THE WOLF’S CURSE

Chapter 1

Alec

The studio is quiet except for the soft scratch of my pencil against the paper. I lean closer to the drafting table, squinting at the lines I’ve drawn. The client wants a modern cabin design—clean, minimalist, but still warm enough to feel like a home. It’s the third revision, and I’m starting to wonder if they’ll ever be satisfied. I erase a line, redraw it, then sit back to study the result.

“What do you think?” I ask, not looking up.

Jamie’s arms slide around my neck, her chin resting on my shoulder as she peers at the drawing. Her hair smells like lavender, and for a moment, I forget about the design, the client, everything.

“Hmm,” she says, tilting her head. “Well, if he still doesn’t like it after all the changes he asked you to make, he can suck it.”

I smirk, shaking my head. “Professional as always, Jamie.”

She laughs, a sound that’s light and easy, and steps back, leaning against the edge of my desk. My studio office is small but cozy, filled with sketches, blueprints, and half-finished models. It’s my space, my sanctuary, though Jamie’s presence always makes it feel brighter.

Jamie and I met two years ago, fresh out of school and thrown into the deep end at Carter & Greene Architects, one of the most prestigious firms in Boulder. She’s 21, I’m 22, and somehow, we both managed to impress the board director enough to land positions as junior architects. Jamie handles residential projects, while I specialize in commercial designs. We’re the youngest people to ever hold these roles, and sometimes I still can’t believe we pulled it off.

“You sure you don’t want me coming with you on this camping trip?” Jamie asks, her voice softer now. She’s been asking this question for weeks, ever since I told her about my plans.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I’ve gotta do this alone, Jamie. It’s for my dad.”

It’s been two weeks since Dad’s memorial, and the Tupperware container with his ashes still sits on my desk, a constant reminder of what I need to do. I’ve put in for two weeks of leave, and the trip is all I can think about. The Black Forest. Dad’s favorite place. The place we were supposed to go together.

In my head, I’ve already mapped out every detail. I’ll drive to the trailhead early tomorrow morning, hike deep into the forest, and find the perfect spot to scatter his ashes. Somewhere high, with a view of the mountains. Somewhere he would’ve loved. I’ve packed everything—tent, sleeping bag, food, water, even a small journal to sketch in. I want to document it, to make it feel like he’s still with me, even if it’s just through my drawings.

But there’s more to it than that. This trip isn’t just about honoring Dad’s memory. It’s about proving something to myself. That I can do this. That I can face the guilt I’ve been carrying since the day he died. That I can be the son he deserved.

Jamie steps closer, her hand resting on my arm. “I get it,” she says quietly. “I just worry about you, that’s all. The Black Forest… it’s not exactly a walk in the park.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’ve done my research. I know what I’m doing.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t argue. Instead, she leans in and kisses me, her lips warm and familiar. “Just promise me you’ll be careful,” she murmurs against my mouth.

“I promise,” I say, though the words feel heavier than they should.

When she leaves, the studio feels emptier, the silence pressing in on me. I glance at the Tupperware container, then back at my drawing. The cabin looks almost perfect now, but I can’t shake the feeling that something’s missing.

Maybe it’s me.