The walls are a warm tan color that makes the space feel cozy despite the clutter. Thick rugs cover most of the hardwood floor, muffling sound and adding warmth. Everything feels lived-in and real, not staged or perfect. It’s the kind of space that belongs to someone who actually uses it rather than just sleeps here.
There are personal touches too—a mug on the side table with a faded university logo, a blanket draped over the back of the couch that looks handmade, a pair of reading glasses perched on top of a particularly tall stack of books. The kind of details that make a house feel like a home.
“Sit.” He gestures to the couch. “I’ll make tea.”
“I don’t need—”
“Sit,” he repeats, firmer this time. “You’re about to fall over.”
I look down and realize my legs are shaking so badly I’m not sure how much longer they’ll hold me up.
I sink onto the couch, and it’s even more comfortable than it looks. The leather is soft and worn in all the right places, molding to my body like it’s been waiting for someone tocollapse into it. My body immediately wants to curl up and pass out, but I force myself to stay alert.
This is fine. I’m fine. A few hours, and then I can leave.
Reeyan disappears through a doorway that must lead to the kitchen. I hear cabinets opening, water running, the clink of mugs. Normal sounds that should be comforting, but somehow make everything feel more surreal.
I was almost kidnapped tonight. Three men died because of it. And now, I’m sitting in a stranger’s house waiting for tea like this is some kind of social call.
My hands start shaking. Then my arms. Then my whole body.
The reality of what almost happened crashes over me. Those men were going to take me. They were going to do who knows what with me. If Reeyan hadn’t shown up when he did—
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to stop the shaking. It doesn’t work.
My wolf whines inside me, confused and upset by my distress. She’s stronger now, more present, but still not fully back. The suppressor’s effects are fading but haven’t disappeared.
Reeyan returns with two mugs, takes one look at me, and sets them down on the coffee table before crouching in front of me.
“Breathe,” he urges me. “You’re safe now.”
“I know.” But my voice comes out thin and reedy. “I just—”
“It’s the adrenaline crash.” He doesn’t touch me, but he stays close. “It’s normal. Let it happen.”
So I do. I sit there on his couch and shake while he watches, those green eyes never leaving my face. He doesn’t try to fix it or make it stop. Just stays there, steady and present, until eventually the shaking slows and then stops.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod, not trusting my voice yet.
He hands me one of the mugs. The tea is hot and sweet, with honey and something floral. Maybe chamomile? I take a sip and feel the warmth spread through my chest, chasing away some of the cold that’s settled in my bones.
We sit in silence for a few minutes. Him on the coffee table, facing me, me on the couch, trying to pull myself together and failing.
My wolf is getting more agitated, pacing inside me like she wants something but can’t figure out what. Every time Reeyan moves, she perks up, paying attention in a way that makes me uncomfortable.
More silence. I should probably say something, thank him again, or ask questions about Thornridge or literally anything. But the words won’t come.
Instead, what comes out is, “I had a vision.”
He goes very still. “What?”
“A vision. Or something like it. That’s why I was on that road tonight.” The words start tumbling out before I can stop them. “I was going to see Raegan because I needed to talk to someone who would understand. Someone who wouldn’t just tell me I was stressed or imagining things.”
“Tell me about it.” His voice has changed, become more focused. Like I’ve just said, the most interesting thing in the world. “The vision.”
So I do. I tell him about the women in the circle, about their blank faces and empty eyes. About the dark chains wrapped around their hearts, squeezing and constricting until nothing was left but hollow shells. About waking up in a cold sweat and not being able to shake the feeling that something is fundamentally wrong with my pack.
