CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE:IS THAT DAMIEN?.

      IS THAT DAMIEN?

I do not leave my room, not even when the sun rises and spills light through the curtains. Not when the house shifts with morning sounds. Not when footsteps pass my door again and again.

I stay exactly where I am.

The floor is cold beneath me, but I do not move to the bed. Moving would mean choosing something, and I am very tired of everything. I want to fade into the abyss. I miss my parents. And bella. No-one would talk about her, my days have been monotone with Daniel and Elio being the constant in my life.

Elio has tried to get me out of my room but I feel like he’s forcing a sibling relationship which is not yet there.

A knock at the door sounds softly.

“Emily?” Grandma’s voice floats through the door. “Breakfast is ready.”

I say nothing.

Silence stretches.

Then another knock, slightly firmer this time. “You do not have to come down. I can bring it to you.”

I press my forehead against my knees and stare at the expensive marbling.

I am not hungry. Or maybe I am. I cannot tell. Everything feels distant, like I do not deserve even simple feelings.

“Emily,” she says again, quieter now. “Please answer me.”

“I’m fine,” I reply gently.

I’m surprised I could answer her. My mouth that seems to be made of lead alongside with other areas of my body answered? Maybe, all I need to do is put in more effort. Maybe, I feel this way because I was not hardworking enough and my incompetencies are weighing me down?

There is a pause. I imagine grandma standing there with her hand lifted, debating whether to knock again or let it go.

“I will leave the tray outside,” she finally says. “In case you change your mind.”

Her footsteps retreat.

I wait until I hear them fade before I let out the breath I have been holding.

My wolf shifts faintly inside me. Not restless, not loud, just plain watching. At least, she’s not dead.

I pull my knees closer and rest my chin on them.

This is familiar territory.

This quiet. This pulling inward. This way of disappearing without actually going anywhere.

The door creaks open slightly.

I flinch.

“Emily,” my brother’s voice says. Gentle. Careful. “I am not coming in.”

I do not respond.

“I just wanted to say that Daniel told us what happened at training.”

My stomach tightens.

Of course he did.

“I know you do not want to talk,” he continues. “I will not ask you to. I only wanted you to know that you are not in trouble.”

I swallow.

Trouble.

The word hits something old and sharp.

“I did not think you were,” I murmur.

There is a faint sound, like he shifts his weight in the hallway. “Still, I wanted to say it.”

Another pause.

“You did not fail,” he adds.

That one almost breaks me.

“I didn’t say I failed,” I reply.

“I know,” he says easily. “You did not have to.”

Silence settles again.

I wait for him to say more, but he does not. He lets the quiet exist instead of trying to fix it.

“I will be downstairs,” he says eventually. “If you need anything. Even if you just want me to sit here and say nothing.”

His footsteps move away.

I stay where I am.

Time passes strangely after that. I do not know how long. The light shifts across the floor. Shadows stretch and then shrink again.

Another knock comes later. Louder this time.

“Emily,” Daniel says through the door. “It’s me.”

I close my eyes.

“I’m not here to drag you anywhere,” he continues quickly, like he knows exactly what I am thinking. “I just wanted to check on you.”

“I’m okay,” I say.

There it is again. The lie that slips out before I can stop it.

He does not call me out on it.

“That’s good,” he replies. “Then I’ll just stand here for a bit.”

“You don’t have to,” I tell him.

“I know.”

He stays anyway.

I can picture him leaning against the wall, arms folded, gaze fixed on nothing in particular. He does that sometimes, exists without demanding attention.

“The training field will still be there tomorrow,” he says. “And the day after that.”

“I know,” I answer.

“You do not owe anyone progress,” he adds.

I press my lips together.

“People say things like that,” I tell him quietly. “They do not always mean it.”

He exhales. “I mean it.”

I do not respond, because if I do, my voice might shake.

After a while, he clears his throat. “Your grandmother asked me to tell you dinner will be early.”

“Okay.”

“And she said you can eat in your room if you want.”

“Okay.”

Another pause.

“I’ll go now,” he says. “Just knock if you need me.”

I listen as he walks away.

When the house settles again, I finally shift. My legs ache when I straighten them. Pins and needles rush through my feet as I stand.

I open the door just enough to pull the tray inside.

The food smells warm. Familiar. Comforting in a way that almost hurts.

I sit on the floor and eat slowly.

My wolf stirs again, pressing close. Not urging. Not judging. Just present.

“I’m not broken,” I whisper to no one in particular, hoping to convince myself.

She does not answer, but she does not go to sleep either. That’s my current saving grace. I’m not in this alone.

Outside my window, the pack moves on with its evening. Voices drift faintly through the air. Laughter. Conversation. Life continuing.

I see a shadow move in the forest and for a minute, I panic and stand in a haste, knocking over the water.

Is that Damien?