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The loneliness hadn’t disappeared completely, but it no longer filled every corner. Leaving would be safer. It would also return me to the life I had before.

My thumb kept hovering until the screen dimmed. I put my phone down and went to my desk. For the next hour, I researched werewolves with the same intensity I’d put into figuring out if a symptom was a mild cold or a rare terminal disease.

The first search returned folklore, a list of movies, role-playing forums, and a surprising number of businesses called Werewolf Fitness.

I refined the query. Real shapeshifters evidence.

That took me to conspiracy sites.

One claimed the British royal family transformed into reptiles. Another argued that every professional basketball player over six-foot-seven was part wolf. A third offered a forty-eight-page downloadable report for $19.99 and accepted cryptocurrency.

Shaking my head, I closed out of the window and tried again. Humans transforming into wolves real video.

Most results were special effects tutorials.

I watched several, looking for evidence that any of the clips I’d seen might be reproducible. The best transformations had obvious cuts, digital warping, and altered lighting, which none of the videos in the group chat featured.

My hands started trembling again.

Patty messaged me while I was reading a forum post titled Ten Signs Your Neighbor May Be a Lycanthrope.

Patty: You have created a monster.

I stared at the words.

Sloane: Trevor?

Patty: Byron. Julie texted me and said he’s timing himself over and over in the basement and shouting every result upstairs.

A photograph followed. It showed a digital stopwatch resting beside a pile of discarded clothing and a handwritten chart labeled SHIFT TIMES – OFFICIAL.

Patty: Julie keeps walking past and asking if he wants pointers from her.

I laughed. The sound escaped before I could decide whether laughing was appropriate when confronted with proof of supernatural life.

Sloane: I’m sorry.

Patty: I’m not. This is the best thing that’s happened all week.

Patty: Also, Trevor got resin in his tail fur.

Sloane: Is he okay?

Patty: Physically, yes. He may, however, never recover emotionally from the trimming required.

A picture of Trevor’s wolf appeared with one uneven patch near its tail. The animal looked deeply offended.

I laughed again.

That was the strangest part. The proof changed everything, yet nothing inside the conversations had changed. Patty was still hilarious. Trevor was still Trevor. Grandma Ruth scolded everyone for participating after watching every video and judging the winner.

They were just a close-knit family. They simply did it while capable of turning into wolves. Maybe that should’ve mattered more to me. And it did matter, an enormous amount, but it didn’t make me want to stop knowing them.

That felt suspiciously irrational.

I spent the rest of the evening only inserting myself into the conversation when I saw an opportunity to gain a better understanding.

When someone mentioned a first shift, I asked whether theirs had happened early.