Chapter 3

The next morning, Seraphina woke up clutching the silver pendant in her hand. It was still warm. Like it had never cooled. Like it was alive.

She sat up slowly, her muscles sore from last night’s impromptu forest sprint. Her brain felt like it had been run over by a truck full of unanswered questions. Lucien. The wolf. The pendant. And apparently, a war?

“Awesome,” she muttered, dragging herself to the bathroom.

After a lukewarm shower and two Pop-Tarts, she sat at the kitchen table staring at the moonstone. It pulsed slightly in the sunlight. Not visibly, exactly—but she felt it.

Then she remembered something.

The attic.

Her grandmother’s journal. Or spellbook. Or maybe a treasure map. Whatever it was, it had been tucked away, and Seraphina hadn’t had the guts to look too closely yet. But if anyone had answers, it was Elira Blake.

She climbed the stairs two at a time and threw open the attic door. Dust motes floated in the slanting light from the small window. She shuffled past old furniture, a mannequin draped in a witchy cloak, and stacks of yellowed newspapers.

There it was—an old wooden chest with strange symbols carved along the sides. She knelt in front of it, heart racing, and flipped the latch.

Inside: a leather-bound book, a dagger with a silver handle, a bundle of dried herbs, and—of course—a small black envelope with her name on it.

Her hands shook as she opened it.

“Seraphina,” the note read in her grandmother’s tidy, looping script, “If you’re reading this, then it means the wards have failed and you’ve come home. Trust your instincts. Wear the pendant. And whatever you do—stay away from the full moon.”

She stared at the words for a long moment.

The full moon was tomorrow.

The next morning, Seraphina woke up clutching the silver pendant in her hand. It was still warm. Like it had never cooled. Like it was alive.

She sat up slowly, her muscles sore from last night’s impromptu forest sprint. Her brain felt like it had been run over by a truck full of unanswered questions. Lucien. The wolf. The pendant. And apparently, a war?

“Awesome,” she muttered, dragging herself to the bathroom.

After a lukewarm shower and two Pop-Tarts, she sat at the kitchen table staring at the moonstone. It pulsed slightly in the sunlight. Not visibly, exactly—but she felt it.

Then she remembered something.

The attic.

Her grandmother’s journal. Or spellbook. Or maybe a treasure map. Whatever it was, it had been tucked away, and Seraphina hadn’t had the guts to look too closely yet. But if anyone had answers, it was Elira Blake.

She climbed the stairs two at a time and threw open the attic door. Dust motes floated in the slanting light from the small window. She shuffled past old furniture, a mannequin draped in a witchy cloak, and stacks of yellowed newspapers.

There it was—an old wooden chest with strange symbols carved along the sides. She knelt in front of it, heart racing, and flipped the latch.

Inside: a leather-bound book, a dagger with a silver handle, a bundle of dried herbs, and—of course—a small black envelope with her name on it.

Her hands shook as she opened it.

“Seraphina,” the note read in her grandmother’s tidy, looping script, “If you’re reading this, then it means the wards have failed and you’ve come home. Trust your instincts. Wear the pendant. And whatever you do—stay away from the full moon.”

She stared at the words for a long moment.

The full moon was tomorrow.

Seraphina sat cross-legged on the dusty attic floor, the leather-bound book open in front of her. The pages were brittle but intact, filled with her grandmother’s elegant handwriting. Symbols, spells, and notes—some written in Latin, others in English—covered every inch.

One phrase kept showing up again and again: “The Blood Wakes.”

She traced it with her fingertip. “What does that even mean?”

A gust of wind rattled the attic window. She jumped, heart racing, but it was just the trees swaying outside. She tried to laugh it off, but the tension in her shoulders wouldn’t go away.

Downstairs, her phone buzzed. She climbed down quickly and checked it. A text from an unknown number.

Unknown: The moon is coming. You don’t have much time.

She stared at the message. No name. No number. Just that.

Another message followed a second later.

Unknown: They know you’re here.

Her heart dropped. She grabbed the pendant from the table and slipped it over her head. Its warmth immediately steadied her, like it was made to fit her.

She locked the doors. Closed the curtains. She even considered calling the police, but what would she say? “Hi, yes, I think some werewolves are texting me”?

Instead, she called the only person who seemed to know what the hell was going on.

Lucien didn’t answer.

She texted: I got a message. They know I’m here. What does that mean??

No response.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. She tried to distract herself—cleaning, rereading parts of the journal, drinking way too much coffee—but her nerves kept coiling tighter.

That night, the forest seemed louder. Like it was whispering.

She couldn’t sleep. At some point past midnight, she gave up trying and went outside onto the back porch. The air was thick. The trees beyond her yard swayed unnaturally.

Then she heard it.

A low growl.

Her eyes locked onto the tree line.

There—something moved. Quick. Silent. She blinked, and it was gone.

She backed toward the door, fingers fumbling for the knob—

A shadow leapt onto the porch from above. She screamed, stumbling back, but it wasn’t Lucien.

It was something else.

Eyes glowing red. Teeth bared. And unlike Lucien’s wolf form, this one didn’t seem interested in protecting her.

It looked like it wanted to tear her apart.

“Stay back!” she yelled, holding the pendant like a shield.

The creature paused. Just for a second. Enough for her to lunge back into the house and slam the door.

It hit the wood hard, snarling.

She ran to the kitchen, heart hammering. The dagger from the attic—she needed it. She sprinted upstairs, not bothering with the lights, and flung open the attic chest.

The door creaked open behind her.

Too late.

The creature was inside the house.

And she was trapped.