Silver Mist
1104 Words
Morning mist hung in the air like breath that refused to fade, swirling low over moss-slick stones and leaves half-decayed. It threaded between the trunks of tall pines, their silver-tipped needles catching slivers of early light in a way that made the path ahead shimmer like something half-remembered.
A dream she wasn’t meant to be part of.
Aria Hartfield walked alone.
She hadn’t told anyone she was leaving. No note. No message for Xander. No footsteps lingering in the kitchen to wait for a conversation that never came.
Silence had greeted her again that morning. Stiff. Cold. Familiar.
The study door was still locked.
Sienna's name still whispered at the edge of her thoughts like a stain she couldn’t scrub clean.
So, she walked.
Not to run.
To breathe.
To remember who she was when she wasn’t just a shadow moving silently through someone else’s house.
The trail twisted around a shelf of stone, and suddenly, she stepped into light.
A small clearing opened around her like a held breath finally released.
Wildflowers spilled between cracks in the stone, defiant and golden. A thin creek snaked through the middle, its water catching the sun in flashes, like stars trapped in motion. Birds stirred in the canopy but made no sound.
She paused at the edge, as if crossing into something sacred.
Then sat on a moss-covered ledge near the water’s edge, fingers trailing absentmindedly through the earth.
Here, there were no stares.
No quiet judgment in the halls.
No “Alpha” to stand beside in a silence that never softened.
Just wind, and water, and the slow exhale of the forest waking.
She closed her eyes. Let herself feel the weight of her presence again.
Stop thinking about him, she told herself.
But she couldn’t. Not when every look from him dug beneath her skin.
Not when every silence was an unfinished sentence between them.
Not when Sienna still lived inside a drawer, he kept locked.
You don’t belong here.
The memory rose, uninvited.
Her locker had been defaced.
Black marker, jagged across the metal: Ghost Girl
Three girls walked by laughing, arms looped. One of them glanced back with a grin. Aria stood still.
She didn’t cry. Didn’t scrub it off.
Just opened her locker, took her books, and closed it again.
That afternoon, someone had slipped a chicken bone into her lunch.
She stopped eating lunch after that.
No one noticed.
Back in the forest, the memory settled on her tongue like metal.
She dug her hands into the moss. The texture, soft and damp, anchored her. It was real. Not like those memories. Not like Xander’s locked drawer.
A sudden rustle snapped her eyes open.
Then a yelp. Small. Sharp. Frightened.
She stood immediately.
Another rustle. Then, there. A flicker of movement beneath a bramble near the edge of the creek.
She moved slowly, crouched low.
Parted the branches.
A wolf cub.
Tiny. Barely old enough to walk confidently. Its hind leg twisted painfully beneath it, caught in a knot of vines and jagged stone. Blood clung to its fur, dark against the tawny coat.
It tried to growl. Just once.
Aria’s breath caught.
She didn’t speak. Didn’t lunge. Just slowly extended her hand, letting her energy soften. Not dominance. Not submission. Something gentler. Something ancient.
Healing.
The cub blinked.
Then whimpered.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
She reached into her satchel, thank the stars she’d brought it, and pulled free a small tin of salve.
Lavender. Witch hazel. Silverroot.
Her fingers worked with practiced care.
The leg wasn’t broken. Just badly twisted. Torn in a few places where the vine had bitten in.
“You’re lucky,” she murmured. “You’ll be okay.”
The cub licked her wrist when she finished.
And curled beside her ankle.
Aria sat down slowly, arms resting over her knees.
For the first time in days, something inside her loosened.
No one was watching.
No one would praise her.
No one would even know.
But it mattered.
Because she mattered.
She remembered the day she passed her healer’s trials. Top marks. Not a single mistake.
No applause.
Just a glance from her instructor, half surprised, half dismissive.
She’d tucked the certificate away, walked home, and healed a fox dying by the roadside.
No one clapped then either.
But that fox had opened its eyes.
That was enough.
Now, this cub, the tiny body beside her, slept soundly.
Its chest rising and falling in time with her own.
She didn’t notice the tear on her cheek until it slid down her jaw.
She wiped it away absently. Didn’t feel ashamed.
She wasn’t broken. Just… open.
Maybe this was what healing looked like, not light and miracles, but slow, unnoticed work.
Loving things no one else saw.
Doing what was right when no one asked.
Giving warmth without waiting to be thanked.
The trail back felt longer somehow. Quieter.
She left the cub nestled in moss, hidden and safe.
No one would ever know she’d been there.
But she would.
And that was enough.
When she stepped through the front door of the estate, the stillness struck her harder than expected.
The air inside was heavy with quiet.
No scent of food.
No boots by the door.
No voice.
She climbed the stairs slowly.
Her legs ached, but her heart no longer felt brittle. Just… tired. And whole.
In her room, something new awaited her.
A folded blanket was neatly placed at the edge of the bed.
Not hers.
Xander’s scent clung to it.
And beside it, folded carefully, a note.
Just two words.
I noticed.
That was all.
Not an apology. Not an invitation.
But something.
He had seen her leave.
Had let her.
And now, he’d let her know he’d seen her return.
She pressed the note against her chest.
Still alone. Still aching.
But maybe, just maybe, not invisible.
She stood on the balcony as the light faded, watching the silver mist creep along the tree line like a story unfolding.
Somewhere out there, a small cub slept because of her.
No one had seen.
No one needed to.
She mattered anyway.
She inhaled, filling her lungs with the wind, the dusk, the silence.
And whispered to the last light,
“I won’t disappear again.”
Behind her, the floor creaked.
She turned.
Xander stood in the doorway, the last of the daylight painting his silhouette in gold.
His eyes found hers.
And for once, when he said her name, it wasn’t clipped or tired.
It wasn’t armour.
It was wonderful.
“Aria?"
- Writer
