Page 21

RAY

L ife 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 she is .

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 outcropping where 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 was his place 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.

Her voice is sharp, laced with knowing. It cuts through the air and slices into the brittle shell I’ve wrapped around myself. She reaches to her side and grabs something. A pair of jeans.

“Shift. Get dressed. We need to talk—and I’m not asking.”

I let the wolf fade. It’s hard, not because the transformation resists, but because the weight of being human is unbearable. The emotions rush back in like a flood, washing over the raw skin of my soul. I pick up the jeans and slide them on.

“Predictable, huh?”

She finally turns with one brow raised, like she’s already won the argument we haven’t had yet.

“Indeed. You bury yourself in work, only venturing out when you need supplies. And when you do? It’s always here—alone. Where’s your fire, Raymond? Your instinct? Your heart? Why didn’t you bring Stacy?”

“Stacy’s got her own storm to weather,” I mutter. “Turns out her mother—Catherine—was one of us.”

Helena goes rigid. “What did you say?”

“Yeah,” I say with a sigh, eyes locked on the slow roll of the river. I step onto the slick stones at the edge. “It wasn’t cancer. Her heart broke, and it killed her.”

“Tell me everything,” Helena demands, her voice tight and low. I glance at her, but I don’t ask. I don’t have the energy.

“She met Stacy’s dad in Mercer. They had their fairytale until she caught him cheating. She couldn’t take it.”

“When did you learn this?”

“This morning.”

“Take my hand,” she orders, leaving no room for argument as she holds hers out.

I stare at her empty palm for a moment before placing mine in hers. Her palm radiates heat—almost too much. The moment her fingers tighten around mine, her staff strikes the earth.

Light erupts from the staff—brilliant, blinding. It devours everything until nothing remains but white noise and the echo of memory. Then?—

Voices.

I hear them before I can see. Echoes that thread through the brightness. Then it’s like a curtain parting as my vision returns. We’re in front of Sammy’s cabin. Helena pulls me after her, storming up the steps and entering without bothering to knock.

The first thing I see is a photo of Sammy and Erica on the far wall. The laughter in his eyes mocks me. Daring me to admit he’s gone. Erica sits on the couch, jerking her head up at our entrance.

Her cheeks are stained with tears and Monica is at her side, one comforting arm around her shoulders. Raul’s voice breaks through the haze. He’s already moving toward us from the kitchen.

“I was just about to find you,” Raul says. “Monica says Stacy’s mom was a shifter. That true?”

“You already know it,” I say with a tired shrug.

“Do you agree?” Raul asks, looking to Helena and she shrugs.

“It makes sense. The attack on Erica and Stacy was wolf shifters. It had to be a shifter that killed Sammy, too. No human or regular animal could have taken him. Or do that kind of damage,” Raul says, shaking his head.

“But why ?” I ask. “We’ve never hurt anyone from Mercer.”

“Maybe we’re paying for sins that aren’t ours,” Raul mutters, voice heavy with something deeper—regret, maybe.

“I’ve been reading Grandpa’s journals. Some shifters left the settlements to live with humans a generation back.

They were branded as traitors. I’d hazard a guess that Catherine was one of them. ”

I clench my fists. “Okay… let’s say you’re right. What now?”

“Then we go to war,” Raul growls. “They killed Sammy. They don’t walk away from that.”

“No,” Helena snaps, stepping between us. Her eyes burn brighter, deeper. “We don’t know who or why . Not for certain. You can’t charge into Mercer like rabid animals. They’re two hundred miles away. By the time you get there, you’ll be too drained to fight. We need proof. Motive. A name.”

“So what? We just sit here and wait?” My voice rises—grief finally splitting open into fury.

“I’m saying we expand the patrols,” she shoots back. “Someone screwed up. Samuel’s killers got past our line. We can’t risk open war without proof. These aren’t rogues. They’re shifters. Your kin.”

Raul sighs, voice low with guilt. “I already added four patrols. They haven’t found anything.”

“People…” Erica’s voice slices through the tension. As one we turn towards her. She slowly rises, dabbing at her cheeks. Her hands tremble, but her gaze is steel—raw and sharp. “I know you’ve got your hands full, but I have something to say.”

“Erica, please,” Monica pleads. “Think this through.”

“I have,” she says, her voice breaking and rebuilding itself in a single breath. “For days, I’ve done nothing but think. And I don’t see another way. I’m leaving. I’m going back to New York.”

The words hit like a slap.

“Don’t you want us to find Sam’s killer?” I ask, not understanding.

“Will that bring him back?” she snaps—and the words hit harder than any blow.

No. It won’t. Nothing will bring him back.

Silence settles over us like a weighted blanket, thick and suffocating. Her footsteps echo too loud in the hush.

“That’s what I thought,” she mutters, her voice hollow as she disappears through the door.

Helena doesn’t stop her. Doesn’t flinch. But her jaw tightens, and her eyes flick to the floor for half a second—just long enough to show the crack beneath the calm.

“I’m going to Mercer,” she says, voice clipped. “Someone has to find out what the hell’s really going on.”

Then—just like that—she’s gone. A burst of red and black smoke swallows her, leaving only scorched air behind.

Raul slams his fist into the fridge. It groans, tips sideways, the cord snapping free—then crashes to the floor with a sickening crunch.

He’s panting like he ran ten miles, but he hasn’t taken a step. His eyes are empty—just like mine were earlier. That’s my cue to go. I slip out, leaving behind a room haunted by what we’ve lost—and what we’re becoming.

Sammy’s gone. But he’s not the only one broken. We’re splintering, all of us—Raul, Erica, even Helena, who’s usually carved from stone. She’s lashing out. Running without a plan. That’s not like her. None of this is.

And me?

I don’t know who I am anymore. The wolf? The man? The brother drowning in grief?

Maybe I’m all of them. Maybe I’m nothing at all. But this? This isn’t the end. It’s the ignition point.