[Road to Recovery] ARIELLA I didn’t think climbing stairs would leave me feeling winded. Then again, my body was far weaker than normal right now. Abby walked beside me; her arm linked with mine for support. My mom was a pace or two ahead of us, leading us down the corridor toward my room. “Here we are,” Abby said, and opened the door, momentarily releasing my hand. Upon entering the room, I let out a long sigh, marveling at the warm sunlight streaming in. Rainwater and vibrant flowers mingled in the air, creating a crisp and fresh scent. The room itself was a contrast to the prison Jasper held me captive over the last few days, with its soft furnishings and plush carpet. The walls were decorated with warm yellow tones, soothing in their tranquility. Abby wandered over to one of the large windows overlooking the garden below, gazing out at all the blooming flowers bathing in golden sunlight. I couldn’t help but feel awed by it all—there was something so magical about this place t

[War Is Ugly] MALIK I kept hearing my father’s warnings as we moved through the woods. My father went on ahead, leading one team into their territory. Owen led the second team, coming in from the eastern border, whereas my uncle, Gilbert, was leading the third team, taking the northern border. Meanwhile, working in pairs, Aaron, Brandon, Antonio, and I were each keeping an eye out for signs of wolves trying to flee their impending doom. My heart hammered in my chest as I scanned the tree line, searching for a sliver of fur or other telltale signs of movement. Suddenly, I heard a branch snap. My head perked up, and I saw movement in the bushes ahead of us. Without waiting to see what it was, I shouted a warning to the others, then took off at a run towards it. I zigged and zagged through the forest with my bow and arrow—compliments to Owen for teaching me how to use it—along with my backpack of silver beads and other weapons slamming against my back. With the adrenaline surging t

[Searching For Another Way] MALIK A crestfallen rage was my only reaction after that conversation with my uncle. Gilbert had the nerve to ask me if I wasn’t upset or why I refused to take revenge against the werewolves for killing my father. It drove home a needle of realization: after so many years together as hunters and friends, he never truly cared what happened to my father. All he cared about was retaliation. Sure, I wanted justice. Would that bring him back? No, and facing those wolves again might well mean everyone’s demise. Somehow, by luck alone, I had escaped unscathed, but now Gilbert dared to accuse me of letting my father’s murderers get away. “Malik, we need to talk.” Gilbert took a seat on the opposite sofa, facing me. I forced my tender sides to heave as I pushed myself up from my laying position on the couch. “From our last conversation, I’d say we’ve said all there was to say.” “Look,” Gilbert started. “I get it. You’re new to this hunting thing. Your father a

[Protect My Family] MALIK I spent most of the morning in my room, sketching images of Ariella. My mother had gotten me some blank sketchbooks the Christmas before she fell sick, which I used to draw my thoughts, my anger, and my sorrows. My pencil flew across the page to bring her form to life. I hadn’t realized what I was drawing, as it was just an abstract shape. It was like I was reliving the memory of her leaving me in the Evergreen forest. Every sketch I made was of her as if my mind refused to let go. I saw her in everything: in the shape of the leaves rustling in the trees, and the clouds that filled the sky. Even in my dreams beneath my covers, with her long, raven hair blowing across my face, making my heart skip a beat. Nothing worked; from charcoal to pencil, none of my sketches did her justice. I couldn’t even capture the luster of her hair because it was too dark to erase properly. Eventually, all my drawings became nothing more than sketches colored with crayons that m

[Drawing A Line] MALIK I made myself a cup of coffee, hoping it would shake me out of the funk I was in. Whatever it was—a dream, a vision, whatever—I was still on high alert and shaking with dread. Moreover, it made my decision to cease and desist the fighting against the werewolves difficult after seeing my entire family die such gruesome deaths and being powerless to save them. Or was it implying that would happen unless I stopped the attacks? The horrified look on my mother’s face as that wolf tore into her flashed across my mind like a traumatic image burned into my brain and was impossible to erase, slicing through me with a sharp pang of pain and regret. I shuddered, tightening my hold on the coffee mug to shut out the disturbing images replaying in my head—wolves turning on hunters; bloodied corpses strewn across the forest floor as the howls pierced the air. Desperate to distract myself, I tried to focus on mundane things, sipping slow sips of the steaming cup of coffee,