The silence of the house was eerie.
Every creak in the wood, every distant rustle of leaves outside felt like it carried meaning—like the night itself was holding its breath, waiting for me to figure out who I was.
I turned on my side, staring at the faint outline of the bookshelf across the room.
My eyes landed on the worn spines of the fantasy books I used to love—stories about wolves and magic and ancient bloodlines.
I used to think they were just stories.
Now I wasn’t so sure.
“Selene,” I whispered again, the name feeling strange on my tongue. “Can I ask you something?”
‘Yes, Aurora.’
I hesitated, the words forming carefully in my mind. “In the books I’ve read, werewolves usually shift with the full moon. They can’t control it. Is that real? Is that what happens to me now?”
