Lost As Wolves

"When was the last time you saw him?" Claire asked, her voice steady despite the heavy weight settling in her chest. She already knew the answer. "Last night. Right before bed," the mother of the child, Olivia, answered. She was a few months older than Claire’s twenty-two but she looked thrice her age. "Ethan was in his room. Door locked. But this morning—" Her voice broke, and her husband took over. Marcus Carter was the oldest in the room by two years, but his grieving shrunk him as well. "His bed was empty,” he said. “No sign of struggle. The bed was well laid. The window was locked. None of it makes any sense." The Carter household smelled of burnt coffee and cold sweat. Olivia wrung her hands, her knuckles stark against her pale skin. Her husband stood by the window, his fingers gripping the frame so tightly his nails left faint imprints on the wood. They were unrecognisable. Claire exhaled through her nose, her pulse thudding. Another child. Gone. Swallowed whole by Black Hollow’s curse. She turned her gaze to the worn photograph on the mantle. Ethan Carter, age ten. A bright smile, missing a front tooth. He liked drawing. He liked disturbing Claire about America. He liked Claire’s wolf. He was afraid of the dark. Her stomach twisted. “Tell her about the argument,” Marcus said to his wife. “Ethan wouldn’t…” Olivia retorted. “What happened?” Claire butted in. Olivia sighed before speaking again. “He wanted to sleep over at a friend’s place. But I refused.” Marcus seemed like he wanted to say something, but rethought it. “And you don’t think…” Claire started. "No." Olivia didn’t let her finish. “Apparently, it hurt him because it's the first time he has asked me of such. But still...I trust him. Especially knowing what is going on now.” Claire wasn't satisfied. "Did he say anything unusual before bed? Anything that might suggest he was planning to leave?" Olivia shook her head so violently her dark curls trembled. "No. I even told him I was going to make it up to him. Do you remember the park where we first met?” Claire nodded. Olivia continued. “There’s a new attraction where what you draw temporarily comes to life.” “And how did he take it?” Claire asked. In the background, Marcus was in the kitchen doing dishes. “He was happy,” Olivia replied. “Excited even. He showed me some of his new sketches that he could try there; said he was working on something special." She sucked in a shuddering breath. "He was just a kid, Claire. He wouldn’t have run away." Claire pressed her lips together. That was the truth she feared most. A quietness fell on the room. The only sound was the rhythmic ticking of the clock above the fireplace. Claire’s wolf stirred beside her, but maintained calm. On a normal day, Olivia would have been overwhelmed by the size of Werejoy but her grief outweighed fear. The scent in Ethan's room had been stale, empty—whoever or whatever took him had left nothing behind but absence. Claire felt there was something missing, before Ethan got missing. And only if she could find that thing. Her hands ran through Werejoy's fur for a while. Then came the knock. Hard, deliberate. The washing in the kitchen stopped. Marcus came out, cleaning his hands with a cloth. He turned the locks on the door. Claire felt it before she saw him—the weight of his presence pressing against the house like an impending storm. Adrian Holt. A tall, broad-shouldered man in his late twenties, with dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and a five o’clock shadow. Dressed in a casual but rugged style. The door creaked open, fully revealing the detective’s tall frame, his sharp eyes scanning the room before settling on Claire. They softened, only slightly. He stepped inside, his boots thudding against the wooden floor. "Claire," he said, his voice low. Then, to the Carters, "We’ll find him." Olivia let out a breath that sounded like a sob. Marcus just nodded. His jaw clenched. Claire shifted, arms crossing. "I checked Ethan's room. No signs of forced entry. No scent trail. It’s like he vanished." Holt nodded, his jaw tightening. "Same as the others." A heavy silence settled. Claire could feel the weight of Holt’s gaze on her, studying, measuring. "You look tired," he murmured. She looked away. She was tired. Of missing children. Of grief-stricken parents. Of being a hunter when all she wanted was peace. And of him. The way he lingered in the spaces between tragedy, a reminder of something she couldn't afford to want. Olivia sniffled. "Please, Detective. You have to find him. We can’t—" She choked on her words, and Marcus pulled her close. "We will," Claire said, and she meant it. "I promise." *** Outside, the air was thick with Black Hollow’s autumn chill. The moon hung low, pale against the night sky. Holt fell into step beside her as they walked toward her car. "Tell me what you really think happened," he said. Claire hesitated. "I think something’s hunting in Black Hollow again." His expression darkened. "You mean someone." "I mean something." She met his gaze. "You don’t believe in the things that lurk here, Holt, but you should." "I believe in facts." His voice was careful, measured. "And in people who know more than they let on." She knew what he meant. He didn't trust her. Not fully. Not when it came to the wolf beside her. A part of her didn’t blame him. "You think I had something to do with this?" she asked, voice tight. "Suddenly, everything has to do with Werejoy. Just because you don’t want to associate with her.” Werejoy lets out a soft growl as if in emphasis of Claire. Holt stopped walking, glancing at the wolf. "I think you’re different. And I think, one day, I’m going to have to decide whether that difference makes you a threat." She swallowed, heart pounding against her ribs. She should have been angry. Should have walked away. But all she could think about was the way his fingers twitched—like he wanted to reach for her and didn’t. In the middle of something missing, she had the audacity to feel. She hated herself for it. Holt exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You should get some sleep." "You should stop pretending you don’t care." His lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across his face before something heavier settled in. "It doesn’t matter if I do." She hated him for that too. She got into her truck without another word, gripping the wheel until her knuckles turned white. Another child was gone. And the moon was rising. Then, a sound. Distant, echoing through the trees beyond the Carter house. And at the same time, near. Echoing in her head. A child's voice. Whispering her name. She turned to her wolf. It stared at her, as if trying to read her thoughts. She hears her name again. Clearly. Claire.