Chapter 4

Calla's Perspective

The drive home felt like traveling between two different worlds. I gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, my knuckles white against the worn leather as I tried to process everything that had happened. The familiar streets of Willow's End looked exactly the same, but I felt fundamentally altered, like I was wearing a costume of my former self.

"You're overthinking this," my wolf murmured. Knowing whose voice it was and that I wasn’t going crazy seemed to make her even more talkative. "This is who we've always been. We just finally have a name for it."

"Easy for you to say," I muttered under my breath. "You don't have to figure out how to go back to pretending to be normal. Or how to face the people who raised me while hiding what I just learned."

"They are still our family," my wolf said gently. "That love is real, even if they are not blood."

But even as she said it, I couldn't shake the feeling that nothing would ever be the same. The weight of truth had settled into my bones, changing me from the inside out. I was Calla Merrin, daughter of Mom and Dad. But I was also Calla, daughter of Isolde and someone named Korran, niece to a woman who could explain the voice in my head, cousin to a young man whose eyes could glow like a wolf's.

And in less than a week, according to Anya, I would transform into something that shouldn't exist outside of fantasy novels.

My phone buzzed with a text from Maya: How did your mysterious meeting go? Still alive? Should I call off the search party?

I pulled over to respond, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. How did you even begin to explain something like this?

Very much alive. A lot to tell you. Can you come over tonight? I typed back.

Of course. Bringing ice cream and popcorn. Whatever happened, we'll figure it out.

The simple promise brought tears to my eyes. Maya, who'd been my anchor through every teenage crisis, who'd celebrated every small victory and mourned every disappointment. How could I possibly explain that everything we'd shared had been built on a foundation I myself hadn't even known was false?

By the time I reached the house, I had managed to compose myself enough to face Mom and Dad. They were in the kitchen when I entered, Mom chopping vegetables for dinner while Dad read the newspaper at the breakfast bar. The scene was so achingly normal that it made my chest tight.

"There she is," Dad said, looking up with the warm smile that had made me feel safe for seventeen years. "How was your day out?"

I stared at him—really stared—taking in the kind brown eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, the laugh lines around his mouth that spoke of years of patient humor, the careful way he and Mom had built a life around protecting and nurturing a child who wasn't biologically theirs. Had they known they were hiding something supernatural? Had they suspected there was something different about me? Or had they simply been told to love and protect me without ever knowing why I might need protection?

"It was... enlightening," I said finally, which was probably the understatement of the century.

Mom glanced up from her cutting board, her maternal radar apparently pinging something in my tone. "Everything alright, sweetheart? You look like you've had quite a day."

If only she knew. I'd discovered I was a werewolf, learned I was adopted, found out my birth parents were dead, and met family I never knew existed. But I couldn't say any of that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"Something like that," I managed, accepting the glass of water Mom offered me. I used the moment to study the people who'd raised me—really study them. Dad's perpetual kindness, Mom's intuitive nurturing, the way they moved around each other with the easy synchronization of people who'd built a life together around love and shared purpose.

They'd chosen me. Whatever the circumstances of my adoption, whatever they'd been told about my origins, they'd chosen to make me their daughter. And that was everything.

"I might be going through some changes soon," I said carefully, testing the waters. "Growing up stuff. Figuring out who I really am."

Mom nodded knowingly. "Senior year can be like that. All those college applications, thinking about your future, becoming independent. It's a big transition."

If only it were that simple. But I found myself grateful for their normal, human interpretation of my cryptic words. At least for tonight, I could let them think my biggest concerns were college and growing up, not supernatural heritage and ancient bloodlines.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Something like that."

Dad folded his newspaper and gave me the kind of focused attention that had always made me feel heard and valued. "Well, whatever changes come, we're here for you. That's what families do—they support each other through transitions."

The word 'family' hit me like a small punch to the chest. I had two families now—the one that had raised me and the one I'd been born into. Somehow, I was going to have to figure out how to honor both.

"I know," I said softly. "And I love you both for that. More than you know."

Something in my tone must have conveyed the depth of my emotion, because both Mom and Dad looked at me with the slightly concerned expressions of parents trying to figure out if their teenager was going through something they needed to worry about.

"Calla," Mom said gently, "is there anything specific you want to talk about? You seem... I don't know, like you're carrying something heavy."

The observation was so accurate it took my breath away. I was carrying something heavy—the weight of secrets, of dual identities, of a destiny I didn't understand. But I wasn't ready to share that burden, especially not when I wasn't sure how much of the truth they could handle.

"Just thinking about the future," I said, which wasn't entirely a lie. "About who I want to become."

Dad smiled, his expression softening with paternal pride. "You'll figure it out, sweetheart. You're one of the strongest, most capable people I know. Whatever path you choose, you'll walk it with integrity and courage."

His faith in me was both comforting and terrifying. He had no idea what path I was actually walking, what kind of courage it was going to require. But his belief that I could handle whatever came my way gave me strength I didn't know I needed.

