Page 55

Seren

The Hollow Moon was quiet. The last chairs were stacked, the counters wiped down, and the door was locked behind her.

Everyone else had errands—Ana was off picking up a cursed lipstick she swore made your ex weep in regret. Ryn had grunted something about a family reunion and vanished like smoke.

Griff and Rhea?

Gods knew where. Seren had once walked in without knocking and caught Griff inhaling a pair of lace panties like it was fine wine. She always knocked now.

Tonight, she was alone.

Almost.

Because for the past week, she'd felt it—that itch on her spine. The sense of being watched. Of something big and quiet and patient just there, at the edge of her awareness.

She reached into her coat, fingers curling around the tactical baton tucked neatly inside. Ryn had helped her train with it. She knew how to wield it now—when to swing, how to disarm .

She wasn't prey anymore.

The street was still busy enough—shifters loitering, humans stumbling drunk, witches flirting from doorways.

Good. She needed eyes.

She pushed a ripple of intent through the space—tiny suggestions to nearby shifters to watch for her. Just in case. She had been exploring her gift like a toddler with a new toy. It had so many facets that she still had to explore. This ability to place a suggestion into a creature's mind was new.

She turned down a quieter alleyway near the edge of the Quarter. Purposefully. Casually.

Footsteps followed.

Heavy ones.

She slowed. The steps slowed.

Her fingers tightened on the baton. Her breath evened.

Just as she reached the mouth of the narrow side street, she pivoted hard on her heel—

SHHHHK .

The baton snapped open with a hiss and click, the metal gleaming in the low light. The air sang as she swung it down in a brutal arc—

CRACK.

It slammed into the figure's shoulder, the shock of it jolting through her arm. The man grunted, staggering sideways. Big. Bigger than she expected. Maybe bigger than she could handle.

She didn't wait.

Her instincts screamed follow-through, so she spun, shifting her weight, and brought the baton sweeping behind his knees—

THUD.

He dropped like a felled tree.

She leapt forward, knee pressing into his chest, breath ragged as she yanked the mask down—

And time stopped.

"...you? "

Her voice froze with disbelief.

Brown eyes. Wild, familiar. Shaggy hair that curled around too-sharp cheekbones. Thin. So much thinner than he'd been.

The bear. Her bear.

The silent one. The guardian of the cave. The ghost in the woods.

The one who had watched her. Followed her. Protected her.

He stared up at her like he didn't know her. Like she'd morphed into something unrecognizable. He blinked slowly—like she was the one out of place.

Like she'd morphed into something unrecognizable.

Seren's brain scrambled, the adrenaline still flooding her bloodstream. Her heart pounded against her ribs, unsure whether it was from fear, relief, or fury.

"You idiot," she breathed, shoving the baton back into its compact form with a metallic snap. "You absolute, silent, stalking idiot."

He still didn't speak .

And that just made her angrier.

"I could've cracked your skull open! Do you know how close I came to shattering your knee?!"

Nothing. Just those wide brown eyes, blinking slowly like the world was too loud, too fast.

She shoved off him and stood, hands on hips, breathing hard.

"Still not a talker, huh? Fine. We will do this my way."

She grabbed his hoodie sleeve and yanked.

"Gods, you stink," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"Get up. You're coming with me."

Back at the flat, she sat him down on the couch. It creaked under his weight as if letting out a dying breath. Seren closed the door behind them. The place was quiet. The girls weren't back.

"What's your name?" she asked softly.

He blinked .

Hesitated.

He sat hunched on the edge of the couch, fingers clenched in the too-short sleeves of the borrowed hoodie. Hair tangled, skin pale under the grime. He hadn't spoken a word yet.

But now... something shifted.

He looked up at her—eyes uncertain as if speaking might break the fragile moment.

Then, in a voice like a rusty wheel turning,

"...Threk*"

His voice came out slow. Heavy and deep. Like it had been buried deep and forgotten.

