My breath hitched, and for a second, the world just stopped. Out of the corner of my eye, a shape moved. A wolf—its eyes like two cold, blue embers—stepped from the shadows.

  I didn’t think or breathe. My body just recoiled, a primal jolt of electricity snapping through my limbs. I bolted.

  I ran with a frantic, desperation. Branches whipped my face, but I barely felt them over the roar of blood in my ears.

  My lungs burned, my heart hammered against my ribs. I was certain, with every stride that I would feel teeth sink into my heel.

  I dove behind a massive oak, my hands scraping against the rough bark as I collapsed into its shadow. I sat there, shaking so hard my teeth rattled, forcing myself to look back.

  It hadn’t moved.

  It was still sitting in the same position. It wasn’t crouched to spring; there was no growl. It just watched…almost confused.

  I swallowed hard and my legs felt heavy. I waited for the rush or the snarl—but it never came. My mind started to loop back to earlier that morning. It had appeared then, too. It had stood in the brush, silent and still, before vanishing.

  If it wanted to kill me, I realized, the thought feeling strange, it would have done it by now.

  My brain was screaming at me to keep running, but my legs felt rooted by a weird, reckless curiosity that I couldn’t push down.

  I forced myself to take one tentative step back towards the clearing, but the sudden, loud crunch of a dry leaf under my boot sent a fresh jolt of panic through me.

  My resolve shattered, as I took off again, stumbling through the brush until my shins ached.

  I stopped further out, leaning against a birch tree, gasping for air. I felt jittery but I couldn’t just leave. I shouldn’t have been going back, I knew that, yet I found myself creeping through the shadows, slowly retracing my own path.

  When I finally reached the oak, I peered around the trunk. The wolf was exactly where I’d left it. I saw its tail twitch slowly and patiently.

  I let out a breath I’d been holding, my shoulders dropping just an inch. “You’re not hunting me?” I whispered, the sound of my own voice trembling in the woods.

  It had seen me fall, seen me run, seen me vulnerable—and it hadn’t moved a muscle to hurt me.

  Exhausted by the terror, I slid down the back of the oak tree, my knees finally giving out. I sat in the dirt, closing my eyes for just a second to let the dizziness pass.

  A soft huff of air hit my cheek.

  My eyes snapped open, and my heart nearly stopped. The wolf wasn’t across the clearing anymore. It was right there, standing inches from me. My back pressed hard against the bark thinking it might swallow me.

  I stared directly into those blue embers. It watched me with a terrifying, quiet intelligence, waiting for me to catch my breath.

  Finally, I forced myself to stand. My knees were shaking so hard I thought I’d collapse again, but I edged closer, until I could see the individual strands of coarse blonde fur on its neck.

  I reached out, my hand trembling so hard I almost pulled back. I waited for the snap of jaws, the flash of teeth. Instead, it let my fingers sink into the thick fur on its head.

  It was so warm, and incredibly solid

  Tears pricked my eyes. I didn’t have any friends left and Mia hadn’t believed my innocence.

  But this creature didn’t care that I had run, or that I was breaking down in the dirt. It just approached me all the same.

  It leaned into my touch, then let out a long sigh.

  A hysterical laugh bubbled up in my throat. It was a stupidly normal, dog-like thing to do

  “Will you... hurt me?” I breathed.

  The wolf didn’t pull away. It just turned its eyes back to mine, its ears flickering forward, listening to the tremor in my soul.

  I laughed again, and this time, the sound didn’t shake...I was okay.

  I started to walk- I expected the wolf to vanish back into the brush now that the moment had passed. But it didn’t.

  It kept this weird, respectful distance—trailing about ten paces back, perfectly synced with my stride. I could hear the soft, thud-crunch of its paws on the forest floor.

  I tested it. I slowed my pace, and waited to see if it would close the gap. It slowed instantly, maintaining that precise ten-foot bubble. When I stopped to adjust the heavy strap of my bag, digging into my shoulder, the wolf didn’t use the opening to lung. It just sat.

  Every time I turned, those blue eyes were there, glowing softly in the deepening twilight.

