CHAPTER 3

Jaxon Reed did not show up on Tuesday.

Elijah noticed the difference the moment he stepped into the basement. The air felt flatter, chairs seemed smaller. Almost as if the night was waiting for something to disrupt the peace, the room felt too tidy.

His empty seat was once again empty. It had never mattered before. Now it pulled at him like a quiet question.

He sat in his usual chair. His posture was straight, breathing was even, but his expression remained unreadable. Yet the wolf inside him lifted its head and scanned the air with restless curiosity.

Dr. Chen greeted the group with her soft voice and steady eyes. “Let’s begin.”

Sarah went first. She spoke about cleaning her son’s room and finding a shirt that still smelled faintly of his detergent. Her hands trembled as she described pressing the fabric to her chest.

Robert talked about his garden, and how empty the small patch felt without his husband beside him. Curtis, the man who preferred to stand behind the circle, remained silent but stayed the entire time.

When attention shifted to Elijah, he said only two words.

“Nothing changed.”

It was the truth. Inside him, nothing had softened, gotten healed, or shifted. And yet something subtle and unwelcome had altered the air tonight.

He did not like that he knew why.

When the session ended, he stayed seated. The room emptied slowly, as if the walls themselves were reluctant to let people go. Dr. Chen lingered at the countertop, rinsing a mug with her usual unhurried care.

Elijah stepped toward her. “Jaxon,” he said.

She looked up. “Yes?”

“Is he registered?” Elijah asked.

“No,” she said. She did not look surprised. “Some people attend after seeing flyers or hearing about us from someone else. They come in waves sometimes. They disappear in waves too.”

“He said he lied to get in.”

She nodded once. “He did. Some people lie because they are not ready to speak the truth yet.”

“He unsettled the group.”

She tilted her head. “Especially you.”

Elijah did not deny it. “He was loud.”

“So is loss,” she replied.

He watched her hands for a moment. Then he turned, walked up the stairs, and left without another word.

That night, sleep refused to come.

He stood in front of his penthouse windows while moonlight washed over the glass and marble. The city glittered far below. His reflection stared back at him like a stranger he had grown accustomed to tolerating.

The wolf pressed forward inside him. The voice was an inaudible murmur.

He woke us up.

“Go back to sleep,” Elijah said.

He is not human.

Elijah clenched his jaw. “Of course he is.”

He did not meet your eyes with fear.

“That does not mean anything.”

It means everything.

He pressed his forehead against the cool glass. The city lights felt too sharp. His own heartbeat felt too loud. The memory of Jaxon’s messy curls and quiet smirk hovered behind his eyes like static.

He did not want to think about the man. He did not want to replay every careless smile, every subtle shift in expression, every moment of chaotic presence.

And yet he did.

On Thursday, he arrived at the group early. He told himself it was routine, that he wanted silence, and that he did not care.

The truth sat heavily behind all those thoughts.

He cared.

The empty chair was empty again.

People filed in as usual. Sarah. Margaret, who had returned with a stiff posture and a wary glance toward the seat Jaxon had occupied. Robert. Curtis. A few unfamiliar faces.

Elijah kept his gaze neutral. The wolf did not. It listened, tasted the air, and waited.

Stories passed from one person to the next. Margaret spoke about an old photograph she had found in a drawer. Sarah talked about picking up groceries alone. A man named Greg described the way hospital hallways still haunted him.

Elijah listened without listening.

Halfway through Greg’s story, the door opened.

Softly this time.

No dramatic entrance or noise.

Just a figure stepping inside as if he had always belonged in the room.

Jaxon.

His curls were damp, as though he had walked through rain without caring. His jacket hung open, revealing a thrift-store shirt with fading letters. Water dripped from his cuffs. His smile was smaller tonight, but still bright enough to shift the energy in the room.

He scanned the circle.

Then he saw Elijah.

The smile sharpened.

Without hesitation, Jaxon crossed the room. He passed every empty chair. He passed the ones closest to the coffeepot and the ones nearest to the door.

He sat in the seat beside Elijah again.

Elijah did not look at him, but something inside him leaned toward the warmth that followed Jaxon like an aura.

“Hi, neighbor,” Jaxon whispered.

“You are late,” Elijah said quietly.

“I had something important I did not care about,” Jaxon said. “I feel like that counts as a reason.”

The wolf pressed forward with interest. Elijah ignored it.

The group continued.

Jaxon behaved differently tonight. Less theatrical and loud. His hands rested loosely on his knees. His leg bounced only once before he caught himself while his gaze moved around the circle with a careful focus.

When Dr. Chen asked for volunteers to speak, Jaxon surprised everyone.

“I will go,” he said.

Elijah’s spine straightened before he could stop it.

Jaxon leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He did not smile. He did not play to the room. His voice had a softness that did not match anything he had shown before.

“You know how people talk about grief like it is a storm or a tide?” he said. “Mine is more like static. It is always there. It fills up the background. It is not loud, but it never stops.”

The room went silent.

“I am not grieving a person,” he continued. “I am grieving a version of myself I invented. I sold him to everyone. I lived as him for years. Then he died. I think I killed him. I think I needed to.”

Sarah wiped her eyes.

Robert nodded once, slowly.

Jaxon lowered his gaze. “The worst part is that I miss him even though he was fake.”

No one laughed, shifted, or breathed too loudly as he finished speaking.

Dr. Chen spoke gently. “Thank you, Jaxon.”

He sat back. His eyes flickered briefly toward Elijah. Something unspoken passed between them. Something sharp and quiet and familiar.

The session ended soon after.

Jaxon left without lingering. He slipped into the hallway without picking up his bag at first, then doubled back, grabbed it, and vanished again.

Elijah waited a full minute before following.

Outside, rain misted across the streetlights. Jaxon leaned against the stone arch of the church, lighting a cigarette with cupped hands. The flame illuminated the tension in his jaw.

Elijah stepped closer. “You spoke tonight,” he said.

Jaxon blew out smoke in a slow ribbon. “Do not sound so shocked,” he said. “I talk when I feel like talking.”

“You lied to get into this group.”

“I tell the truth in the wrong way,” Jaxon answered. “People assume it is a lie.”

Elijah studied him. “Why did you come back?”

Jaxon shrugged. “I do not know how to stay quiet when I am alone,” he said. “This room makes it easier. I only have to pretend to be broken here. That is simpler than pretending to be fine.”

Elijah stepped closer. “I told you not to speak to me.”

“And yet,” Jaxon said, “here you are talking to me.”

The wolf pressed so hard against him that he felt his pulse respond.

“You should stay away from me,” Elijah said.

“You want me to?” Jaxon asked.

Elijah hesitated. “No,” he said.

Jaxon smiled, soft at the edges. “Then I will see you on Tuesday.”

He walked into the rain without looking back.

Elijah watched until the wet night swallowed the shape of him.

Inside his chest, the wolf lifted its head fully.

It was fully awake now.