Once.
Twice.
Over and over—sharp, uncertain, then thin with worry.
I crouched behind the tree line half-shifted, heart pounding against ribs that weren’t fully human anymore, listening to the girl I cared about try to figure out why I’d disappeared like a ghost.
Her footsteps crunched on the path as she turned in circles, trying to follow where I’d gone. She wasn’t crying—Lila never cried easily—but the hurt in her voice carried farther than any sob.
I could’ve stepped out.
Could’ve told her the truth.
Could’ve done a dozen things that weren’t cowardly.
Instead, I stayed there until her voice went quiet and her breathing steadied, and I listened to her walk away alone.
By morning, I’d packed a bag and left town so fast it was like she imagined me.
For years I held onto the excuse that I’d done her a favor.
I told myself it was mercy. That she was better off without someone dangerous, someone who couldn’t always trust his own skin.
But mercy doesn’t leave a girl standing alone in the woods, thinking she wasn’t enough.
And that’s what she remembers tonight.
The realization hits so hard I have to grab the porch post to stay upright. My stomach knots. Her voice is still in my head—Congratulations, you did anyway.
I can’t breathe around it.
Snow gathers in my hair, melts down my collar. I don’t move.
Because the truth is burning through me now, merciless and clear:
I left to protect her.
And I destroyed her anyway.
My beast howls inside me.
It chose her as its mate, and my dumb human side wrecked everything.
My skin burns as it starts to break out of me.
All it wants to do is run and run until the pain stops.
But I catch sight of the stables, half-buried under the snow.
I should feed the ponies so she doesn’t have to.
I can do something good at least.
The ponies shift inside, their hooves muffled against the straw.
But when I slide the door open, they freeze. Two small, shaggy shapes, eyes rolling, breath clouding the cold air.
“Easy,” I murmur.
