(Leah POV)
My vision blurred red as I stormed through the front doors of the school, shoving them open so hard the metal bent beneath my hands. I didn't even notice the dent, I was so lost in my anger. The echo of the door impacting the wall rang out behind me.
That bitch, Stephanies words played on a loop in my mind. The tone was like poison soaking my brain and fueling my rage. It was like a broken record playing only for me, and I couldn't shut it off.
"Face it, Leah. You're just not good enough for Sam. Emily will be a better fit. I don't know why you ever thought you'd be with him forever—you were just a placeholder, something for him to practice on until Emily came along."
My whole body trembled, the rage clawing for release. I threw my head back and screamed, the sound tearing from my throat but doing nothing to burn out the fury.
"Fucking Meyers!!!" I roared, the name ripping from me like a curse, because the scream alone wasn't enough.
I dragged in deep, ragged breaths. Each inhale filled my chest until I thought it would split open; each exhale burst out hot and violent, like I was a dragon vomiting fire. My arms shook with the vibration of my rage, muscles twitching like they were trying to tear loose from my skin. My heartbeat pounded so loud it drowned out the world.
My bra felt like a vice, my shirt collar felt like a noose. The air around me shimmered, or maybe my vision was warping, heat waves distorting everything. My skin burned, too tight, as though something beneath it was swelling, pushing, demanding to get out.
I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. I fought to steady my breathing, to force myself back into control. But it wasn't working. Not until I latched onto one single thought — the memory of my fist smashing into Stephanie's smug face. The crunch of cartilage, the sudden gush of blood. That moment of brutal, perfect silence after.
My muscles loosened by degrees. My lungs stopped clawing for air. The fire dimmed to embers, hot but containable.
Great, I thought bitterly. Now I have to relive violence just to stay sane. That's not worrying at all.
I shook my head, and in doing so, my eyes took note of the random stares my outburst had earned me. I sighed and ducked my head, letting my hair fall forward like a curtain as I continued the walk home. My steps pounded harder than they needed to, but I forced myself to think about mundane things instead of replaying Stephanie's words.
Dinner. Right. Mom would be waking soon for her night shift at the hospital, and she'd want food ready before the chaos of another shift on her feet. Dad should still be at work. Seth would be home not long after me, and if there wasn't a snack waiting, he'd raid the fridge and leave nothing but crumbs.
Normal thoughts. Safe thoughts.
But when I pushed open the door to the house, the smell of coffee and the low hum of the TV told me Dad was already home. That was wrong.
"Dad?" I called, my voice soft and hesitant. I didn't want to wake mom early.
"In here," came his soft reply from the couch.
I walked in to find him leaning back in his Lazy Boy, remote in his left hand, his face pale in the glow of the screen. He smiled at me, but it was a tired, thin sort of smile. His right hand rubbed absently at his left shoulder, fingers pressing into the muscle like he was trying to ease out a knot.
"You okay?" I asked, frowning.
"Just a long day," he said, waving me off. "Came home early. Figured I'd let your mom catch her nap without me stomping around."
But his hand didn't stop moving against his shoulder. I caught the way he winced when he shifted too quickly, the way he sucked in a slow breath like it hurt more than he wanted me to see.
I pressed my lips together. I didn't want to add my mess on top of whatever this was. Mom was going to tear into me the second she heard from the school, and Dad didn't need the stress of hearing about another fight.
I forced myself to nod and head toward the kitchen. "I'll get started on food. Seth should be home soon."
Dad hummed something that was supposed to sound reassuring, but when I glanced back, his hand was still on his shoulder.
The front door creaked open half an hour later, then eased shut with exaggerated care. Seth's voice came in a whisper-shout, like he couldn't help himself but still knew better.
"Leah? Dad? Smells like food."
I rolled my eyes but felt some of the fire in my chest cool further. Typical Seth—always hungry, always loud, but smart enough to tiptoe when Mom was sleeping. Waking her early was basically suicide.
"In the kitchen," I called back, keeping my voice low.
He padded in, light on his feet, dropped his backpack as gently as he could manage. His hair was windblown, cheeks flushed from the run home. "Hey, Dad. You okay?"
From the living room came Dad's reply, quiet but steady. "Just resting. Don't worry about me."
Seth gave me a grin like he didn't fully believe him but wasn't about to press. He reached for a carrot stick from the counter, and I smacked his hand with the flat of the knife. "Snack later. You'll ruin your dinner."
He muffled a laugh, rubbing his knuckles, and for a second the tension in the house eased.
But peace never lasted long here.
The bedroom door slammed open, and the sound alone was enough to make both of us flinch. Mom came marching out, her hair mussed from sleep, eyes sharp with fury.
"Leah Clearwater!" Her voice cracked through the house like a whip. "Do you want to explain to me why the school called, waking me up, to tell me about you breaking Stephanie Meyer's nose?"
I froze, knife halfway through a potato. My stomach turned cold. Seth shot me a quick look, wide-eyed. He knew as well as I did—this was bad.
Mom stood there with her arms crossed, face tight with exhaustion and anger. "I work twelve-hour night shifts to keep this family running, and you can't go a single day without causing trouble? Do you even think before you act?"
The heat under my skin flared, sharp and sudden. I tried to bite it back but failed. "She started it."
Mom's eyes narrowed. "I don't care who started it. You always finish it, Leah. You're the one dragging this family's name through the mud. Again."
The words stung, fueling the fire clawing to get out. My body trembled, my breath came harsh, and I could feel the shimmer around me again, vision distorting at the edges.
"Mom," Seth said carefully, his voice low, like he was trying not to wake a bear he knew was already standing on two legs, "maybe—"
"Stay out of this, Seth," Mom snapped, never looking away from me. "Leah needs to hear it. You're not a child anymore, Leah. You can't keep acting like—"
"Like what? Like I'm broken? Like I'm not good enough?" The words ripped from me, raw and jagged.
The heat inside me surged, too strong to hold back. My body snapped, tore, reformed. The scream in my throat twisted into a growl as I collapsed forward onto four massive paws. The kitchen barely containing me.
The room went dead silent. Mom staggered back, her face ashen, eyes wide. Seth's jaw dropped, his whole body frozen.
And then—Dad.
He jumped to his feet, his eyes locked on me, his face white as bone. His hand clutched at his chest, his breath rasping like he couldn't pull air in. "No… no… oh God—"
"Harry!" Mom screamed, lunging toward him. But his body buckled before she reached him, collapsing sideways onto the floor.
"Dad!" Seth's voice broke, panicked. His hands reached for him, but they never got there. His whole body locked up, trembling violently as if struck by lightning. His skin rippled, bones cracking, his scream tearing into a howl.
Where my little brother had been a heartbeat ago, a wolf now stood — smaller, unsteady on too-long legs, his fur bristling in every direction. He stumbled, paws scrabbling for purchase on the slick floor, eyes wild with fear. His first shift wasn't strength or rage — it was pure, terrified instinct, born from the sight of Dad collapsing in front of him.