The night deepened.
Sleep never came.
I found Reav outside, standing at the edge of the yard, her silver hair moving with the wind like strands of fog. The moon hung heavy above her, too bright, too close.
" We have to leave its not safe anymore ," I said.
She didn't turn. "You already know why."
I stepped closer, my bare feet cold against the earth. "Then tell me. Tell me what I am."
At that, she faced me. Her eyes,gray, endless,held no comfort. "Not what, Sylvia. Who."
The air seemed to still, listening.
"You both know what u are but were never made," she said softly. " born of the first breath the moon gave the wild. Children of her pulse. Wolves before wolves had names."
My pulse faltered Who was she really what did she know . "That's not possible. We were found..."
"Found, yes," she interrupted. "But not abandoned. You were hidden. Protected from the ones who forgot what sacred means."
Behind us, the door opened with a low creak. Emrys stepped out, his expression shadowed by the porch light. "What are you telling her?"
Reav's gaze moved to him. "The truth you've felt your whole life. Your other half lies doormat not for long.. just waiting"
He frowned, jaw tight. "Felt.Waiting?"
"Every time the moon rose and your blood sang," she said. "Every time you wanted to run, not from something...but to something. That wasn't madness, Emrys. It was memory."
The wind shifted. A low sound came from him. A growl, soft and in human, wrong in its depth.
He looked at me, startled. "Did you hear—"
Then his breath hitched. His eyes widened. For an instant, gold flickered in them—subtle, but sharp enough to cut through the dark.
Reav stepped closer, her tone almost reverent. "The moon's touch stirs the eldest blood first."
Emrys staggered back. "No.stop.This isn't real."
"It is," I whispered, though my voice shook. "I feel it too."
The air grew thick. A hum beneath my skin, a rhythm older than thought. The same glow pulsed faintly beneath the mark on my wrist, and Emrys's—twin flares answering each other.
Reav's voice lowered, steady and sure. "You are wereborn. Not cursed, not changed. Remembered."
The wind picked up, and from far away, deep within the trees, something howled. Not feral—familiar.
Emrys's hands trembled. His breath came ragged. "It's calling me."
"It's calling us," I said.
Reav's eyes softened. "Then go. The moon waits for her children to return."
For a long heartbeat, he looked at me—fear, wonder, belonging. Then he nodded once.
We stepped off the porch. The earth was cold beneath our feet, but it felt like home.
Each step closer to the forest, the hum in my blood grew stronger, the world sharpening.the scent of pine, the whisper of soil, the heartbeat of everything alive.
By the time we reached the tree line, the mark burned like fire.
Emrys turned to me, eyes now fully gold. "Sylvie..."
The moonlight hit his face, and something ancient broke through his skin—light, shadow, wildness. His outline blurred, bones shifting just enough to be wrong and right at once.
And for the first time, I didn't feel fear.
Only recognition.
The wolves' chorus rose, and I knew—
We weren't alone anymore.
By the time we reached the edge of town, the sun was high—too bright, too clean for what we carried back.
The world went on as if nothing had shifted: birds on wires, engines on the road, a woman watering her porch plants. Ordinary sounds. Ordinary lives.
But every scent, every vibration felt sharper. The hum beneath my skin hadn't gone; it had only quieted, waiting.
Emrys kept his hood up, his steps sure but too silent for the pavement. I could see the tension in his shoulders—the same question in both our minds:
Could we go back to pretending? What would happen if our wolves fully awakens.
The house looked smaller than I remembered. Paint peeling. Curtains half-drawn. The same dent in the porch railing where he used to lean when he smoked.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then the door opened.
Our mother stood there, eyes red, a dish towel still in her hands. She froze when she saw us—mud-streaked, barefoot, something wild still clinging to our movements.
"My God," she whispered. "Where were you?"
Emrys started to speak, but no lie would come. I stepped forward, voice low. "Out there. Where we belong... and where we shouldn't."
She reached for me, her touch trembling against my cheek. "You're freezing."
Her warmth hit like mercy. I leaned into it, the scent of tea and soap and safety wrapping around me for one fragile moment.
Inside, everything was the same—the ticking clock, the hum of the fridge, the framed photographs on the wall. It felt like stepping into a memory.
Emrys went straight to the sink, washing the dirt from his hands. The water ran brown, then red, then clear.
"You don't have to tell me anything," she said quietly. "Just the promise you're staying this time."
He met her eyes. "We'll try."
But even as he said it, I saw his gaze flick toward the window—the street beyond. The recognition that we had no time.
Reav's warning echoed in my mind. They already are.
I felt it then—a weight in the air, subtle but cold. A presence that didn't belong.
Emrys must have felt it too. His hand brushed mine under the table, silent, protective.
"We'll pack tomorrow ," he murmured.
I nodded.
Our mother looked between us, her smile small understanding but steady. "You two always had secrets," she said. "Just don't let them take you from each other again."
Outside, the wind rose. The curtains shifted, and for a heartbeat I thought I saw movement in the glass—just the faintest shimmer, like a reflection that wasn't ours.
Somewhere beyond the neighborhood, a howl echoed once and died.
And I knew: the forest hadn't let us go. It had simply followed us home.