And if I turn into my mother—if whatever lived in her lives in me—I’ll betray him. I’ll destroy him.
The thought suffocates me. I sit up, elbows on my knees, camera clutched against my chest like a lifeline.
Half-blood.
Half-blood.
Half-blood.
The word spins like a blade, catching on every soft piece of me, slicing it raw.
It doesn’t feel like a description.
It feels like a sentence.
Like something in me is already decided.
I always feared my mother.
But now, more than anything, I fear myself.
The panic climbs too fast, too sharp. I grab a blanket and move to the windowsill, curling into the cold glass. Outside, everything is still. Quiet. Small white flakes drift and dance lazily through the air. The sky is just starting to shift to deep indigo, like the sun is barely waking up.
The color gives me hope. A small reminder that the world isn’t as dark as it is in my head.
I lift the camera and take a picture. Then another. The sound steadies me. With the blanket around me, the horizon stretching wide and promising, I start to settle. Breathe in. Breathe out. The sky brightens with every minute, the color blooming into blue.
I don’t know how long I sit like that. Long enough that my stomach growls. The quiet isn’t as scary now.
I catch movement near the trees. Out in the yard, three wolves trot back to the house, their tails high and breaths coming out in thick clouds as if they’d just had the best run of their lives. One of them steals the show, his black-tipped ears standing out against the delicate white backdrop.Click.
Rowen nips at his packmate, who nips back playfully, then he stops and looks up at me. His ears perk up and he wags his tail like an idiot. It makes me grin before I can stop myself. He yips once, tongue lolling, then takes off running toward the house.
The way my heart squeezes.He’s so damn cute.I keep trying to pull away, but my heart is begging to lean in.
A few minutes later, there’s a soft knock on my door. Rowen pushes it open, still flushed from the cold. His hair is wild, cheeks pink, and eyes bright. He looks annoyingly perfect in red sweatpants and a gray long-sleeved shirt.
“Hey.” He crosses the room and sits in front of me on the window ledge, close enough that our legs bump. “How are you doing?”
I shrug.
He studies me. “You didn’t come in my room last night.”
Heat floods my cheeks, and I look away. “Yeah, I… didn’t need to.”
“Toby.” He says my name like he knows I’m lying.
I bite my lip.
“You know you can, right? I don’t mind.”
“You need sleep too,” I say softly. “I can’t—”
“I sleep just fine.” He puts a hand on my knee. “I sleep better knowing ifyou’resleeping.” A shy smile tugs at his mouth before he adds, “I woke up twice looking for you.”
When I don’t reply, he glances toward the window. “It’s actually not bad out this morning. The sun feels amazing.”
“It looks pretty.”
