Eleanor's POV
The familiar, comforting scent of brewing coffee filled my kitchen, a stark contrast to the phantom smells of burnt fur, silver, and fear that still clung to my memory.
I leaned against the counter, my hands trembling slightly as I replayed the previous night in my head.
It was a blur of pain and primal instinct. Waking up in that pitch-black storage room, remembering how my entire body ached before, as if my skin had tried to tear itself off my bones.
But amidst the terror, there was one clear, bizarre memory: the beast. The massive werewolf I'd chained up.
Somehow, in the depths of that dark night, curled against its warm, heavy fur, the pain had lessened. I'd felt… safe. Protected. It was the weirdest, most illogical feeling in the world.
When I'd woken at dawn, the agony was gone, replaced by a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. I hadn't dared to look at the creature, too afraid of waking it.