  “This is insane,”

  The wolf’s ears flicked towards me. It didn’t tilt its head like a curious pet; it just listened, its gaze never wavering.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “I’ve officially lost it,” I muttered, dropping my head and staring at my scuffed boots. My mind was spinning, trying to find a logical explanation that wasn’t there.

  “First I’m seeing things. Now I’m talking to them. Great. Just great. Mia was right—I’m cracking.”

  The wolf’s tail gave a slow, lazy sway that felt like a shrug. As if it were saying, so what if you have?

  “You’re not even supposed to be here,” I said, my voice gaining a tiny bit of strength.

  “This village doesn’t have wolves. We have stray cats and the occasional confused deer that wanders into the garden. We don’t have...

  whatever you are.”

  “Don’t get used to this,” I said, even managing a weak, lopsided smile. “I’m not adopting you. I can barely take care of myself, let alone a... you.”

  When the rooftop Mr. Fisher’s house finally bled through the grey mist, the wolf stopped. It reached the very edge of the tree line, where

  the wild moss gave way to the packed dirt of the road, and stayed there.

  “You’re not coming?”

  It stayed put, something about the way it looked at me made my throat ache with a sudden, sharp grief.

  I gave a small, hesitant nod, a silent pact sealed in the cold air. I’ll come back. I turned and walked towards the flickering orange lights of our home.

  Dinner was quiet—except for the distant, hollow hum of Arctic Monkeys’ “I Wanna Be Yours” playing in the background. The slow, heavy bass felt like it was keeping time with the things Mia and I hadn’t agreed on lately. I told myself it would be good soon.

  I’d see the doctor, keep my head down, behave my best until graduation so she’d finally let me work.

  The clink of silverware against ceramic sounded loud in the small room. Across the table, Mia watched me, her eyes tracking every movement of my hands.

  “You’re quiet tonight,” she said, sliding the salt shaker towards me.

  “I’m fine. Just tired.”

  I couldn’t tell her what had really happened. She already thought I was on edge; if I mentioned the wolf, she’d be certain I was losing my mind. I needed to be sure of what I saw first.

  “Did you pass by Abie’s?”

  My fork paused halfway to my mouth.

  “No,” I said, focusing on a single pea on my plate. “She isn’t in town.”

  “Did she say why? Or where she went?”

  “She sent a message. Said they were taken for treatment.”

  “Treatment?” Mia’s gaze sharpening. “For what?”

  “A disease. Something called… fames. Or esuries.” The words felt strange on my tongue. I wasn’t even sure I was pronouncing them right. “I’m not sure which.”

  Mia blinked. The hard line of her stare broke, and a small, puzzled laugh escaped her. Like I was pulling her leg.

  “Hana,” she said, shaking her head as she reached for her water. “Fames and esuries... you’re sure?”

  “She said something like that. Why? Do you know it?”

  “No, I just think you heard wrong. Those words don’t sound like a disease to me...more like hunger.”

  The background music felt like it had sucked all the air out of the kitchen.

  “That’s not funny,” I whispered.

  “I’m not joking.” her smile faded, replaced by a look of genuine confusion. “Why would your friend call hunger a disease? Didn’t they

  have food?”

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Hunger wasn’t a virus. It wasn’t something you got “taken for treatment” for.

  Why would Abie lie to me?

  Later, locked in my room, I pulled out my notebook and wrote the words in thick, dark ink.

  Fames. Esuries. Hunger.

  What kind of “treatment” do you get for that? Was it some code language?

  I suddenly recalled the paper I’d grabbed from the hideout—the ones I’d stuffed into my bag without looking at. I pulled it out and the

  symbols on it stared back at me.

  They didn’t look like any alphabet I knew.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, I felt a wave of frustration wash over me. I couldn’t do this alone.

  With a deep breath I stood up and walked back out to the kitchen, clutching the papers. I couldn’t keep this if I wanted to stay sane. I reached the table and held them out for Mia, my voice barely a whisper.

  “Mia... can you read these? Do you understand what any of this means?”

  Her brows furrowed as her eyes traced the jagged lines. I leaned over her shoulder, as I watched her reaction. “Can you figure it out? What does it say?”

  “It doesn’t make a lot of sense,” she murmured, her thumb brushing the edge of the paper. “I don’t think you should be having this.”

