Page 16

JASON

S omething’s wrong.

I know it before I hear Zak’s footsteps pounding toward me through the soggy field, before the clouds crack with thunder overhead. The air’s gone tight, heavy with pressure. The kind of pressure that sets my instincts snarling.

It’s full moon tonight. I can feel her rising already. Clawing up my spine.

And then Zak appears, pale and panicked, yelling my name like he’s already in trouble.

“Jason! Jason, man—we have a problem.”

I drop the logs I’ve been stacking. “What kind of problem?”

Zak skids to a stop, panting. “Mira’s missing.”

Time stalls.

“What do you mean missing ?”

“She was with my group—we were doing the pond trail hike, the easy one. She said she had to go pee, so I let her duck off. I thought she was right behind us, but... she never showed back up.”

My jaw tightens. “You left a kid alone in the woods?”

Zak flinches. “I waited! I doubled back twice. I thought she was playing a joke or?—”

I’m already walking.

Fast.

Toward the trailhead.

“Dude, where are you going?” he calls, hurrying after me.

“To find her.”

“I said I checked already?—”

I spin, fast enough that Zak stumbles to a halt. “You lost her.”

“She’s probably fine—just wandering. It’s not even raining yet?—”

“Not yet.” I growl it more than say it. “But it’s coming. And you left her in the woods. Alone. At dusk. On a full moon.”

Zak pales.

I feel the shift pulling at me, just beneath the surface.

Not now. I can’t let it out now.

I breathe. Focus.

“She could be scared. Hurt. You have any idea how far she could’ve gotten in twenty minutes?”

“I—I don’t know,” he mutters. “I thought?—”

“You didn’t think. You left her.”

He opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, but the look on my face must shut him up fast.

I turn back toward the woods. Strip off my hoodie and toss it to the grass.

“Stay with the rest of your cabin,” I snap. “Tell Julie.”

“Jason, wait—shouldn’t we go together? I can help?—”

“No.”

My voice cuts sharp through the air.

He backs off.

I don’t give him a second glance.

Because every second is ticking like thunder in my chest. My pulse is wild, my vision sharpening.

I can feel the woods calling.

She’s in there. Somewhere.

And I don’t care what it takes?—

I’m going to find her.

The moon’s pulling at my spine, creeping into my bones, and all I can think is that there’s a kid out there— my camper—alone in the woods, scared, stumbling around on legs she barely knows how to use.

“I waited for her, I swear!” Zak babbles behind me. “She said she just had to pee, I thought she was behind us, I didn’t think she?—”

“Stop.” My voice is a growl. “You left her.”

He goes quiet, finally.

I tear off my hoodie and toss it aside. The heat from my body is already spiking. My skin prickles. I can feel the wolf scratching just beneath my ribs, begging for release under the full moon haze.

But I won’t shift. Not yet. Not until I know she’s safe.

Because if Mira sees me like that... I don’t know if I could forgive myself.

And if someone else does—someone like Aisla?

They’ll never let me near these kids again.

I crash into the woods, alone.

Mira’s scent is faint—sweet and briny like low tide, mixed with moss and sunscreen.

Mercreatures aren’t made for hiking. She hates dry trails. I’ve seen her stumble down gravel paths like a baby deer, tripping over her own feet, apologizing every time.

She shouldn’t have been alone.

She shouldn’t have been out here with someone who didn’t know her pace, her needs.

I push through the branches, ducking under vines, scanning for prints. Anything.

“Mira!” I shout, voice echoing through the pines. “It’s Jason!”

No response.

A gust of wind tears through the trees and the sky cracks again, loud and close.

The storm’s rolling in fast now.

Thunder shakes the dirt under my boots. The humidity is choking. The trees are starting to sway like they know something I don’t.

I move faster.

“MIRA!”

Nothing.

And then—a bootprint.

Sort of.

Wobbly. Dragged.

She’s been here. Slipping. Struggling.

My heart hammers.

“C’mon, peanut, gimme something.”

My claws want out. My muscles twitch. I ache to shift, to run wild, to let instinct take over and sniff her out.

But I don’t.

Because she might see me. And she’s scared enough.

I shove through another thicket and scrape my arm, don’t even flinch. The adrenaline’s drowning everything but the need to find her.

She’s not just a camper.

She’s my camper.

These kids—damn, I didn’t ask for them. I didn’t come to this camp thinking I’d care this much.

But somewhere between Nolan’s dragon-fire meltdowns, Rubi’s spaghetti bracelets, and Ferix asking me if boys were allowed to cry—I fell for all of them.

I love them.

Every loud, magical, messy one.

And Mira?

She’s the softest. The smallest. The kid who always sits closest during ghost stories and clings to the dock like she’s trying not to float away.

And now she’s lost. In the woods. On a storm night. With the moon above us.

I grit my teeth, panting. My body is hot, wild, close to breaking.

Not yet.

I can’t shift.

Not until she’s safe.

I press my forehead to a tree and breathe through the howl building in my throat.

“I’m coming, kid,” I whisper.

No matter what.

I stumble down a slope slick with moss, chest heaving. Every inch of me burns. The pressure is unbearable now, thrumming through my jaw, my spine, down to my fingertips where the claws are starting to edge out.

And then I hear her.

“Alice.”

No—not in my head. Real.

She crashes through the brush, flashlight in hand, eyes wide and wild.

“Jason?” she breathes. “I heard you yelling—what’s going on?”

I freeze.

Every cell in my body goes still and then flares. Her scent—fresh and clean and sharp with fear—hits me like a drug.

And the moon—damn it, the moon is right there, pulling me open.

My voice comes out low and broken. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She steps closer. “What’s wrong?”

“I said don’t. ” I stagger back, hand outstretched, trying to keep her away.

But it’s too late.

She sees it.

My eyes—already gone gold.

My teeth—lengthening in my mouth.

My skin—rippling with the shift I can’t stop anymore.

Her face drains. “Oh my god...”

“Run,” I rasp. “Please.”

She doesn’t move.

Just stares at me, terrified.

And then I fall to my knees, gasping, as the shift finally takes hold.