Page 29

29

KENDALL

S omething’s off. And no one’s saying it out loud.

Not Callum. Not Adora. Definitely not me.

But I feel it. In the tight-lipped looks. In the awkward pause before Callum offered to train her. In the way Adora wouldn’t meet my eyes after she said yes.

It’s late now, the day bleeding into dusk, and I’m pacing my room with too many thoughts crawling under my skin. I keep replaying it all—how stiff Callum went when Adora walked into the clearing, how she acted like she didn’t care, like she didn’t feel the pull I saw ripple across her face for one split second before she smoothed it out.

I’m not stupid. I saw something.

But when I tried to bring it up, Adora shut it down fast.

“We had a couple classes together. He was older. No big deal.”

“You sure?” I asked.

“Don’t make it weird, Kendall.”

And maybe that should’ve been the end of it.

But then she said, “I’ll keep you updated on how training goes. I think it’s better if you’re not there.”

And that? That stuck.

Why the hell would she want to train alone with Callum? With my person?

Not that he’s mine, not officially, but still— the bond is there. Real and undeniable.

Still, I nodded. Because what else could I do? She’s my sister. And she’s barely hanging on. But there’s a knot in my gut now. And it’s tightening by the second.

I grab my jacket off the chair and head for the back alley, where I know Dad waits when he doesn’t want to be seen. His version of subtle is dramatic as hell—always somewhere shadowed, always leaning like he’s in a noir film and not just a shitty alley behind a diner.

Sure enough, he’s there. Hoodie up, arms crossed, a cigarette dangling from his fingers.

“You’re late,” he says without looking.

“You’re dramatic,” I shoot back.

He exhales smoke. “Good. You’re sharp. You’re ready.”

I raise a brow. “Ready for what?”

“Tonight,” he says, flicking the cigarette away. “You shift.”

“I’ve already?—”

“No,” he cuts in. “You’ve reacted . That’s different. That’s survival mode. Tonight, you control it .”

My mouth goes dry.

“Outside,” he says. “Now.”

We’re in the woods behind the train yard in less than ten minutes. The kind of place no one looks twice at. Twisted metal. Rotting leaves. Fog curling low like a warning.

Dad moves like he owns the ground under his feet. I trail behind, nervous energy prickling under my skin.

“Breathe through your gut,” he says. “Not your chest. Let the air settle low. Let your bones talk.”

“That’s weird as shit.”

“Then get used to weird. It’s your new normal.”

We stop in a clearing I’ve never seen before—too round, too intentional. There are claw marks on some of the trees. Old. Deep. Almost like?—

“You brought others here,” I say.

He shrugs. “Back when I thought there’d be others worth bringing.”

My stomach turns with realization.

“All the times we thought you were on a bender, you acting drunk out of your mind–”

“Yeah. This is what I was doing.”

“Dad, why would you pretend to be–” He cuts me off.

“Eyes closed,” he says. “Listen.”

I do.

At first, all I hear is the wind. The rustle of leaves. The creak of a sign in the distance.

But then something inside me stirs. Soft. Low. Like a heartbeat that isn’t mine.

“You feel that?” Dad asks.

I nod.

“Good. Now let it out.”

I take a deep breath and let it expand.

The change comes faster than I expect—not as much pain this time. No panic. Just a slow roll of heat under my skin, a tug in my spine, the stretch of something ancient waking up inside my blood, uncurling.

Fur ripples across my arms. My fingers curl into claws. My vision sharpens until I can see every line in the bark across the clearing. It’s still painful, but in a controlled way, especially knowing that it will end soon. I don’t fight it.

I ride it . I am it. I am the beast. I am me .

I drop to all fours, lungs expanding, and a sound rips out of me—half howl, half growl, half victory .

Dad smiles.

It’s not a warm smile. It’s proud, maybe. Impressed, even. But not soft.

Still, I’ll take it.

When I shift back—sweating, shaking, but not broken—I sit in the dirt and laugh, not caring I’m in tattered clothes, half-naked.

Not because anything’s funny. But because I feel alive . More than I ever did before the bite. Before the dream. Before all of this.

I’m not the same girl who used to count every calorie and worry about college apps and pretend I didn’t hear the fights through the walls.

I’m someone else now. Someone more. Someone whole. And for the first time, I feel in control. At least a little bit.

Dad tosses me a flask and grabs extra clothes from a sack he had. “You earned it.”

I take a sip and nearly choke. “That’s not water.”

“Never said it was.”

I wipe my mouth. “Thanks. For this.”

He nods once. “You’re stronger than I thought.”

And for a second, it feels like a compliment.

Until he adds, “Don’t let that become a weakness.”

I swallow the burn in my throat and nod. Then realization hits me. “Wait, what about triggering the flag, or whatever happened last time?”

Dad shakes his head. “This was controlled. The instant emotion fueled changes from you are what flags the system. They aren’t looking for controlled transformations for werewolves, only shifters.”

I take a breath and another sip, calming myself and letting me believe that it’s all going to be okay… eventually.

Later, back in my room, the adrenaline starts to crash. I sit on my bed, still wearing dirt-streaked clothes, and stare at the ceiling.

My phone buzzes. A text from Callum.

You okay?

I type back: Yeah. Just shifted. Controlled it. It felt... insane. Good.

Three dots. Proud of you.

I stare at the words longer than I should but I don’t respond. Part of me can’t stop thinking about tomorrow. About Adora. About the look on her face. About the lie she didn’t quite tell. And the feeling in my gut that she knows more than she’s sharing and it could get us all killed.