Trepidation

Caz

People think the important moments in life announce themselves.

They don't.

Nobody hears dramatic music when their world changes.

Nobody gets a warning.

Most of the time, it starts with something small.

A conversation you almost ignore.

A question you don't ask.

A dream you convince yourself doesn't matter.

Years later, you look back and realize that was the moment. The exact point where everything split into before and after.

For me, it started with a dream. My memory insists they started when I was three years old. A witch consumed by grief. A curse born from vengeance. A future where fewer and fewer female wolves are born until eventually none remain. A world where our species slowly disappears.

No daughters.

No future.

No more wolves.

I used to wake up sweating, convinced it couldn't possibly be real. Then I'd fall asleep the next night and see it again.

And again.

And again.

19 years is a long time to carry these nightmares. Long enough for it to stop feeling like dreams and start feeling like memories. The strange part isn't the dream itself.

The strange part is me.

Officially, I am not supposed to have visions. That gift belongs to my twin brother. Tristan inherited prophecy from our mother, Cassidy. Everyone knew that. His visions are impossible to miss. He slips into trances. Sees things nobody else can, and comes back looking like he's spent an hour somewhere the rest of us can't reach.

When I had my first one, no one noticed, so I kept my mouth shut. It was easier that way.

Safer.

Most assume I am the normal twin.

The bookworm.

The quiet one.

The thinker.

Momma T always joked that she and I were the normies of the family. The joke never failed to make me laugh. Mostly because it isn't true. I'm not normal. I am just really good at pretending. The truth is that I see everything Tristan sees.

Every vision.

Every glimpse.

Every impossible piece of the future.

I see it all.

I simply learned very young that secrets are easier to protect when nobody knows they exist.

Sinister stretches lazily beneath my skin. "Your life would be significantly less complicated if you stopped faking it."

I roll my eyes. "You're one to talk."

For once, he doesn't argue.

The wind shifts around me, carrying the familiar scent of Wolvesbane.

Home.

The word feels strange recently.

Not wrong, just different. Because once you learn the truth about something, it never quite looks the same again.

The pack still looks the same.

The forests.

The houses.

The trails.

The people.

But I can see the cracks. The old wounds hidden beneath the surface. The secrets everyone inherited without realizing it. Funny thing about history... most people think the past is over. It isn't.

The past is alive. It lingers. It shapes decisions. Builds traditions. Creates fears. Starts wars.

And sometimes it curses entire species.

I didn't know any of that when the visions first began. Back then, life was simple. At least compared to now.

Tristan had found his mate, Trinity Henley. The alpha's daughter. The two of them are disgustingly perfect together.

I say that with love.

Okay, maybe a little jealousy. While Tristan found his mate at nineteen, I am still waiting. Not that I care. At least, that's what I tell everyone. The truth is complicated.

Part of me wants a mate. Part of me enjoys being alone. Books never demand emotional vulnerability. Books never expect you to share your feelings. Books certainly never drag you into relationship drama.

"Books also don't satisfy lust. No touch. No kisses." Sinister points out.

I sigh. "Why are you like this?"

Sinister sounds offended. "I am a voice of wisdom."

"You're a menace," I tease.

"Also true," he agrees, laughing.

I shake my head and continue walking.

Everything traces back to that night. Exactly one week ago. The night Tristan announced Trinity was pregnant. The night everyone celebrated. The night Alpha Jon told me some things that changed my perspective.

I didn't realize it at the time. How could I? To me, it was just another conversation. Another puzzle piece. Then Jon mentioned a witch named Kyra. That is when everything changed. I still remember the way my stomach dropped. The way the air suddenly felt too thin. The way every instinct I possess screamed how significant she is.

Kyra.

A name that will eventually become impossible to ignore. A witch whose sister had been killed. A witch driven by grief. A witch blamed for the curse. The deeper we dig, the uglier things become. The more questions we ask, the less I trust the answers we've been given. Especially when prophecy wolves entered the conversation.

I know what Momma C has survived. At least pieces of it. Enough to know the history isn't clean. Enough to know wolves weren't innocent. Especially not the powerful ones.

The more I learn, the harder it becomes to separate villains from victims. Sometimes, they are the same people. Sometimes, they change places depending on who is telling the story. Sometimes, everyone involved is wrong.

That realization bothers me more than I expect.

I like answers.

I like facts.

I like things that fit neatly together.

This situation refuses to cooperate. Every answer creates new questions. Every discovery exposes another secret. Every secret reveals another lie. And somewhere beneath all of it sits the curse.

Patiently waiting.

Growing.

Because unlike us, the curse isn't in a hurry. It has centuries. We don't. The declining birth rates prove that. Every year, the numbers grow worse. Every year, fewer daughters survive. Every year, extinction moves a little closer.

It's difficult to live your life while staring directly at the end of it. Most would likely choose denial. I choose obsession. Not intentionally. I just can't stop.

The puzzle consumes me.

The curse consumes me.

The feeling that there has to be an answer consumes me.

And the strangest part?

No vision told me. No prophecy confirmed it. No ancient record appeared with helpful instructions. I just know there is a way. There is a solution.

Somewhere.

Hidden beneath centuries of fear.

Hidden beneath lies.

Hidden beneath history.

The challenge isn't proving it exists. The challenge is finding it before time runs out.

Sinister grows quieter. More serious. "You really believe you can stop it?"

I nod. "Yeah."

"Why?"

I laugh softly. "Wish I knew exactly. It's just a very strong feeling I am struggling to ignore."

That's the truth. For all my reading. For all my planning. For all my endless attempts to understand the world. The thing that drove everything forward wasn't logic. It was faith. Not the religious kind. The stubborn kind.

The refusal to accept that an entire species is doomed. The refusal to accept that there is nothing we can do.

Maybe that makes me arrogant. Maybe it makes me foolish. Probably both. But if I had listened to reason, I would have walked away already.

Instead, I keep digging.

And I will keep digging until I find things I am not supposed to find. Until witches stop being stories. Until history isn't modified, but told truthfully.

A chill runs down my spine because I know what comes next. And yet, I still feel like we're standing at the beginning.

Every answer leads somewhere older. Toward something deeper... something buried. I am certain that the roots stretch further back than any of us realize. Back to people whose names are nearly forgotten. Back to choices that shaped future generations. Back to debts, nobody remembered owing.

I glance toward the woods. Toward the future that's waiting somewhere beyond the trees. For a moment, everything feels impossibly quiet.

Then, Sinister breaks the silence. "So what you're saying is that everything is terrible."

I bark out a laugh. "That's your takeaway?"

"With such a melancholic review of our recent insights, what else am I supposed to take from it?"

I shake my head. "That's not what I am trying to do. I am not saying we are all definitely fucked."

"Then what are you saying?"

I look toward home. Toward my family. Toward the people worth fighting for. Toward the future we're trying to save. And despite everything, I smile. Because for all the danger, secrets, and impossible odds one thing isn't going to change.

I believe the curse can be broken.

I believe the future can be saved.

The path won't be easy. But then, the best stories never are. And whether I like it or not...

This story is ours.

The only question left is what we're willing to sacrifice to ensure we get our happy ending.