Two
1097 Words
I woke before my alarm. The room was still dim, painted in the gray light of dawn, but I could hear the first birds calling outside, their songs sharp against the steady patter of rain against my window.
I reached for my phone.
6:09 a.m.
My alarm wouldn’t go off for another twenty-one minutes. School didn’t start until 8:20. But I knew there was no use trying to fall back asleep. My mind had already begun its restless pacing.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, stretching until my back popped, and padded across the room. The rain tapped a rhythm against the glass, soft but insistent, like fingers drumming to remind me the world was still moving.
When I opened my dresser drawer, something golden caught the corner of my eye.
I froze.
It was an invitation. Heavy cardstock, embossed letters.
You are invited to celebrate Aidan Foster’s 19th Birthday.
My stomach dropped.
Of course. Everyone was expected. You didn’t decline an Alpha’s invitation, not when it was his heir. Once upon a time, Aidan and Morgan and I had been inseparable — barefoot summers, scraped knees, secrets whispered until dawn. But that was years ago. Now, the idea of standing in a crowd and celebrating felt like being forced to dance at my own funeral.
I sighed and set the card down, shoving the drawer closed harder than I meant to. I pulled on a gray sweater, black leggings, and my thick socks — the fuzzy kind that stuck out just above my boots. Morgan would have teased me for them, just like she always had.
In the bathroom, I brushed my teeth, dragged a comb through my hair, and slid on my glasses.
Average. That was the first word that came to mind when I looked in the mirror. My hair never held a curl, never shone the way Morgan’s had. My skin stayed pale, made paler by hiding indoors. The glasses were oversized, covering half my face — which I didn’t mind. They hid what I didn’t want anyone to see.
Except my eyes.
Emerald green. Bright, almond-shaped, sharp enough that sometimes people stared. Morgan used to say I must have stolen them from some goddess in the woods. They didn’t match her warm brown eyes, or the rest of me, really. They were the one remarkable thing about me, and I’d grown to hate them for it.
I pushed the thought aside and grabbed my phone. I had something to wear for the party — barely — but I needed help with the rest. There was only one person I could call.
Lucy.
My cousin lived forty minutes away, but she had been close to us when we were younger. Close to Morgan. Close to me. I tapped out a quick text, explaining everything, begging her to come help. My thumb hovered before I hit send, then it was gone, drifting into the quiet morning. She probably wouldn’t see it for hours.
I wasn’t ready to risk running into my parents, so instead of taking the stairs, I slipped out my bedroom window, backpack slung over my shoulder.
---
The café across from campus was already open, golden light spilling onto the wet street. The smell of coffee wrapped around me as I pushed through the door, a temporary shield against the damp chill.
By the time I slid into a booth, it was only 6:45. School wouldn’t open until seven. I ordered coffee and a breakfast burrito, steam curling upward as I unwrapped it. The rain streaked the window beside me, blurring the world outside into shades of gray.
For a moment, it almost felt safe.
When the time came, I pulled my hood up and sprinted across the street, rain soaking into my sleeves and curling the tiny hairs along my forehead. My boots squelched against the wet pavement.
Inside the library, it was quiet — the kind of silence that held its breath. I climbed the stairs two at a time and slipped into the last study room at the end of the hall. A flick of the switch filled the small space with dim yellow light.
My sanctuary.
The librarian knew me well enough by now to let me have it whenever I needed. And I always needed it.
My phone buzzed against the tabletop, startling me.
Lucy.
She’d texted back, eager, almost excited. She’d be there tonight to help me. Relief loosened something in my chest I hadn’t realized I’d been holding tight. For once, maybe, luck was on my side.
---
Aidan hadn’t slept either.
The night had dragged, each hour heavier than the last. Sam’s face kept replaying in his mind — her tears, her confession. Months of lies. He’d told her to go home. He’d needed space. But space didn’t quiet the question burning in his chest.
If it isn’t her… then who?
The thought wouldn’t leave him.
When the first streaks of light bled into his room, he gave up. He stood under the shower until the water ran hot enough to sting, bracing his palms against the tile. Steam blurred the mirror, blurred the edges of his reflection, but nothing blurred the truth. Sam wasn’t his mate.
The pack would expect them together tonight, smiling, unshakable. Some would even expect an announcement. But how could he announce something that wasn’t real?
And worse — if he did find his mate… would he be strong enough to let Sam go?
---
School was quiet when he arrived. The parking lot half-empty, the halls echoing. Aidan slipped into the library, climbing the stairs two at a time, restless energy buzzing under his skin.
Upstairs was nearly deserted. A cluster of computers hummed softly at the landing, and to the right sat a lone couch against the wall. He dropped onto it, sprawling out, running a hand over his face.
Maybe he could close his eyes. Just for a minute.
Then he smelled it.
Plumeria.
Sweet. Floral. Subtle, but sharp enough to slice through the musty air of the library. His head jerked up, eyes scanning the hallway.
No one. Only the faint shuffle of the librarian downstairs.
The scent lingered, curling around him like invisible hands tugging at his chest. His pulse kicked. It wasn’t perfume. It wasn’t soap. It was alive, pulling him toward something — or someone — just out of reach.
He swallowed hard and leaned back, willing his body to still, even as his heart thundered.
For the first time in his life, Aidan Foster felt haunted.
- Writer