Seren blinked. "Your name?"

He nodded once. A short, jerky motion.

"Threk," he repeated, quieter. More sure this time. The 'r' caught in the back of his throat.

She crouched in front of him, arms resting on her knees, her voice soft. "Why were you following me? "

It took a long while before he answered.

"I... saw. Car. That day. Followed."

His words came like drops from a leaking faucet. One. Pause. Two. Pause.

"Ran. Hid. Too tired."

A swallow. His throat clicked.

"Shifted. Easier to sleep. But... hard. Too big. For hiding."

Seren's heart twisted. "You've been out there this whole time? I left a whole year ago."

He looked down, cheeks flushing under the dirt. "Clothes. Stolen. Sorry. You. Not .Easy .Find"

"Oh, Threk..."

"I... wanted..." His voice hitched. His brow furrowed like the next word hurt. "Safe. You... were like home."

He looked at her then.

Not just at her—into her .

His gaze made her stomach twist with guilt. She had left him behind.

She cleared her throat and rose. "You need food. And a bath. And sleep. Not in that order."

As she turned to the kitchen, she heard him whisper behind her—barely audible over the creak of the floorboards.

"Smell... like forest."

She paused, breath catching before getting to work.

She made him wait while she prepared food—warm, comforting, heavy. A quick pot of creamy vegetable stew, the kind her mother used to make. She served it with a thick crusty bread and watched him devour it like he hadn't eaten in weeks.

He spoke in broken bursts, halting and shy. He'd followed the car that day, a year ago. Slept in alleys. Stole clothes. Ate scraps. Shifted when he could, but hiding a bear in a human city?

"Hard," he murmured.

"You found me," Seren whispered, half in awe .

He nodded.

By the time Ana and Ryn came home, Threk was curled up on the couch with crumbs on his chest.

Ana paused in the doorway, eyebrows sky-high. "Well, hello, hubba hubba."

Threk immediately shut down, shrinking into the cushions. He didn't make eye contact.

Ryn stared for a beat. Surprise flitted behind her pale eyes before the mask came down.

Seren quickly explained, halting and soft, about the caves. The bear. The transformation.

"I found him in the forest... when things were bad. In the borderlands of Vargrheim. He was a bear then. Wild. One of the Forgotten." She glanced toward Threk, who watched her now with soft, solemn eyes. "He never attacked. He was... curious. And lonely."

"And silent as the grave," Ana muttered, then blinked. "Wait—you're saying this is him? That bear?"

Seren nodded. "He shifted back a few days before I left. It was for the first time since he was a child. We both don't know how"

There was a long pause .

Ryn's brows drew together. "That's not... supposed to be possible."

"No," Seren agreed. "It's never happened before. Once they forget the path back to their human skin—they stay Forgotten."

Ana whistled low, pacing. "Okay. So you're telling me you dragged an impossible off the myth shelf, dusted it off, and did something no one has done before."

Seren flushed. "I didn't do anything. He... just found me. Followed me. Maybe I reminded him of something."

"Of someone," Ryn said, finally moving closer, her eyes narrowed. "Someone he trusted. Who didn't treat him like a threat."

Ana dropped onto the arm of the couch and tossed a look at Threk. "You remember anything else? Like how to use a spoon? Speak more than two words?"

Threk tensed under her attention but nodded slowly. "Some... things."

Ana thoughtfully handed him a slice of leftover pizza, which he smelt suspiciously and then devoured in two chomps. Her bright eyes hadn't left him since she stepped through the door .

Ryn, meanwhile, leaned against the wall, arms crossed, face giving nothing away.

"Shit," Ana breathed. "This is big. We need to talk. Like, council-of-chaos levels of talk."

"We will," Seren promised. "But not tonight. He's tired. He hasn't eaten properly in months."

Ana leaned over and whispered to Threk like they were old friends before handing him another slice of pizza. "Eat up, big guy. You're about to become a case study."