  Her voice had gone flat, and for some reason, a prickle of distrust shot through me. I felt like she was looking right at the answer and choosing to keep me in the dark.

  “If you won’t tell me, I’ll figure it out on my own,” I lunged to snatch it back, but Mia was faster, pulling the papers towards her chest and withholding them.

  “I’ll tell you,” she said, her expression tightening into something unreadable. “It’s like a question… it says, ‘Can you choose a frog over a prince?’”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yeah,” she said, finally letting me take the paper back.

  I looked down at the mysterious symbols again. They looked nothing like a children’s fairy tale.

  The following morning, the air was biting. I had to attend my first therapy session. When stepped out onto the porch, I wasn’t surprised.

  A blonde shape was across the road, half-hidden by the silver trunks of the birches.

  Anyone would find me insane for liking the feel of its presence, but the crushing loneliness didn’t feel as heavy anymore.

  It followed me all the way to the therapist’s office. I didn’t realise how much I needed someone to talk to until I started talking about everything—the life I had before, and the weight of coming to Villaluz. As we walked, the words just spilled out.

  Much as I didn’t get a reply, I could sense it was listening. Its ears would flick towards the sound of my voice.

  It stayed moved through the shadows of the trees, never drawing a second glance. It was like a secret we were both keeping.

  When I entered the office, it smelled of dried lavender and old paper. It was supposed to be calming, but it just made me feel itchy.

  Talking to someone was supposed to be easy but I realised I barely had anything to tell Ms. Christine. How could I, when I hardly agreed to the meeting.

  After the long silence, she finally said.

  “Ms. Hana, is there anything that you would like to share with me?” the mole on her cheek moving as she spoke.

  It was awkward at first—the way I stared at the rug and gave one-word answers—but as the minutes ticked by, the air in the room felt less heavy.

  I found myself talking about the move, about the weight of Villaluz, and the way the shadows felt more like home than the village did. As we went on, I felt slightly more comfortable, the itchiness fading into a dull hum.

  As we were about to conclude, she leaned forward, offering a small, patient smile.

  “Being intense isn’t the same as being unstable, Hana,”

  “You’re different, and in a town this small, ‘different’ gets labelled as ‘broken.’ You just need to live more fully. Stop isolating and be open to new people.”

  New people. My mind flashed to Jaden. The way he looked at me the last time we met—not like I was a problem to be solved anymore, but like he was seeing a version of me I hadn’t met yet. A version that could almost fit in.

  “You don’t need fixing,” she added gently, her voice grounding me back to the lavender-scented room. “You need confidence and the ability to stop doubting everyone you see.”

  The words were too close—and sharp.

  When you’re done believing what everyone else says about you…

  When you realise you don’t need fixing…

  I shifted in the high-backed armchair, the fabric scratching against my damp palms as the scent of lavender grew cloying. Ms. Christine didn’t know how much her words mirrored the thoughts I’d tried to bury.

  “Sometimes,” she continued, her voice dropping to that soft, therapeutic hum that makes you want to spill every secret you’ve ever kept.

  “we push people away before they have the chance to understand us. Try this: talk to someone new this week. Let yourself be seen.”

  I nodded slowly, a part of me actually wanting to believe her. I was lonely and too guarded.

  “No one wants to harm you,” she continued “and if you can fully have that in your heart, you will realise how easy it is to live freely.”

  Maybe she was right. Maybe being open wouldn’t hurt as much as I feared.

  When I stepped out onto the sidewalk, the wolf rose from the nearby bushes where it had been waiting in. It shook its blonde fur and fell into step behind me.

  “We should get you a name,” I whispered, and I almost laughed when the words actually made its tail give a happy wag.

  “Which name do you like? Wait…” I paused, squinting as I glanced down to check. “Are you a girl or a boy?”

  He huffed, like he were offended by the question.

  “You’re a boy. Bingo.” A strange, light feeling bubbled up in my chest. “We’ll name you Santiago. My Santiago.”

  Saying it out loud made him feel less like a phantom and more like a friend. We turned away from the village and proceeded to walk towards the safety of the woods, the silver birches waiting to swallow us both.