Elora couldn't sleep.
The cabin creaked and groaned as if whispering secrets through its aging walls, each sound amplified by the silence that filled the night. Every groan of wood, every gust of wind brushing against the windows, sent a fresh shiver crawling down her spine. The lone candle Joel had lit flickered on the small table, casting long shadows that danced like specters across the walls, warping into strange and eerie shapes.
Joel sat near the door, his back pressed to the wood, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He was quiet, too quiet. The only sign he was still awake was the occasional glint of his piercing blue eyes in the candlelight as he scanned the room with a predator's vigilance. He hadn't said much since their talk earlier, choosing instead to tend silently to the wounds he bore. Elora could feel his tension like a storm cloud, and it only heightened the gnawing unease twisting inside her.
She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, trying to will away the cold that seemed to seep into her very bones. But it wasn't just the chill of the air—it was something deeper, more ancient. Fear. Confusion. A creeping realization that the world she thought she knew was slipping out from under her feet.
Joel's voice from earlier echoed relentlessly in her head. "There's something about you." Those five words replayed again and again, each repetition raising more questions. What did he mean? What could possibly be inside her that drew the attention of something so monstrous?
The silence pressed down on her like a weight, unbearable in its thickness. She sat up suddenly, her heart hammering in her chest. Her voice came out softer than she intended, almost a whisper.
"Joel."
His head tilted slightly in response, but he didn't turn.
"What did you mean earlier?" she asked, her throat tight. "About me being different?"
He exhaled slowly, as though preparing himself to open a door he'd hoped would stay shut. His fingers raked through his tousled hair. "It's complicated."
She shifted forward, her spine straightening with resolve. "I'm not going anywhere. So try."
At that, Joel turned to face her fully. The flickering light illuminated the tired lines of his face, the fresh bandage on his side, and the guarded weight in his expression. When he spoke, his voice was steady but heavy with meaning.
"Have you ever felt like you didn't belong? Like you were meant for something more, even if you couldn't explain it? That pull in your chest... that feeling like you're always on the edge of remembering something important?"
Elora blinked. The words hit her like a blow. How many nights had she stared at her ceiling wondering the same thing? How many times had she walked through the halls of her school or her own home feeling like a stranger?
"Maybe," she admitted, her voice quiet. "I've always felt... out of place. Like I was watching my life from the outside."
Joel nodded slowly, as if her answer confirmed something he already suspected. "That's not a coincidence. There's something inside you, Elora. Something not entirely human. I don't know what it is, not yet. But I can feel it, and so can others. That's why the rogue was drawn to you."
Her blood turned to ice. She clenched the blanket around her shoulders. "Are you saying I'm like you? A werewolf?"
He shook his head firmly. "No. Not like me. It's different. I've met others of my kind, and what I sense in you... it's older. Wilder. More primal. And much harder to define."
She stared at him, the words echoing in her mind. Not human. Older. Primal. It made her feel alien in her own skin.
"So what am I then?"
"That's what we need to find out," Joel said. "And there's only one person I trust to help us do that."
Elora narrowed her eyes. "Who?"
"An elder," he replied. "He's not just a werewolf. He's something more. He's been alive longer than any of us can remember, and he knows things the rest of us have forgotten. If anyone can help us, it's him."
"Where is he?" she asked quickly, her pulse racing.
Joel's face darkened. "Far. Deep in the Northern woods. And the journey to him... it won't be easy. Not even for me."
"Do we have another choice?" Elora asked.
"No," Joel said. "Not if you want to survive."
The words landed like a stone in her stomach.
They fell into silence once more, but this time, it was heavier, more strained. She tried to process everything: her past, her identity, the terrifying realization that she might be something unknown. The fear that the creature in the woods wasn't an isolated threat gnawed at her like rats in the dark.
And then she heard it.
A sound, barely audible at first. A low, guttural growl. Not the wind. Not a creak. A growl. Her blood turned to ice.
"Joel," she whispered, her voice shaking.
He moved before she could even finish the word. In an instant, he was on his feet, crouched low and alert, eyes sharp as a blade. Despite the fresh wounds, his body moved with fluid, trained precision. He grabbed the dagger strapped to his waist.
"Stay behind me," he ordered, his voice steel.
The growl grew louder, joined by the crunch of dead leaves and the snap of a twig just beyond the walls. Elora pressed herself into the corner, heart thudding in her ears.
The door rattled violently.
Joel didn't flinch.
The candle flickered once... then again.
Another crash. The door trembled. The air shifted.
"Joel—"
She didn't get the chance to finish. The door exploded inward with a thunderous crash.
A monstrous figure loomed in the entryway, its hulking form outlined in the darkness. It was nearly seven feet tall, cloaked in coarse black fur, its yellow eyes glowing with feral rage. Its breaths came in ragged huffs, each one carrying the stench of blood and decay.
Elora froze, paralyzed by fear.
Joel stepped between them like a wall, dagger raised. "You're not welcome here."
The rogue snarled in response, teeth bared. A low rumble reverberated in its chest like the growl of a storm. It stepped forward.
Joel didn't hesitate.
He lunged.
The battle had begun.