003— "YOU'RE JUST SLEEPING."

I don't know how long I stayed frozen in that passage.

Could have been seconds. Could have been hours. Time stopped meaning anything after the silence swallowed my father's voice.

My hands were still pressed against the door, my ear straining for any sound—a cough, a groan, anything.

But there was nothing.

Just voices talking in low tones.

"Check every room. The daughter has to be here somewhere."

"Alpha wants her found. He says there's good money if we bring her back breathing."

They were looking for me.

I should move. Should crawl deeper into the passage. 

But my family was out there.

Footsteps receded.Then silence again.

I waited until I couldn't hear anything anymore. 

Then I pushed the door open.

The study was a mess. Papers scattered everywhere. My father's desk overturned. But no blood. No bodies.

Maybe they'd taken them somewhere else. 

I moved to the hallway on legs that barely worked. The rejection mark burned with every step.

"Mom?" I called softly. "Dad?"

Nothing.

The air smelled wrong. Like copper pennies and something else I didn't want to name.

The living room was ahead. I could see the edge of the couch, the coffee table.

And something dark spreading across the floor.

My feet stopped moving. My heart was hammering so hard I could hear it in my ears.

I forced myself forward.

My father lay on his back near the fireplace, his eyes were open and staring at nothing. His throat was cut so deep I could see bone. Blood pooled around him, soaking into the carpet, still spreading.

"Dad?"

He didn't move.

"Dad, come on. We need to go. You said five minutes."

Nothing. Just the awful silence and the smell of blood so thick I could taste it.

I took another step and my foot landed in something warm and wet. The sound it made—a soft splash—made bile rise in my throat.

"Dad, please. Stop joking around. We have to leave."

His chest didn't rise. Didn't fall.

My knees hit the floor immediately.

"You're just resting, right? You got tired. You can rest for a minute but then we really need to go—"

My hand touched his arm.

Cold. So cold. 

"No. No, you're fine. You're just cold because the window's open. If I close the window you'll warm up and—"

I looked at the window. It was closed.

"Dad, help me up. My legs aren't working right. Dad?"

His eyes stared past me at the ceiling. They weren't moving. Eyes were supposed to blink. To focus. To see.

"Blink. Please blink. You're scaring me."

He didn't blink.

I touched his face. His cheek. The same cheek I'd kissed goodnight a thousand times. 

I saw my mother then.

She was crumpled near the stairs, her neck bent at an angle that necks don't bend. 

Blood matted her hair. The hair I'd begged her to wear down more often because it was beautiful.

"Mom?"

She didn't answer.

"Mom, Dad's being weird. He won't get up. Can you tell him to stop?"

My voice sounded strange. Too high. Like I was six years old again.

I walked to her and knelt down. Her perfume still clung to her clothes—lavender and vanilla, the same scent she'd worn my entire life. But underneath it was the smell of blood.

"Mom, wake up. Please wake up."

Her hand was cold too when I picked it up. 

I held her hand between both of mine, trying to warm it, but my hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold on.

"You're just sleeping. You hit your head and you're sleeping. That's normal. You'll wake up soon."

But her chest wasn't moving. Her lips were turning blue.

I pressed my hand against her heart.

Nothing. No beat. No rhythm. 

"Wake up. Please. I need you to tell me what to do."

Elijah was in the hallway near his room. Facedown. His shirt was shredded. Claw marks raked across his back so deep I could see his spine. The carpet around him was soaked red.

My baby brother. Nineteen years old. He'd just gotten accepted to college. He'd been so excited.

"Elijah?"

I touched his shoulder and his body moved wrong. Too loose. 

"Get up. Please get up. Mom and Dad need help and I can't do this alone."

His blood was pooling under him, spreading across the floor.

The truth crashed into me and my lungs forgot how to work.

They weren't sleeping. They weren't resting.

They were dead. All of them. Dead.

"No." The word came out as a whimper. "No, no, no—"

I crawled back to my father, my hands and knees slipping in his blood. It was everywhere. On my skin. Soaking through my clothes. 

"Wake up! You promised! You promised five minutes!"

His head lolled to the side when I shook him.

I pressed my hands against the wound in his throat like I could hold him together. Blood pumped between my fingers and I couldn't stop it—

"I'm sorry. I should have stayed. I should have fought with you. I'm sorry—"

This couldn't be real. Any second I'd wake up and none of this would have happened.

But the blood was real. The silence was real.

"Please don't leave me," I sobbed. "Please. Just don't leave me alone."

The rejection mark between my shoulder blades burned like someone was grinding broken glass into my spine. My teeth were chattering even though I wasn't cold.

I'd hidden while they died.

The taste of bile filled my mouth. I couldn't stop shaking.

"I'll kill him," I whispered.

I looked at my father's face again. Memorized it through the blur of tears. The scar on his chin. The gray in his hair.

“Please come back,” I sobbed.

Maybe if I said it loud enough.

Maybe then they would move.

The sobs continued.

I couldn't stop. The sound just kept coming, tearing up my throat.

Heavy footsteps thundered from upstairs.

"Did you hear that?"

"Sounded like it came from down here—"

A guard appeared at the top of the stairs. His eyes locked onto mine.

"There! The daughter!"

Adrenaline slammed through me.

I scrambled to my feet and ran.

Through the living room. Toward the study. My shoes left bloody footprints on the floor.

Relentless footsteps behind me.

"Stop!"

I didn't stop.

Arms locked around me from behind.

"Thought you could hide? You're worth a fortune."

I twisted violently. His breath was sour against my neck.

"Stop fighting—"

I slammed my head backward into his face. He howled and his grip loosened.

I drove my elbow into his ribs and kicked backward as hard as I could.

He dropped like a stone.

I ran into the study. Toward the bookshelf.

"She's in the study!"

More footsteps. At least three more guards.

I grabbed the bookshelf and pulled. My muscles screamed but it moved.

The guard on the floor grabbed my ankle.

"Not... so fast..."

I kicked at his hand. His fingers dug into my skin but I kicked harder. Again. Again.

His grip broke.

I yanked the bookshelf open and threw myself through the passage door.

Hands pounded on the door immediately.

"Open up!"

"Break it down!"

I moved deeper into the passage.

Dad had said it led outside. There had to be an exit.

My fingers hit something different. Wood.

I pushed. Nothing happened. Pushed harder.

The pounding behind me got louder. 

"She's in the walls!"

I slammed my shoulder against the wood panel. Once. Twice. Pain exploded through my arm.

It gave.

Cold night air rushed in. I smelled pine and earth and freedom.

The door behind me exploded open.

"There!"

I squeezed through the opening—