Chapter 2: The Girl of Two Worlds

“The moon is watching me again.”

That’s the first thought I had when I woke, heart hammering, sheets tangled around my legs as though I’d been running. My breath came in sharp bursts, my throat dry, my skin damp with sweat. The dream clung to me, heavy and vivid, refusing to let go even as the sunlight filtered through my curtains.

It was the same dream. Always the same.

A forest—endless, wild, alive with whispers. The moon hung huge above me, so close it felt like I could reach out and touch it, its silver light pouring down like a flood. And in the shadows, wolves. Dozens of them. Eyes gleaming like burning coals, teeth bared not in threat but in… recognition. As though they knew me. As though they were waiting.

And then—the howl. Low at first, then rising, shaking the marrow of my bones until I couldn’t breathe. A call. A summons.

That’s always when I woke.

I sat up slowly, pressing a trembling hand against my chest, willing my heartbeat to steady. “It’s just a dream,” I whispered aloud, as if saying it would make it true.

But deep down, I wasn’t sure.

My alarm clock buzzed a second later, jarring me out of the haze. 7:00 a.m. Normal people were supposed to wake up, make coffee, and go about their day. Normal people didn’t dream about forests they’d never been to or hear phantom howls that echoed even after they opened their eyes.

Dragging myself out of bed, I padded across the wooden floor to the small mirror propped on my dresser. My reflection looked… wrong. Pale skin, flushed cheeks, dark circles beneath my hazel eyes. I leaned closer, and for the briefest second, I thought I saw a flicker of gold in them, like the reflection of firelight.

I blinked hard. Just tired. That was all.

I shook my head, grabbed a brush, and tried to tame the wild mess of my dark brown hair. By the time I threw on jeans and a sweater, I looked somewhat human again, though the heaviness in my chest lingered.

Coffee. I needed coffee. Maybe then I’d stop thinking about wolves staring at me from the dark.

I was halfway through pouring cereal when my phone buzzed. A text from Mira, my best friend since forever.

Mira: Tell me you’re not still in bed.

Me: I’m alive. Barely.

Mira: Dream again?

Me: …Yeah.

A few seconds passed, and then—

Mira: I’m coming over. Don’t argue.

I groaned, though a small part of me was grateful. Mira never let me drown in my own head for long.

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, there was a sharp knock at the door, and Mira strolled in without waiting for me to answer. That was just her way.

She was all sunlight and energy—blonde ponytail swinging, bright blue hoodie, eyes that always seemed to find the silver lining in everything. She plopped down at my tiny kitchen table, snatching a spoonful of my cereal before I could protest.

“You look like death,” she announced cheerfully. “And not the cool gothic kind. The sad, sleep-deprived kind.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, taking a sip of coffee.

She tilted her head, studying me. “Same dream?”

I nodded, staring into the dark liquid in my mug. “Forest. Moon. Wolves. Always the same. It feels… real. Too real.”

“Dreams are just dreams, Elara,” she said gently, though her expression softened with concern. “Maybe it’s your subconscious trying to tell you something. Like, you secretly want a dog.”

I couldn’t help a small laugh, but it faded quickly. “It doesn’t feel like that. It feels like… like they’re calling me.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them, and for a moment, Mira just stared. Then she reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

“Hey,” she said softly. “You’ve been through a lot. Losing your dad so young, your mom always working, carrying everything on your own… maybe your brain just needs a place to put all that. That doesn’t mean wolves are out there waiting for you, okay?”

I swallowed hard, nodding, though the unease in my chest didn’t lift.

Because what I couldn’t tell Mira—what I couldn’t tell anyone—was that when I closed my eyes, I still felt the earth beneath my paws, the wind in my lungs, the pull of something ancient and wild singing in my veins.

And I was terrified that one day, I wouldn’t wake up from it.

By the time Mira and I left my apartment, the air outside was crisp with the faint smell of rain. Our little town wasn’t much to look at—rows of brick buildings, a few diners, a grocery store, and the kind of streets where everyone knew everyone else’s business before breakfast.

