The trees loomed above him like ancient sentinels carved from emerald and shadow. Kadyn slowed his steps, craning his neck as though his body alone could not comprehend their height. He had seen trees before, of course. Central Park alone had its fair share of old giants. But these were different. These rose endlessly, their branches stitching the sky together in a cathedral of green.
The grass beneath his feet shimmered, not merely green but alive with an impossible glow, as though sunlight had seeped into every blade and decided to stay. He brushed his fingers against the leaves as he walked, careful and reverent. The sensation sent a strange thrill through him. Cool. Electric. Familiar in a way that made no sense.
A laugh escaped him, light and breathless. He broke into a run without thinking, the way children did when joy became too large to carry quietly. He darted through the clearing, heart pounding, grinning like a child who had momentarily forgotten the weight of adulthood. The feeling reminded him of freedom before rules. Before consequences.
Then, abruptly, the forest opened.
He found himself standing in the center of a perfect circle of tulips.
They were arranged with deliberate precision, their petals thick and vivid, colored deep crimson, ivory, and molten gold. The air here felt heavier, humming with something unseen. Kadyn stopped moving.
Something was wrong.
He looked down at his arms.
The dark hair that usually dusted his forearms was gone. In its place was something pale and soft. Not hair. Fur. White, full, and impossibly smooth, catching the light like spun silk. His breath caught in his throat.
"No," he whispered.
He lifted his hands, turning them slowly. They were now stronger. Larger. His nails curved slightly, sharper than before. When he raised his gaze, the world sharpened in return. Colors deepened. Shapes clarified. He could see everything clearly. Too clearly.
A reflection shimmered faintly in the air before him, as if the forest itself were offering him a mirror.
His eyes were no longer the dull gray he had known his entire life. They were silver now, piercing and luminous, carrying an authority that startled him. His smile, when it appeared, felt unfamiliar. Confident. Commanding.
Warm.
Several voices rose.
"All hail the King. The true Alpha."
It came from everywhere and nowhere at once.
His head snapped up. "Who said that?"
The words echoed, multiplying, folding into one another until the forest itself seemed to speak.
"All hail the King."
He turned in slow circles, heart racing. There was no one. No bodies. No faces. Only the tulips bowing gently in a wind he could not feel.
"What is this?" he demanded. "What's happening to me?"
Silence followed, heavy and deliberate.
Then the voices returned, deeper now, resonant with certainty.
"Your coronation, our king."
The ground trembled beneath his feet.
And the world around him shattered.
***
Olena Ermes sat behind her desk, buried beneath contracts, reports, and financial forecasts that blurred together in a relentless parade of numbers. Her office, perched high above Manhattan, offered a sweeping view of steel and glass, but she hadn't looked out the windows in hours.
Work was the only thing keeping the fear at bay.
Even that was starting to fail her.
She pressed her fingers against her temple, exhaling slowly. Sleep had become a stranger. Silence felt threatening. Every shadow in her penthouse apartment had begun to feel watchful.
She needed air.
"Cancel my next meeting," she said curtly, already standing.
"Yes, Ms. Ermes," Zeph replied, stepping smoothly into place beside her.
They left the building and stepped onto Fifth Avenue, the city alive around them. Taxis blared their horns. Pedestrians rushed past, tethered to their own private urgencies. The sky was overcast, the clouds pressing low as a faint drizzle began to fall.
They walked without direction.
After several minutes, Zeph suddenly spoke. "How much do you trust me?"
The question sliced cleanly through her thoughts.
She stopped walking.
"On a scale of one to ten," he added casually.
Olena stared ahead, her jaw tightening.
Trust was a currency she had learned not to spend. Not freely. Not carelessly.
She trusted herself barely enough to survive. Some days, not even that.
"I trust you," she said finally, her tone clipped. "You're my personal assistant. You've been with me long enough."
He smiled faintly. "That's not an answer."
She resumed walking, irritation simmering beneath her calm exterior. "It's the only one you're getting."