Threk blinked slowly. "Pizza... good."

Seren tried not to laugh.

That night, under the flickering buzz of the city's neon haze, Seren found herself dragging a half-wild bear man into a convenience store that smelled like sugar, bleach, and fried temptation.

The 24/7 Marketia was mostly empty, save for a witch on night shift sweeping hex residue off the candy aisle and a bored teenage shifter at the register picking at his claws.

Threk froze at the entrance .

Eyes wide.

He stared around the store like he'd stepped into an alien land. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, rows of shelves stacked with strange, colourful offerings: fizzy drinks that changed flavour mid-sip, charm chips, and at least twelve types of "energy" bars, none of which looked remotely edible.

"What?" he whispered.

"It's a supermarket," Seren said, amused. "Sort of. A small one. For snacks and emergency underwear."

He blinked.

She tugged him gently forward by the sleeve. "Come on. Clothes first."

The clothing section was a sad little rack tucked between glow-in-the-dark condoms and mismatched socks. Seren rifled through oversized t-shirts, track pants, and some suspiciously shiny boxer briefs with pictures of a scantily clad sexy wolf-shifter on them.

She held up a pair of plain cotton ones. "Let's start basic."

Threk squinted at them like they might bite.

She tried not to laugh .

"I think you're... definitely an XXL," she said, eyeing his frame. "Maybe longer in the leg. You've got shoulders like a freight truck."

He looked vaguely alarmed.

"Freight truck's a compliment," she clarified.

She handed him a bundle—soft joggers, boxers, the only two t-shirts that fit him with Stay Feral and Don't Poke the Bear printed across the chest. And a hoodie in deep forest green.

Then came the socks. And flip-flops. And a toothbrush. And shampoo. And deodorant. Lots of deodorant. There were no shoes in size Godzilla.

"All me?" he asked quietly, watching her pile grow.

"Yes. You're not wearing that ratty hoodie another day."

They passed the cereal aisle on the way to the till and he stopped dead.

His eyes locked on a brightly coloured box of fruit loops with a cartoon toucan on the front.

"What ?" he said, reverently .

Seren burst out laughing.

"Sweet, rainbow lies. I guess you're getting them."

His face lit up in a way that made her chest ache. He was obviously food-motivated.

At the register, the bored shifter looked between them, the huge barefoot hobo in a coat which was about to split in the seams and the girl with dirt on her jeans and defiance in her silver eyes, as if daring him to make a comment.

"You two... good?" he asked blowing a bubble.

"We're great," Seren said cheerfully, slapping her card on the counter. This was going to hurt.

They walked out with three bags, a box of cereal clutched in Threk's arms like treasure, and a sense of camaraderie humming in the air between them.

When they got home, she had to take a pair of scissors to his hair. Most of it was too matted to be saved and had developed an ecosystem of its own. Then she shoved him into the shower after explaining what soap was and got busy with the pull-out couch .

She slipped into the kitchen to get some water only to find him asleep on the couch, half-curled like he used to in the cave. His large feet hung off the side.

His hair was damp and soft. She touched it lightly like she would a child.

His thoughts whispered—fear, hunger... and something that felt like relief.

"He needs more clothes," Ana said immediately. "And a job. And, uh, food. Lots of it."

"He's not staying here," Ryn added, arms crossed—but her voice was less sharp than usual.

She could ask Talis but he had just gotten into a relationship with a colleague. It wouldn't be fair to him.

"There's the apartment next door," Seren offered. "I could move out. I don't think he is capable of managing on his own."

Ana smirked. "I'll talk to the witch landlady. She owes me a favour from that... incident with the exploding charm box."

* trek" (pronounced "threk"). In Old Norse, "trek" translates to "strength" or "stamina". It represents much more than just physical power; it embodies endurance, resilience, and the spirit of perseverance—qualities that were highly valued by the Norse.