, power, and raw grief on four legs.

I run.

The earth rushes beneath my paws. Pebbles fly, the ground thuds with every step. I race up the hill, past the old ridge Sammy and I used to track deer from, past the outcroppingwhere he once carved our initials into a tree with his pocketknife.

I don’t stop until I reach it.

Venus River.

It lies ahead, glittering in the sunlight like nothing’s wrong in the world. Like the past week never happened.

I haven’t been here since we lost him. I couldn’t bring myself to face it. This washisplace too—his favorite spot. The place he went when he needed space to think, or just breathe.

The river hums low, steady—like it’s trying to lull the ache out of my bones. It’s a balm, a reminder that things still move, still live, even when everything inside me has frozen.

I start toward the riverbank, stones damp beneath my paws, the air cool and clean against my fur—and then I smell her before I see her.

Helena.

Her back is to me, dark hair rippling like spilled ink in the wind. She stands with her arms folded, gaze fixed on the river.

“You’ve become awfully predictable, Raymond,” she says without turning.