"You think you trust me," he said lightly, as if testing the words.
She stopped again, turning sharply. "I don't appreciate psychoanalysis, Zeph."
He chuckled, unfazed. "Fair enough."
What she didn't say was that she feared herself more than anyone else. Feared the possibility that she might grow tired of solitude and run back to old ghosts. Feared loving someone enough to hand them the knife.
So, she worked. Relentlessly. Obsessively.
"Let's go back," she said. "I have work."
"There will always be work," he replied gently. "I'll be here when you decide to disappear for a while."
That irritated her more than it should have.
They continued walking. Zeph opened an umbrella and held it above her head.
"Put that away," she snapped.
He complied immediately, folding it and falling back into position, two steps behind her. Always two steps. Just as she demanded.
***
That evening, Olena attended another function she did not care about.
Crystal chandeliers. Polite laughter. Faces sculpted by wealth and ambition. Everyone wanted her attention. No one wished her truth.
She smiled. She nodded. She endured.
She wanted a dive bar. A stiff drink. Anonymity. But the media waited for her to make a single mistake.
Her thoughts drifted to Liira.
High school felt like another lifetime now. Back when friendship had been simple. Liira had been her only constant. Then she left for Europe, chasing culinary dreams. They lost touch.
Olena had told herself it didn't matter.
She was Olena Ermes now. CEO. Heiress. Untouchable.
"Help! Somebody please help!"
The scream tore through the night.
She spun around just in time to see a teenage boy clinging to the edge of a bridge railing, panic etched across his face. Without thinking, she rushed forward.
A violent gust of wind slammed into her.
She staggered.
Strong hands caught her.
"Careful," Zeph said, steadying her.
By the time she looked again, the boy was gone. Standing safely on the sidewalk. People stared around in confusion.
No one had seen who saved him.
Only a gust of wind and relief remained.
***
Kadyn stood several blocks away, chest heaving as he watched the people try to make sense of what happened.
He stared at his hands. They were shaking. This couldn't be possible.
First, it was the parking garage with Olena. Then the cup that floated. Now this.
He had heard the cry and moved without thinking. Faster than he ever had before. Stronger. Lighter.
Flying.
He backed away slowly, dread pooling in his stomach. This wasn't normal.
He pulled out his phone, dialing the psychiatrist he had promised himself he'd call. The ringtone echoed uselessly as he stared at the screen.
A glowing sign caught his eye. Neon blue and amber.
It was a bar alive with loud music, various blocks away.
He needed something to quiet his mind.
Inside, the place smelled of citrus cleaner, cologne, and alcohol. Music hummed low beneath the chatter. It felt safe. Forgettable.
He ordered whiskey.
The burn was immediate and brutal. He coughed, eyes watering, earning a few glances.
"First time?"
The voice was light. Curious.
A petite woman slid into the booth across from him, stirring a drink the golden color of sunset.
"Am I that obvious?" he muttered.
She grinned. "Absolutely."
"Heartbreak?" she asked, patting his back.
He recoiled. "Don't touch me."
She raised an eyebrow. "Feisty."
"I'm Liira," she said brightly.
He froze. Of all the names.
She studied him openly. "You look like someone who's about to unravel."
"Leave me alone," he snapped.
She stood, and so did he.
Her smile vanished.
In one smooth motion, she lifted the hem of her skirt, revealing a holster strapped to her thigh.
"Sit down," she said softly. "Federal officer."
He swallowed hard and sat.
Moments later, he laughed suddenly.
"You've got to be kidding me. You're threatening my secret out of me." He laughed again.
She smiled again. It was sweet and dangerous.
"Drink," he said, sliding the glass toward her. "You'll need it if you're going to hear what I'm about to say."
She hesitated, then took it.
"I'm listening," she said.
"You're going to listen to me," he said quietly. "And you're not going to believe a word of what I'm about to tell you."
She studied him for a long moment. Then nodded.
"Go on."