Chapter 6

When I stepped through the shelter doors for the first time, I felt like an alien landing on an unfamiliar planet.

The room was dimly lit, crowded, and smelled of sweat and faint mildew. Strangers sat hunched on metal chairs, some talking in low voices, others staring blankly into the distance.

My heart hammered in my chest, every instinct screaming at me to leave. But I had nowhere else to go. I crossed my arms tightly around my chest as I walked up to the front desk, where a tired-looking woman barely glanced up.

"Need a bed?" she muttered, her voice hoarse.

"Yes, please," I whispered.

She slid a clipboard toward me, and I stared at it in confusion. My hands trembled—names, phone numbers, addresses. What was I supposed to write? I hadn't used a pen in years, let alone filled out something like this.

"Are you all right?" a voice came from my left.

I turned sharply, my body tensing, but the voice belonged to a boy about my age. He was lean with tousled brown hair and sharp, curious brown eyes. He looked out of place here, too. His presence felt lighter, somehow, like he didn't quite belong in this dark, suffocating space.

"I don't know what to write," I admitted softly, my voice sounding so small.

He looked at the form and grinned, though it wasn't mocking. "You don't need to fill all that out—just your first name. They don't really care about the rest."

Relieved, I scrawled Tyla and pushed the clipboard back. The woman grunted in approval and pointed toward the far side of the room, where rows of creaky bunk beds were crammed together.

"Come on," the boy said, motioning for me to follow. "I'll show you around."

I hesitated, unsure if I could trust him, but something about his smile felt safe.

"Thank you," I murmured, falling into step beside him.

"I'm Garrick, by the way," he said. "You looked like you needed a hand."

"I do," I admitted.

That first night, I didn't sleep. I lay curled on the thin mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling as the sounds of coughing, snoring, and occasional muttering surrounded me. I crossed my arms over my chest, flinching at every creak of the floorboards, every shuffle of feet.

When morning came, Garrick found me sitting outside the shelter, knees hugged to my chest.

"Rough night?" he asked, sitting down beside me.

I nodded, unable to find words.

"It's tough at first. The trick is to keep your head down, don't bother anyone, and get out of here during the day," he said matter-of-factly.

"Get out?"

He smiled. "I'll show you."

Over the next few days, Garrick taught me how to survive in this strange human world. He took me to places I never would have found on my own—alleys behind bakeries where kind staff tossed out perfectly good bread, and restaurants that quietly handed out leftovers to those who knew when to show up.

"Timing is everything," he explained, grinning as he handed me half a loaf of still-warm bread.

He taught me where to find minimal jobs—washing dishes, mopping floors, carrying boxes. "It's not glamorous, but it pays for a meal or two," he said.

I watched him in awe as he navigated this harsh world with such ease. "How do you know all this?" I finally asked one day as we sat behind a diner, splitting a sandwich the cook had slipped us.

He shrugged. "I've been doing it for years. You learn fast when you have no choice."

"I don't know anything," I admitted quietly.

"You're learning now," Garrick replied, his eyes softening as he looked at me. "Where are you from, anyway?"

I stiffened. "A village far away. I left a long time ago."

He nodded like he understood. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Everyone here has a story, but no one's judging."

For the first time in years, I felt safe. I felt lucky to have Garrick. He became my anchor. He was kind, resourceful, and most importantly, he didn't push me to share more than I was ready to.

Under his guidance, I began to see the human world not as terrifying, but as an opportunity.

"I wish I'd come here sooner," I told him one evening as we sat by the river, watching the sunset reflect on the water. "It's not as bad as I thought it would be."

"See? Told you," Garrick teased. "You fit right in."

I smiled, and it wasn't forced. It felt real. For the first time in five years, I felt happy.

The humans had no concept of wolves. They didn't care if I was broken, wolfless, or an outcast. Here, I was just Tyla.

I began to dream again—not of getting my wolf, as those days were long gone, but of a new life. Maybe I could get an education, a job, and one day my own apartment. I imagined waking up in a small, cozy place of my own, with no one to answer to. Just peace.

One evening, Garrick wasn't feeling well. He looked pale, leaning against the bunk bed.

As I walked over, I asked worriedly, "Are you okay?"

"Just a headache," he mumbled, waving me off. "I'll be fine by tomorrow."

"Stay here and rest," I said firmly. "I'll get food for both of us tonight."

Garrick hesitated. "Are you sure you know what to do?"

"I've watched you enough times," I said with a small smile. "I can handle it."

He sighed. "All right. Be careful, Ty."

Mr. Martin, the kind chef at a little diner, had told me to come by at 7:00 p.m. "I'll have something for you," he had said with a wink.

When I arrived, he was waiting at the back door with a bag of warm food. "Here you go, kid," he said, handing it over. "Should be enough for you and your friend."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Martin," I said, my voice full of gratitude.

"Take care of yourself, all right?"

"I will."

On my way back to the shelter, I took a shortcut through a quiet alley, my mind focused on the food I was carrying.

That's when I saw it—a small, limping shape darting into the shadows.

I froze, my heart racing. A wolf pup?

A second later, heavy footsteps echoed behind me. I ducked instinctively behind a huge trash can as three men entered the alley. They looked rough—scarred faces, dark clothes, and an air of menace that made my skin crawl.

"Where did it go?" one man growled.

"It was limping. It couldn't have gotten far," another replied angrily. "You're the idiot who let it escape."

"I didn't see it slip out!"

"Quiet!" the third man snapped. "We'll find it. Split up."

I held my breath as they searched the area, their boots crunching against gravel. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they cursed under their breath and walked away, their voices fading into the distance.

I emerged from my hiding spot and crept deeper into the alley. The pup was curled up in a corner, its small body trembling.

"Hey," I whispered, gently crouching down.

Its ears flattened and it let out a weak growl.

"It's okay," I said softly. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."

The pup watched me warily, its golden eyes filled with fear. My chest ached.

"Those men aren't going to find you. I won't let them." I inched closer, speaking in a low, soothing voice. "You're safe with me, little one."

Surprisingly, the pup didn't growl again. It whimpered softly, as if weighing my words. Slowly, I reached out and touched its fur. It was matted and dirty, and I could feel the tremble in its small frame.

"You're okay now," I murmured, carefully scooping it into my arms.

The pup didn't resist; it was too weak to fight. Clutching the pup close to my chest, I ran. My feet pounded against the pavement as I rushed back to the shelter, my heart racing.

I won't let them hurt you, I promise.