"Thanks, Dad," I said, and meant it more than he could possibly know.

As we sat down to dinner, I tried to memorize the moment—Mom's laugh at one of Dad's terrible jokes, the way the evening light slanted through the kitchen windows, the comfortable rhythm of a family that had learned to fit together perfectly despite having no biological obligation to do so. Everything was about to change in ways they couldn't imagine, and I wanted to hold onto this normalcy just a little bit longer.

But even as I participated in the familiar dance of dinner conversation, I could feel my wolf stirring restlessly beneath my skin, reminding me that some changes couldn't be postponed indefinitely. My eighteenth birthday was less than a week away, and with it would come transformations that would make it impossible to pretend I was just a normal girl with normal problems.

For now, though, I was still Calla Merrin, beloved daughter of Mom and Dad, senior at Willow's End High School, best friend to Maya, and keeper of ordinary teenage secrets. The werewolf part—the part that belonged to Anya and Thorne's world and ancient bloodlines—could wait until tomorrow.

Tonight, I just wanted to be their daughter for a little while longer.

When Maya arrived later that evening with her promised ice cream and popcorn, I was sitting on my bed trying to figure out how to explain the unexplainable. She took one look at my face and immediately went into best-friend crisis mode.

"Okay," Maya said, settling cross-legged on my bed with enough snacks to fuel a small army. "Start from the beginning and don't leave anything out."

So I told her. Everything. About Thorne and his impossible question about feeling strange. About Anya and the revelation that nothing I had believed about myself was true. About parents I'd never known and a heritage that defied everything I'd thought possible.

Maya listened without interruption, her dark eyes growing wider with each revelation. When I finished, we sat in silence for several long minutes, the only sound the distant hum of the refrigerator downstairs.

"Werewolves," Maya said finally.

"Werewolves," I confirmed.

"And you're going to turn into one. Next week."

"Apparently."

Maya was quiet for another moment, then: "This is either the most elaborate prank in history, or my best friend is about to become something out of a supernatural romance novel."

Despite everything, I laughed. "I'm really hoping it's not a prank, because if it is, I've completely lost my mind."

Maya reached over and squeezed my hand. "You haven't lost your mind. This is... a lot. But it explains things."

"What things?"

"Come on, Cal. You've always been different. The way you can find lost things just by walking around until something 'feels right.' How you always know when someone's lying. The fact that you've never met a physical challenge you couldn't master if you put your mind to it." Maya paused. "And you've always seemed like you were searching for something. Like you knew there was more out there but couldn't figure out what it was."

I stared at my friend, recognition dawning. "You think I'm really... what Anya said I am?"

"I think," Maya said carefully, "that you've never looked more like yourself than you do right now. Scared, yeah, but also... alive. Like you've been holding your breath for eighteen years and finally remembered how to breathe."

"I like her," my wolf commented approvingly. "She sees us clearly."

"There's something else," I said, taking a shaky breath. "I can hear her. My wolf. She talks to me."

"What does she say?"

I smiled despite myself. "That she likes you. And that this is who we've always been."

Maya grinned, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "Well, she's got good taste. What else?"

"That I don't have to be afraid. That we're stronger than we know." I paused. "Maya, what if everything changes? What if I change so much that I'm not... me anymore?"

Maya leaned forward, gripping both of my hands in hers. "Listen to me. You are the most stubbornly yourself person I've ever met. You've been the same loyal, brave, slightly overthinking pain in my ass since we were five years old. I seriously doubt growing some extra teeth and learning to howl is going to change your fundamental Calla-ness."

"Some extra teeth?" I laughed, feeling some of my terror ease. "That's your takeaway from all this?"

"Well, and the running really fast and having super senses thing. That actually sounds pretty cool." Maya's expression grew more serious. "Cal, I've been your best friend for thirteen years. I've seen you face down everything from mean girls to breakups to that horrific chemistry teacher. You don't run from hard things. You figure them out and you deal with them. This is just... a really, really big thing to figure out."

I felt tears prick my eyes, but this time they were tears of gratitude. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"Shared your juice box with me on the first day of kindergarten when I forgot mine," Maya said promptly. "Best investment you ever made."

We spent the rest of the evening planning. Maya would help me research everything we could find about werewolf lore. We'd figure out what questions to ask Anya and Thorne. Most importantly, we'd face whatever came next together.

As Maya gathered her things to leave, she paused at my bedroom door. "One more thing," she said, her voice unusually serious. "This thing about your real parents being killed... that's not going to be the end of the story, is it?"

I met my friend's eyes, feeling my wolf stir with something that might have been determination or might have been hunger for justice. "No," I said quietly. "I don't think it is."

But that was a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, I had Maya's friendship, my parents' love, and the knowledge that I finally understood why I'd always felt like I was waiting for something to begin.

My real life was just getting started.