I'm running through the woods.
No-not woods this time.
Streets.
Empty, quiet streets swallowed by fog.
My lungs burn. Every breath feels like knives as I sprint through the abandoned roads, my footsteps echoing like I'm the only heartbeat left in the world.
I risk a glance back.
The beast is there-shadow and hunger-closing the distance with terrifying ease.
I'm no match. I know it.
It knows it.
Its claws slam into my back, tearing flesh, ripping a scream out of me.
My legs buckle. Heat floods down my spine.
Life leaks out fast-too fast.
I hit the pavement hard.
The last thing I see is a pair of eyes-
red, unblinking,
glowing with purpose.
Not a predator's instinct.
A promis.
Then everything goes dark.
***
I jolt awake violently, drenched in cold sweat for the millionth time this month. I exhale shakily and rub my aching eyelids. Then, as if a dam suddenly tears open, memories of last night rush into my mind like a flood.
The late night at Sweetly's.
The black wolf.
The mysterious girl who saved my life.
I remember the pain of my ribs cracking. I lift the blanket, expecting bruises, but my torso is perfectly fine.
Maybe it had all been a dream. Maybe I wasn't chased by a demonic wolf-man last night. Except… I'm still wearing the same jeans, and my shirt—along with my work vest—is nowhere to be found. I look around my room. Even my phone is missing.
Then I remember.
Glowing red orbs of chaos glaring at me.
Dropping my phone.
Running for my life.
But that's weird… Are there werewolves in Ashford now?
I'm halfway through breakfast downstairs as I contemplate all this, the warm smell of toast and coffee doing nothing to calm me. Then I pause.
Werewolf.
How did that word even come to mind?
On the TV, the weather forecast predicts a fall in humidity, the first whispers of autumn. Yet the fog outside clings stubbornly to the streets, heavy and unmoving, like it's hiding something.
Werewolf?
Honestly, that's the best way to describe what I saw. I couldn't make out much in the dark, but I remember the torso of a hairy man with beastlike features.
"Carl…"
I snap out of my spiraling thoughts. That's impossible. If I had really been attacked, why do I feel perfectly fine?
"Carl…"
That dark-haired girl who saved me—why do I feel like I've seen her before? What the hell is actually going on?
A hand taps my shoulder. My mum stands there, frowning softly.
"You completely zoned out." Worry etches her eyebrows. "What's wrong?"
"N-nothing, Mum. Just tired."
She gives me that look—like she knows something's up—but lets it drop. She's in sweats, hair loose. Her day off means sprawling on the couch, binge-watching Love Island until she falls asleep.
My little brother is beside me, sketching with fierce concentration.
I love that she lets me figure things out on my own, even if she's not totally oblivious to my well-being.
"Mr. Sweetly called," she says, spreading blueberry jam across her toast. "He said they found your phone in the pantry. Any idea how it ended up there?"
I string together a handful of half-baked excuses. They seem to satisfy her—barely.
---
I swear my body feels like it could take flight at any moment; my nerves are strung tight as piano wires.
My nightmares were… different this time. I don't remember much, but something feels changed. Off.
The fog outside no longer seems romantic—it curls around my ankles like something alive, something waiting.
---
"You would not believe what the cops found last night," Damasen says beside me as we walk down the hallway.
"Try me," I reply dryly. His enthusiasm is usually contagious; nothing fazes him. I envy that. He'd probably handle all this better than I am.
"Laura Stain's mum," he whispers. "They found her dead near that old street… Hilston Street."
My breathing stutters.
"You can't be serious."
"I wish I wasn't." We reach his locker, and he grabs the books he needs for first period. "I'm surprised you haven't heard—it's been all over the news."
"Yeah, I left home early, and I don't have my phone."
Hilston Street. That's close to where I work… too close.
Red eyes flash through my mind again.
"Crazy, right? Mayor Whitaker set a town-wide curfew. Eight p.m."
The black wolf-man—or werewolf.
Is he responsible for this?
What does it want?
And most importantly… is it even real? Or just my imagination playing monster-maker?
"You seem lost," Damasen says, snapping me back. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Just nervous."
From the corner of my eye, I catch dark hair slipping around a hallway corner. My pulse jumps.
I mumble something to Damasen and follow.
She's at a locker. Long dark hair. Slim posture. The new girl. The one who filled my head with questions.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I walk over.
Ashley turns. Her grey eyes meet mine, puzzled and sharp. My breath stutters for a moment, but I force air back into my lungs.
I need answers.
"It was you, wasn't it?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she says, eyeing me like I've lost it. Her voice is clear, edged with steel.
"I know it was you last night. The one who helped me hide from—" I lower my voice, scanning the hallway for eavesdroppers. "—it."
Her frown deepens. She looks me over like she's assessing damage.
"I think you may have hit your head," she says. "You sound insane."
She slams her locker shut and walks away, leaving me standing there like an idiot.
But I know it was her. I know she saved me… if what I remember is real.
So why is she pretending she doesn't?
What is Ashley Vale hiding?