It was safe. Ordinary. Exactly the kind of place where wolves didn’t exist.

At least, not outside my head.

Still, as we walked down Main Street, I couldn’t shake the feeling that everything around me was… louder. The clatter of a truck unloading boxes at the corner store grated in my ears. The perfume of a passing woman hit me so strong I nearly gagged. Even the rustle of pigeons’ wings as they scattered from a lamppost made my heart race.

I rubbed my temples, trying to will the strange sensitivity away.

“Earth to Elara,” Mira said, waving a hand in front of my face. “You look like you’re about to faint again.”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Just… tired.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Tired from what? You literally do nothing exciting. Ever. I swear, one day I’m going to drag you into something fun if it kills me.”

I smiled weakly, grateful for her relentless energy even when I couldn’t match it. “I thought going to work with you was the fun thing?”

“Work isn’t fun, it’s slavery,” she said dramatically, pushing open the glass door of the bookstore. “But at least the smell of books makes the chains bearable.”

The little bell above the door jingled as we stepped inside. Warm light pooled over rows of shelves, and the faint, comforting scent of paper and ink wrapped around me like a blanket.

Mira went straight to the counter, tossing her bag down. “You,” she pointed at me, “go sit in the armchair. Look mysterious. Maybe someone will finally hit on you.”

I rolled my eyes but obeyed, sinking into the old leather chair by the window. The morning sun slanted across the floorboards, catching dust motes that danced in the air. For a few minutes, I let myself pretend everything was normal. Just another ordinary day in an ordinary town.

But the feeling didn’t last.

As I absently flipped through a book, I caught sight of something moving outside the window. At first, I thought it was a stray dog darting across the street. But then I saw the way it moved—graceful, deliberate, too large for a dog. My pulse spiked.

Wolf.

I blinked, and it was gone.

My breath caught in my throat. Had I imagined it? Wolves didn’t belong here. They didn’t roam through town in broad daylight.

“You okay?” Mira’s voice jolted me. She was leaning over the counter, studying me with concern.

“Yeah,” I said quickly, snapping the book shut. “Just thought I saw something.”

She grinned. “If it was a cute guy, please tell me you didn’t scare him off with your resting don’t-talk-to-me face.”

I forced a laugh, though my hands still trembled. “Not exactly.”

The rest of the morning passed slowly. I tried to distract myself with books, with conversation, but my mind kept circling back to the dreams. The howls. The flicker of gold in my reflection. And now this—the shadow of a wolf in the middle of town.

By the time Mira’s shift ended, I felt raw, like my skin didn’t quite fit.

At home, I went straight to my dresser and pulled open the bottom drawer. Beneath folded sweaters lay a small wooden box, worn at the edges. My fingers lingered on the lid before I opened it.

Inside was a silver locket. My father’s.

I lifted it carefully, the chain cool against my skin. The design was simple, except for the strange sigil etched on the back—an intricate knot of lines that looked almost like… claws. Or fangs.

I didn’t know why I kept it hidden. Maybe because every time I touched it, I felt something stir in me. A heaviness. A connection I couldn’t explain.

Dad had died when I was young. The memories I had of him were blurred at the edges, but I remembered his warmth, the way his voice rumbled when he told bedtime stories, the way his eyes seemed to hold secrets he never shared.

Sometimes, I wondered if he knew. If he’d understood why his daughter would grow up seeing wolves in her dreams.

That night, I stood at my bedroom window, staring at the forest beyond the edge of town. The trees loomed dark against the sky, swaying gently in the wind. The moon was rising, full and bright.

I should have closed the curtains. I should have climbed into bed and forced myself to sleep.

But I couldn’t move. Something about the night felt alive, electric, as though the air itself held its breath.

And then I heard it.

A howl. Low, mournful, rising into the air until it vibrated through my bones.

I froze, heart thundering. This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t in my head. I was awake.

The sound carried across the town, fading slowly into silence.

I pressed a hand to the glass, my chest tight.

Something inside me stirred in answer.