Chapter 3: The First Night

(POV: Aria / Kai / Darius)

Aria

The neighbors’ yard lights blinked off one by one, like tired eyes closing. I stood at the kitchen window until the dark felt settled again.

Maya had texted earlier — u alive? — and I’d sent a single thumbs-up. Anything else would’ve meant questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

The hum under my skin hadn’t left. It was quieter than last night but not gone — like a radio tuned just off-station, buzzing softly in the background. Pretending all day had been exhausting. I’d eaten, showered, even laughed at something Mom said at breakfast, but night stripped away all the pretending.

He was already there.

Kai stepped from the tree line the way smoke slips from a fire — quiet, inevitable.

“You said we’d start,” I said, hugging my arms around myself.

His eyes swept over me once, like he was making sure I was whole. “Shoes you can run in. Good.”

“I’m not running,” I said.

“Not unless you choose to,” he said, and something almost like a smile touched his mouth. “Come on.”

We walked until the grass gave way to a carpet of pine needles. It felt like crossing a border, even though it was just a few steps. The air was cooler, sharper.

“Three anchors,” Kai said. “Breath. Body. Boundary. Tonight we practice until you can hold yourself steady when the pull comes.”

“What pull?”

“You already know,” he said.

We kept walking until the house lights were gone. The woods felt bigger than they had yesterday — not darker, just closer, like they’d leaned in.

“Breath first,” Kai said. “In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Longer on the out.”

The first breath caught halfway. The second scraped. By the sixth, my chest loosened and the hum softened.

“Good,” he said. “Body next. Touch wrist, collarbone, sternum. Name what you feel.”

I touched my wrist. “Fast.” My collarbone. “Tight.” My sternum. “Hot.”

Naming it made me feel less like I was drowning.

“Boundary,” he said. “Picture the ground that’s yours. Decide where no one steps without permission. Say it if you have to. Out loud if it helps.”

I drew the circle in my mind. The air inside it felt heavier, claimed.

“Again,” he said.

We repeated the sequence until my thoughts stopped bouncing like loose marbles and settled.

“What happens when the pull comes?” I asked.

“You’ll want to move without deciding. That’s how you lose yourself. So choose — toward or away — but make it a choice.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then you borrow mine.”

The words landed like a promise, not a command.

A sound threaded through the night — high, thin, not bird, not human. It brushed the inside of my ears and made the hairs on my arms rise.

“That,” I whispered.

“Scout,” Kai said. “Not him. Hold your anchors.”

The sound came again, closer. The wanting hit low and sharp, like a hook sliding under my ribs.

“I want to go,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Wanting is information,” he said. “It doesn’t get to decide.”

The sound dropped lower. My body leaned forward before I told it to.

“Choose,” Kai said.

I stepped once, deliberately, and stopped. The wanting pulled harder, as if surprised I hadn’t kept going. I stayed still.

“It’s testing you,” he said.

“What happens if I fail?”

“Then it comes closer and asks again, in a way you won’t like.”

Branches stirred. The next sound wasn’t a note but breath. I could smell it now — musk, wet fur, meat gone sour, and under it cedar where something had rubbed a mark that didn’t belong.

“I can smell it,” I said, both sick and fascinated.

“Good. Sort it. Yours or not yours.”

“Not mine,” I said, though my pulse said otherwise.

The thing stepped into the moonlight — not fully wolf, not man. Long arms, patient shoulders, eyes like dull coins. It watched me like I was a door it wanted to walk through.

“Name?” I asked.

“Not one you need,” Kai said.

The pressure rose, hot and thick, pushing under my skin. Come here.

I wanted to. Every muscle wanted to.

“Borrow my choice,” Kai said.

I held onto his voice and stopped. The pressure swelled, then ebbed.

“You’re not getting her,” Kai said, calm as water. “Go back.”

The creature tilted its head, then turned and slipped into the brush.

I kept breathing until my knees stopped shaking.

“That was—”

“A test,” Kai said. “It’ll report.”

“To Darius,” I said.

He didn’t confirm. He didn’t need to.

Anger bloomed hot. “You talk like I’m inventory.”

“You’re not. But he wants you to feel like you are.”

“Why?”

“Because if he writes your story first, you’ll spend your strength fighting his version before you ever find your own.”

The words stung because they made sense.

We started walking again. The forest thinned until the sky opened a little.

“What did you mean about borrowing your choice?” I asked. “Is that… pack stuff?”

“It’s survival,” he said. “But yes. In a healthy pack, if one can’t choose, the Alpha chooses until they can.”

“Is that you?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “Not yet. I’m next in line.”

“What happened to the current Alpha?”

“He’s wounded,” Kai said. “Healing slower than he should.”

Cold slid under my ribs. “Is that Darius?”

“Not directly. But pressure always brings opportunists.”

We stopped at a fallen log, its bark stripped clean on one side. Kai crouched and touched the wood.

“Border mark,” he said.

I crouched too, smelling it before I meant to. Pine, earth — and something else.

“Cedar,” he said, answering the question I hadn’t asked. “It means this side is ours. The other side is not.”

“What happens if someone crosses?”

“They get one warning,” he said. “Then we remind them who we are.”

“Sounds civilized.”

“Sometimes it is.” His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Sometimes not.”

I stood, brushing pine needles from my palms. “So what now?”

“Again,” he said. “Anchors. Then we move.”

“Move where?”

“To the edge,” he said. “You should know where your ground ends.”

And we walked on, the night full of sounds I could suddenly name.

Darius

They never look at you the first time. The almost-wolves. They look through you, over you, at the shape you make in the dark.

The girl did it now — throat tight, shoulders braced, eyes fixed on where I had been. Balanced. That pleased me. Balance meant she wouldn’t fall too fast. Slow was sweeter.

Kai was doing his drills: breath, body, boundary. Neat work. Almost boring. But boredom builds walls — and when the walls crack, they make better music.

I let the scout leave tracks just shallow enough for Kai to find and smooth away. I wanted him to know I was close. Wanted him to imagine the next move.

The moon would be full soon enough. He’d keep her close until then. He’d lend her his choices until she thought they were hers.

And then I’d show her what freedom feels like.

Aria

By the time I made it back to my room, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

I sat on the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, trying to breathe slow enough to trick my body into calm. My teeth clicked once, twice — not from cold but from whatever was still burning under my skin.

The door cracked open. Maya’s head poked in, her hair a mess.

“You good?” she asked softly.

I nodded too fast. “Yeah. Just tired.”

She frowned but didn’t push. “Okay. Don’t stay up all night.”

When she left, I pressed my palms flat to the blanket to make the tremor stop. It didn’t. Not for a long time.