Familiar Strangers

The hot water hit Aria’s skin like relief.

For a moment, she let her eyes close and breathed in the steam and scent of coconut shampoo. The familiar fragrance pulled up a memory—long summer runs through the woods, sun warming her skin, sweat drying against her curls. Safer times. Before everything went wrong.

She lathered conditioner into her hair, detangling gently, then reached for the lavender body wash. The floral notes clung to her skin, soft and calming, masking the tension still humming in her chest.

When she stepped out, her skin steamed in the cool air. She toweled off quickly, brushed her teeth, and smoothed moisturizer into her face with steady hands. She didn’t rush—routine was its own form of grounding.

In the mirror, her curls sprang back to life. Dark, soft ringlets framed her face and bounced down her back. She adjusted a few coils with her fingers, then pulled on a clean hoodie and jeans.

The house was quiet downstairs. She could hear her mother in the kitchen, moving softly.

When she came down, Lisa glanced over her shoulder. “Morning, sweetheart. I thought I’d make your favorite tonight. But we’re short on ingredients. Want to come with me to the store?”

Aria hesitated. The idea of being seen… of running into anyone… sent a flicker of unease through her chest. Her wolf shifted, ears twitching.

But Lisa was watching her with that calm, patient strength that had always made Aria feel safe.

She nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

The store felt too bright.

The lighting buzzed. The carts squeaked. It was all too much too fast, but Aria kept her head down and stayed close to her mom as they moved through the aisles.

She grabbed a bag of rosemary, some red potatoes, green beans. Her mom handled the meat. They didn’t speak much, and that was fine.

Until they turned a corner.

And stopped.

Damien.

He blinked like he’d seen a ghost. “Aria?”

Her stomach dropped.

He looked exactly the same—except the smirk was gone. Her wolf bristled. Not with fear. With warning.

Her mother stepped in immediately. “Damien.”

“Beta Lisa,” he said, his voice smooth. Too smooth. “Didn’t expect to see you two out here.”

“We won’t be long,” Lisa replied curtly. “Come on, Aria.”

Aria didn’t say a word. Just walked past him, letting her wolf’s steady growl settle like a weight behind her ribs.

He turned, watching them go. “Good to see you again.”

But his tone said the opposite.

Back home, Aria set the groceries on the kitchen counter and took a deep breath.

“Go on,” Lisa said gently. “Your dad’s waiting.”

Outside, the backyard training mat looked like something out of her old life—scuffed, worn, surrounded by old targets and sandbags. Her father was already stretching, Glock 23 holstered at his hip.

“You ready?” he asked.

She nodded. “Always.”

They started with hand-to-hand. It was fast, focused, and intense. Roy didn’t hold back. He never had. Aria landed a few good hits, but he always saw the openings before she did.

“You hesitate,” he said, catching her wrist. “Your wolf doesn’t. Why do you?”

“Because I don’t want to lose control.”

Roy let go and stepped back, nodding once. “Fair answer. But you won’t lose control if you trust your training.”

She hated how right he was.

When they moved to firearms, the rhythm changed. She loaded her Glock 19, fingers steady. Every pull of the trigger pushed the rest of the world further away.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

Each shot hit its mark. Clean. Efficient.

Roy whistled low. “Still got that dead-eye.”

“I learned from the best.”

He grinned, then aimed his own Glock and fired off three perfect shots without blinking. “Damn right you did.”

They kept shooting until the sun sank low behind the treetops.

Inside, the smell of steak and potatoes drifted out the kitchen window.

For the first time in days, Aria felt like she could breathe.

But her wolf didn’t.

It paced.

Still waiting.

Still listening.