Chapter Four

Loria’s POV

The house was still when I opened my eyes.

Still—not quiet, not peaceful, just... empty. Like someone had exhaled and never remembered to breathe back in.

Faint gray light pressed at the edges of my curtains. The digital clock blinked 6:12 a.m. My head ached—not from sleep deprivation, exactly, but from dreams I didn’t remember. The kind that leave your chest hollow and your tongue dry.

I sat up slowly. The sheets tangled at my ankles like they were trying to keep me in place. I just sat there, staring at the wall across from my bed, breathing shallow. No footsteps. No voices. No clatter of dishes or the groan of floorboards. He was already gone.

He never said goodbye anymore. Not that I wanted him to.

I stood. My bare feet hit the floor with a quiet thud. I didn’t bother turning on the lights. The hallway was dim with milky morning light, the kind that makes everything look faded and worn out.

In the kitchen, his mug still sat beside the sink—half-drunk, a smudge from his mouth staining the rim. No coaster. Just a dark ring spreading like a bruise on the countertop.

My stomach turned.

I opened the cabinet and reached for the cereal. My arm felt too long. My fingers clumsy. The Cheerios rattled into the bowl like they were trying to break the silence. I poured milk over them even though I wasn’t hungry. Even though the sight of them turning soggy made my stomach curl. It wasn’t about eating. It was about pretending things were normal.

I sat at the table and chewed slowly. Each bite tasted like wet cardboard. The ticking of the kitchen clock ticked louder with every passing second—like it was screaming at me to do something.

Footsteps.

Mom appeared in the doorway. Her cardigan hung crooked over one shoulder, her eyes puffy like she’d been crying. She hovered for a second like she wasn’t sure she was allowed in her own kitchen.

“Morning, honey,” she said, her voice frayed at the edges.

I didn’t look up. Just nodded. Spoon halfway to my mouth.

She moved around the kitchen like she was trying not to touch anything. Picked up a pan. Set it down. Picked it up again. Set it down.

“You sleep okay?”

I nodded again. A lie. One that didn’t even feel like lying anymore—just survival.

Her hands trembled faintly as she gripped the edge of the counter. She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something else—but then the kettle screamed on the back burner. Neither of us moved.

Eventually, she turned and shut it off. The steam curled toward the ceiling. The silence it left behind weighed more than the sound ever did.

And then I felt her—Zerina.

Not words at first. Just a presence. A pulse in my ribs. A warmth behind my teeth.

“He does not see you,” Zerina whispered. Her voice felt like wind through pine. “But I do.”

I didn’t answer, but I closed my eyes. Just for a second. Let that truth curl up behind my sternum like something worth keeping. It didn’t fix anything. But it was something.

I forced myself to finish the cereal. The last few pieces had gone limp in the milk. Mom sipped her tea standing up. Her eyes flicked from the sink, to the window, to the mug he’d left behind.

“Do you need anything for school?” she asked.

“No.”

Another lie. I needed a new notebook. Pens that didn’t skip. Jeans that didn’t crawl up my ankles. But those were the small things. What I really needed, she couldn’t give me.

She nodded like she was relieved. She opened the fridge. Closed it again. Then said, “I’ll be home late. Work meeting.”

I rinsed my bowl in the sink without being asked.

She flinched when the water splashed the counter.

As I passed her, our shoulders almost brushed.

“Loria,” she said. I paused. Didn’t look at her.

“I just…”

She hesitated.

“Never mind.”

I didn’t ask.

I grabbed my bag and walked out without saying goodbye.

The morning was colder than I expected. Pale, thin light stretched across the street like breath on glass. My sweater sleeves didn’t do much against the chill, but I shoved my hands in my pockets and walked anyway.

I don’t take the bus anymore.

Too many eyes. Too much noise. I always felt like I might break if I let go, even for a second. Walking the three miles gave me space. I told Mom it was for “exercise,” but really, it was about holding myself together.

Each step cracked the frost on the sidewalk. My breath fogged the air like a ghost I couldn’t outrun.

Zerina walked with me—not beside me, not behind me, but inside me. Tucked into the hollow spaces. The part of me that never looked away.

“You are fraying at the edges,” she murmured. “He does not see the damage he has done.”

I didn’t respond. She already knew. She felt every splinter. Every time I lay awake pretending not to hear him yelling. Every moment I’d started to believe I really was the reason everything in this house was coming undone.

“You are not broken,” Zerina said gently. “You are shifting. Becoming. But you are still whole.”

“I don’t feel whole,” I whispered.

A car drove by. I didn’t look up.

“That’s because he’s been treating you like a monster.”

My fists clenched inside my coat pockets. Nails—longer now, sharper than they used to be—bit into my palms.

I stopped walking.

Ahead, the sidewalk curved around a small grove of pine trees. I used to race Andy past them in the summer, pretending we were forest warriors. Now they just looked like sentinels—watching me fall apart.

I stepped into the trees.

“Let it out,” Zerina urged. “You can’t carry it all.”

“I can’t cry right now,” I hissed. “I’m already late.”

“Not tears. Not fear. The thing inside you.”

I pressed my forehead against one of the trees, breath stuttering. Zerina pressed with me, not separate—but folded into me, holding me up from the inside.

“When you ache, I ache,” she whispered. “When your father hates you, I feel it too. But when you are afraid... I will never leave you to face it alone.”

Something cracked. Not a sob—but a breath too jagged to be calm. Rage tucked beneath sorrow.

“I am your wolf,” Zerina said. “I was born when you were born. I am everything he fears you are becoming.”

I shook. I could barely breathe.

A car engine idled.

I looked up. A black car sat by the curb.

Andy leaned out the window, cereal bar in one hand, sweatshirt half-zipped. “You walking again?”

I blinked.

Nodded.

He climbed out like he didn’t even think about it. “Was gonna swing by your house. Guess I’m early.”

“You don’t have to keep checking on me,” I muttered.

“I know,” he said. “But I’m gonna do it anyway.”

And just like that, the cold in my chest shifted. Not melted. But loosened. Like someone had handed me a place to stand.

“I don’t think I’m going to school today,” I said, voice quiet. “I think I’m going to go for a run. Clear my head.”

“Well, if you’re not going, then neither am I.”

“Yes, you are.” I met his eyes. “This is something I need to do alone. With Zerina.”

The way I said it left no room for argument. He heard it in my voice. He backed off.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure, Andy.” I hesitated. “You’re the only one really in my corner, you know that?”

“Your mom is in your corner too.”

I shook my head. “Not all the way. He gave her an ultimatum last night. Said if I stay, he won’t.”

Andy went still. “Loria, I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

“He did,” I said. “He’s already gone before I wake up. He waits until I’m asleep to come home. I’ve heard every fight. I hear everything now. The super hearing thing? It’s real. Also… I can see in the dark, which is kind of terrifying. But mostly, I just need time to think.”

He exhaled hard. “Okay. I’ll go to school. But call me later.”

“I promise.”

I turned back toward the trees.

Zerina stirred.

“We’ll wait in the treeline until he’s gone. Then go back and pack.”

“I agree,” I said. “Mom should be at work by then. That gives us about seven hours to get ready, leave a note for her… and a voicemail for Andy.”

I didn’t look back.

By the time the sun set, I’d be gone.