Page 13

13

KENDALL

I didn’t sleep much last night. Again.

Not because of the nightmares this time, or the bone-deep soreness Dad calls “growth.” It was him. Callum. I keep seeing his face.

The way he moved—calm, efficient, like every step he took had been planned three seconds before his body even followed. The way his voice dropped low when he talked about survival, like he knew exactly what the cost of being careless was. Like he’d paid it already.

His eyes. That kind of stillness doesn’t come easy. Doesn’t come without losing something.

He has that too.

And the worst part? It doesn’t scare me. It should. But it doesn’t.

It makes me want to understand him.

His hair was dark and light all at once, cut just messy enough to look natural but not lazy. His jawline looked like it could slice through chain-link. And when he looked at me with those green eyes—I swear my lungs forgot how to work.

I don’t get it. I barely know him. And yet… I do.

That’s the part that makes me want to crawl out of my skin.

I pull my hoodie tighter around me and head downstairs, trying to shove the thoughts aside. I need to meet Dad in twenty, and I want food in me before he starts another round of “learning through pain.”

I’m halfway to the kitchen when I hear her.

Mom.

She’s standing by the fridge, staring into it like it might offer her salvation in the form of cold leftovers. I haven’t seen her much since I was bit. Since Dad told me about Adora and how she wasn’t his…

“Morning,” I say, keeping my voice light.

She startles. Not visibly, but I feel it. The tension spikes like a slap in the air.

“Kendall,” she says, turning.

Her hair’s down for once. It spills over her shoulders in a loose braid, long and blonde like mine and Adora’s, but hers has started to dull at the ends—more tired than aged. There’s something ethereal about her when she isn’t trying so hard to seem normal. Like her stillness isn’t human. Like she’s holding back some kind of shimmer just beneath her skin.

Her smile’s too tight. Her hands don’t stop fidgeting. And her brown eyes—usually calm and clear—can’t seem to settle. They flicker down my arms, like she’s searching for something she’s already afraid she’ll find.

“You okay?” I ask.

“I’m fine.” Too fast. “Just tired. I was going to grab some milk for Adora later. She needs more calcium.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Since when do you care about milk?”

“I—I just think it’ll help. Bones and all.”

Her voice cracks slightly at the word bones. Her fingers twist the hem of her sleeve like she’s unraveling more than fabric.

I don’t blink. “You know, don’t you?”

Her head jerks up. “What?”

“You know what I am. What she is. You’ve known this whole time.”

“Kendall—”

“It’s okay,” I cut in, even though it’s not . “You don’t have to say it. I just needed to see your face.”

Her throat bobs. “I need to run to the store. I’ll be back in an hour.”

She grabs her purse like it’s a lifeline and bolts before I can say anything else. The front door slams behind her, echoing too long in the empty space she leaves behind.

Yeah. That’s what I thought.

She’s afraid of me now.

Cool.

I exhale through my nose and text my dad that I’ll be early.

I don’t go see Adora.

Not because I don’t want to, but because I don’t know what I’d say. “Hey, I know we share trauma now. Cool scars. You know what we don’t share? Dads. Wanna trauma bond?”

She wouldn’t talk last time. So what’s the point?

Maybe I’ll go tomorrow.

Maybe I won’t.

Dad’s already waiting in the underground by the time I get there. He hands me a heavy bag of gravel and makes me run the length of the tunnel—barefoot.

“Pain teaches,” he says when I hiss through clenched teeth.

“Pain also blisters,” I snap.

He grins like that’s the right answer.

We run drills until my arms shake. Then he starts talking about the moon.

“You feel it yet?” he asks, tossing me a knife.

“What?”

“The pull. The itch. It starts low, under the skin. Builds as the moon grows. I know we just had one, but you need to be aware. You’ll get used to it—but it’ll never stop. Full moons are the worst.”

I catch the knife, barely. “Because we shift?”

“Because we have to shift. There’s no controlling it, not at first. The body takes over. The mind fights to stay. That’s when we’re wildest. Bloodthirsty. Feral.”

My stomach turns. “Great.”

“You’ll learn control. Eventually. But even then—it hurts.”

I nod, not trusting my voice.

We spar for another hour. He doesn’t go easy, and I don’t ask him to. I need the burn. The bruises. Something real to hold onto while the rest of me unravels with everything I am supposed to know. And everything I still don’t.

Later that night, I’m back home.

And of course, because the universe loves drama, Stefan shows up.

He knocks, and I freeze halfway down the hall, still sweaty from training and barely able to stand up straight.

I consider pretending I’m not home. But he knocks again—louder.

I open the door with a weak smile.

“Hey,” he says, stepping in. “You look like you got hit by a bus.”

“You’re just full of compliments lately.”

“I mean—you’re still hot. But like, hot in a concerning way.”

I force a laugh. “Been running. Trying to stay in shape. You know. Stay distracted.”

He squints. “In combat boots?”

I glance down. Damn. “It’s part of the training. Resistance, or whatever.”

He studies me too closely. I always hated when he did that, but now? Now it feels like he’s searching for cracks in my mask instead of trying to see me.

His dark hair falls into his eyes a little as he tilts his head. Blue eyes, clear but cautious, scan my face. He's leaner than Callum, built like a swimmer—not a fighter—but there's always been something steady about him. Like he was born into the role of protector and never asked why.

“You’ve been off lately.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Is it your dad? Adora?”

“Yes.” All of it.

He doesn’t buy it. Not fully, but he lets it go.

We sit in silence for a minute.

He touches my hand. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

My throat tightens. “Of course.”

Lie. Big, stupid, necessary lie. Because if I told him the truth? That I’m turning into the exact kind of creature that ripped his parents to pieces? He’d never look at me the same again.

He’d run.

So I smile instead.

And try to remember what normal felt like. Whether it’s for his sake or mine, I’m not entirely sure.