No News
1232 Words
Cadence POV
I followed them into Regan’s lounge, still holding onto the lingering warmth of his presence from the morning. The smell of cedar and leather was stronger here, mixed with something softer, almost like vanilla and smoke. My pulse quickened, not just from the residual adrenaline of last night, but from the sheer opulence of the room and the way Regan moved through it — calm, confident, like he owned every inch of it.
The lounge was a perfect balance of modern luxury and old-world charm. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in streams of sunlight that hit the polished hardwood floors, reflecting off the minimalist chrome accents and deep, mahogany bookshelves lined with books whose titles I didn’t recognize. Plush velvet sofas in a rich navy blue contrasted with the cream-colored rug beneath them. A fireplace crackled softly, even though it was almost noon, adding warmth to the room that made it feel… intimate. Like it was designed not just to impress, but to cocoon you.
Regan’s dark black hair caught the light in sharp angles as he leaned casually against the arm of one sofa. His blue eyes — so startlingly clear against the darkness of his hair — scanned me briefly, measuring, weighing. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but there was that same quiet magnetism from the morning: calm, protective, and slightly dangerous, like the world could fall apart and he would remain untouchable at the center of it.
Jar stood nearby, broad-shouldered, a little more casual in his stance. He had the kind of build that made you think football practice and weightlifting were second nature. His blond hair was slightly mussed, and his grin was easy, approachable. The kind of guy who could seem completely at home in any situation. Jar had helped me last night — or more accurately, had helped me survive — and despite the lingering tension in my muscles, I felt a flicker of comfort at seeing him.
“Cadence,” Regan said finally, his voice smooth, measured. “Sit. Make yourself comfortable.” He gestured to the sofa opposite his, his blue eyes never leaving mine.
I obeyed, my knees brushing the soft fabric of the cushions as I lowered myself.
Jar sat on the other sofa, leaning back casually but keeping a watchful eye on me. He smiled briefly, trying to put me at ease, but I could feel the taut energy radiating off him. He was alert, protective.
Regan’s gaze lingered on me. “You were… lucky last night,” he said, voice low, almost conspiratorial. “Jar here made sure you were safe. But you need to tell me — what do you know?”
I frowned. “I… I don’t know much. I saw them — the fight — the wolves. I thought they were… well, I don’t know what I thought. They weren’t human. I didn’t…” My voice faltered. “I didn’t get a good look. I didn’t even understand what I was seeing.”
Jar nodded, giving me a small reassuring smile. “You did fine. You stayed alive. That’s what matters.”
Regan’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker I didn’t fully catch. He shifted subtly, and almost without realizing it, I felt a ripple of thought, strange and invasive, brushing against the edges of my mind. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was disconcerting — like someone had reached in and skimmed the surface of my memory.
He didn’t speak aloud, but Jar stiffened slightly. Then Regan’s voice returned to normal, as if nothing had happened.
“I see,” he said finally, leaning back in the chair with effortless grace. “I think you’re safe here for now. But I want to make sure you get home. I can drive you.”
“I… I don’t know if I should—” I started, hesitant, my mind still fogged from yesterday.
Regan held up a hand. “I’ll call the police, make sure the area is secured. You’ll be safe. And then… maybe we can talk again. Over dinner. Or lunch. Whatever you prefer.”
I hesitated, and then nodded. I didn’t trust the world right now, but I did trust him, in a way I couldn’t explain. He exuded safety, even if it came with a strange, almost predatory edge.
Jar gave me a small shrug, silent approval, and we left the lounge. The ride home was quiet, punctuated only by the occasional glance from Regan. His eyes were calm, piercing, unreadable. I didn’t know why, but I felt like he knew more than he was letting on.
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Back at my room, I flicked on the TV while my hands shook slightly. My mind was still replaying the fight, the wolves, and the strange intensity of Regan. On the news, though, there was no mention of what I had witnessed. Instead, the anchors were talking about wild animal warnings in the area, cautioning citizens about raccoons, deer, and reports of large dogs attacking pets.
I froze. No mall attack. No massive brawl of creatures I had seen with my own eyes. Just a news segment cautioning about wild animals. Something felt… wrong.
I grabbed my laptop and opened the local police website. Nothing. No reports. No alerts. No witnesses. No injuries beyond a minor dog bite somewhere else in town. It was like the entire fight had never happened.
My hands shook slightly, uncertainty gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. Was I… going mad? Had I imagined it? The wolf — the white wolf from my dream — stirred somewhere deep inside, a pulse in my chest that didn’t make sense. A whisper of reassurance that told me I had not imagined anything.
It made me feel even more confused. My logic fought my instinct. My training in forensic science told me one thing — evidence, data, facts — but my gut, my body, my internal wolf, told me something else. Something real.
I decided I needed guidance. I grabbed my phone and called my grandmother. Her voice was soft, familiar, but carried an undertone of something I didn’t quite understand.
“Grandma,” I said, tension in my voice. “Something… strange happened. I think I need to come see you.”
There was a pause. Then she said, cryptically, “Yes, Cadence. You need to come home. Soon.”
“Why?” I pressed.
“Just come,” she replied. “All will be clear when you do.”
I ended the call, my stomach twisting with anticipation and unease. Something was happening — something I didn’t yet understand. And now, more than ever, I felt like I was being pulled along a path I couldn’t see.
The wolf thrummed within me again, soft but insistent. My pulse matched its rhythm, reminding me I wasn’t alone in my confusion. I didn’t know what awaited me at my grandmother’s, or what the white wolf meant, or why Regan’s presence unsettled and soothed me at the same time.
But I knew one thing: I couldn’t ignore it. Not now.
I would take the day off work — it was Sunday, after all — and return to the scene of the mall. If the authorities weren’t reporting it, I would. My hands itched to touch, to examine, to uncover the truth. I was a forensic student. This was what I did. I
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