Then he stumbled.
Which was funny because a man who mostly moved in deadly silence, who appeared and disappeared from rooms without a sound, had just stumbled over furniture. His arm came up, covering the lower half of his face as he turned away.
“T-the pages should be legible.” His voice came out rough, rambling. “Most of them. I… I’ll just go for a run. In the forests. Just… around the corner. Briefly.”
Solomon was already retreating toward the back of the cabin. Walking too fast without looking back. The sliding door to the back porch opened and closed, and I was alone in the living room, holding my smoke-stained journal, biting my lip to contain the smile threatening to split my face.
Making Solomon blush might be my new favorite hobby.
***
The afternoon light shifted through the windows as I curled up on the couch with the journal.
Most of the entries were mundane. Inventory orders or book recommendations for regulars. My chest ached at the reminder that the shop was everything I’d built from nothing but now it was truly gone.
I turned the pages carefully, mindful of Solomon’s restoration work. The warped paper still held its shape, the ink legible despite the smoke damage. He’d done an incredible job. More care than I’d shown most things in my life.
Toward the back, the handwriting changed.
Still mine, but rushed. Excited. The pen pressed harder, letters colliding. These entries were from I think just weeks ago but I couldn’t remember writing them.
Worse, most of it was illegible. Water and smoke turned the ink into abstract smears. But fragments survived.
“...told me about the bond...”
“...going insane. I can’t believe this is real...”
“...eyes are unique but not like mine, they were...”
The last entry was the clearest. Written in a steadier hand, as if I’d taken my time.
“I believe them now after seeing it with my own eyes and I-”
It stopped mid-sentence. The pen had dragged across the page, leaving a long streak of ink that trailed off the edge. The pieces fell into place in my mind that I sat up straighter, heart thumping.
I’d been writing this entry when the tea hit. Just before the fire started.
Suddenly, pain lanced through my skull.
And the living room disappeared into a new vision.
The forest at night. Rain hammering through the canopy, wind screaming through the trees. I was kneeling on the ground and blood covered my hands, warm and red, but fear wasn’t the emotion tearing through my chest.
Desperation was.
A wolf lay in front of me. Massive with obsidian black fur. There was a wound along its flank soaking the fur with crimson. The wolf’s eyes were storm gray shot through with gold.
Almost the same with… Lucian’s eyes.
My hands pressed against the wound. The wolf whined, a low sound that carved through me. “Stay with me,” I whispered. “You’re gonna be alright.”
Moonlight broke through the clouds, pale light spilling across the wolf’s body.
The wolf shuddered. A sound reached my ears, wet and impossible. Bones cracking. Shifting. The fur beneath my palms rippled, and the wolf’s spine arched at an angle that shouldn’t be possible.
A change was happening. A… transformation?
I leaned closer, trying to see, trying to understand what my hands were feeling beneath the blood and the fur and the…
