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Chapter Two
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2025-12-11 09:28:19The Move
It was the same thing over again, the same dream.. The same eyes followed me for over half of my life, at this point it didn’t even feel like a nightmare anymore. It felt like a memory.
I wake up two minutes before my seven am alarm. Because of course I do, that’s who I am now—neurotic, sleep-deprived, and haunted by dreams that always feel too real.
I lie still, staring at the faded glow-in-the-dark stars that Gran stuck on my ceiling when I was seven.
We move today.
Today, I leave everything I’ve ever known behind. The anxiety surrounding this hasn't let me forget that for a single second since Gran barged into my room a few weeks ago and announced she’d put my childhood home on the market.
First came the dreams—different monsters with red eyes. Then came the sleepwalking, gran had to put a bolt on the top of every single door in the house so I didn’t leave in the middle of the night. Last week I broke out in hives just thinking about walking into a new school where I don’t know anyone.
“Saxa!” Gran’s voice calls out from downstairs. Her usual cheerful sing-song. Groaning, I roll out of bed, dragging my feet as I get dressed. Might as well take my time–it’s the last morning I’ll ever spend in this room. This house won’t be ours anymore after today.
I pause at my window, staring down at the bright red SOLD sign stabbed into our lawn. A weight settling in my chest.
We’ve lived in Connecticut for as long as I can remember. It was my parents home, the only place I’ve ever felt close to them. Leaving feels like losing the only piece I've ever had.
They died when I was two months old, car crash. No survivors. The sheriff said the doctors did everything they could.
After that, Gran gave up everything to raise me here, in their house. She said the therapist insisted it was important–for my emotional development or whatever. That it’d be too traumatic to move me somewhere unfamiliar. She took that to heart, leaving her home country to be with me..
But now we’re doing exactly that.
“Saxa, honey? You okay?” Gran’s voice floats up the stairs, soft and concerned.
She knows I’m not okay, of course she does. But she uprooted her whole life for me, and now it’s my turn.
“Yeah, gran. Just getting a little sentimental,” I call back, my voice cracking on the last word.
She appears a few moments later, leaning on the doorframe with that familiar warm smile that almost makes everything feel okay.
“You’re only seventeen, sweet girl. You’ll make new friends. Better ones, maybe.” she says it gently, but I hear the subtext behind it—she never liked the people I spent time with. She said trouble followed them like a shadow. And sure, they weren’t saints, but they were my friends. The people who accepted me..
Still… she’s not wrong. I’ll meet new people, I’ll adjust and we’ll start over.
But that’s not what's tearing me up inside, not really.
“Gran,” I whisper, turning to face her. “I’m scared, I know I was just a baby when they died, but this house…it’s the last real connection I have to them. Every picture, all of their things–it’s here. Leaving feels like losing the only piece I have of them..”
She crossed the room and pulls me into her arms, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head.
“Oh Saxa. the ones we’ve lost… they never really leave us. They live here,” she says, placing a hand gently over my heart. “Their love doesn't vanish with time. It stays, always.” Her fingers brush the scar across my chest–the one I’ve had since before I can remember. She hugs me tighter, and I let the tears come.
“I’ll try gran,” I whisper. “I promise to try and make it work in Balestrand.”
She smiles against my cheek. “Jeg lover deg at du er bestemt til store ting, og alt vil bli åpenbart for deg i god tid, min lille ulv.”
I blink.
“For fucks sake, Gran—I’m never going to survive in Norway. I didn’t understand a single word of that.”
She just laughs softly.
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The Binding Chapter Sixty Seven
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The Binding Chapter Sixty Six
After the LineSaxaThe clearing doesn't empty all at once, it unravels.Wolves break apart from the circle in slow, dragging motions, like they’re peeling themselves away from something sticky and old. Voices stay low, glances sharp and sideways. Nobody’s laughing, nobody’s relaxed. The air around us has that stunned, too bright feeling of after a lightning strike.Under our feet, the wards hum like they’re trying to remember a new tune.Eirik doesn’t move right away.He stands where he was when he drew the line–shoulders squared, jaw clenched, gaze tracking the pack as they drift back toward the trees, the houses, the routines that don’t fit right anymore.Some of them avoid looking at him, more of them avoid looking at me. My wolf is tired and wired at the same time, pacing slow circles inside of my ribs. My throat feels raw, like I’ve been shouting for hours instead of… speaking. Just speaking.“You did well,” gran murmurs at my shoulder.I snort, “I blasphemed in public Gran.”“
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The Night We Stop WhisperingSaxaThe first thing I notice is the sound. Not the distant footsteps or the low voices outside, not even in the creak of the porch under too many boots.It’s the way the forest goes quiet.Like it’s listening. Like it remembers what happens when wolves gather at dusk with fear already sitting heavily in their lungs.I’m still kneeling in the damp grass with Elias slumped against me when Eirik’s command rolls through the territory. I don’t hear the words, not exactly—not the pack-voice version, not the way it threads through bone and instinct—but I feel it.Every wolf does.It’s a call to assemble.Not optional.Elias is breathing more evenly now. His head rests against my shoulder, sweat cooling on his temple, lashes clumped together, glyph-light under his shirt finally dimming to a low, sulking thrum.“Hey,” I murmur, giving his hand a squeeze. “Stay with me a little longer.”“Not going anywhere,” he mutters, voice sandpaper-rough. “Too tired to be drama
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