The Wolf In His Bones

Chapter 10

Freedom doesn’t feel like I thought it would.

It feels… quiet.

Too quiet.

The car ride is silent. Enzo doesn’t look at me once, his hands steady on the wheel, his jaw locked like he’s holding something back. The road stretches endlessly in front of us—dark trees, empty streets, nothing but shadows swallowing the headlights.

So yeah.

No, I didn’t walk out of a forest and magically appear in Brooklyn.

They brought me back.

Even monsters follow logistics.

I shift slightly in my seat, my leg throbbing under the bandage. The pain is real. Grounding. Proof that none of this was a dream.

“You’re quiet,” I mutter.

Enzo doesn’t answer.

I glance at him. “What? No goodbye speech? No ‘don’t come back or you’ll die’ speech?”

Still nothing.

Then, just before we reach the city, he finally speaks.

“You shouldn’t have been there.”

My eyes narrow slightly. “Yeah. I figured that out when I got kidnapped.”

His grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Next time, you won’t be lucky.”

Lucky.

Right.

I look out the window again, watching the city slowly come back to life—streetlights, buildings, people. Normal.

I almost forgot what normal looked like.

Enzo stops a few streets away from my apartment.

“This is it,” he says.

That’s all.

No looking at me. No warning. No anything.

I open the door, step out carefully, ignoring the pain shooting through my leg. When I close it, the car is already pulling away.

Just like that.

Gone.

Like none of it ever happened.

I stand there for a second, staring at the empty street.

Then I walk.

I barely make it to my apartment door before it swings open.

“Lila?”

My heart drops.

My dad stands there, eyes wide, relief and panic written all over his face. Of course. Spare key.

I forgot he still has one.

“Where were you?” he asks, stepping toward me like he needs to make sure I’m real. “I’ve been calling for days.”

I freeze for half a second, then force myself to breathe normally.

“I… lost my phone,” I say. “I was out with a friend and it got late. I couldn’t call.”

The lie comes out too fast. Too smooth.

He studies me, his gaze sharp, searching. For a moment, I think he sees it—the cracks, the fear, everything I’m trying to hide.

Then his shoulders drop, just a little.

“You scared me,” he mutters.

“I’m okay,” I say quietly.

He pulls me into a hug, tight and warm, and I stiffen before slowly relaxing into it.

“I’m okay,” I repeat.

Even if it’s not true

The next few days pass like I’m living someone else’s life.

I sleep in my own bed, but I wake up tense.

I eat at the table, but I don’t taste anything.

I talk, laugh, move like normal—but everything feels… off.

Like I left something behind.

Or something followed me.

I tell myself it’s just my mind trying to catch up.

Trauma. Shock. Whatever.

Eventually, I go back to school.

Because what else am I supposed to do?

Life doesn’t pause just because I got kidnapped by a mafia boss who might not even be human.

So I walk into campus like nothing happened.

Brooklyn noise fills my ears—students talking, phones ringing, someone laughing too loud in the hallway.

Normal.

It should feel comforting.

It doesn’t.

I’m hyper-aware now.

Every movement. Every sound.

Every person.

At first, it’s subtle.

A feeling.

That same weight at the back of my neck.

Like someone’s looking at me.

I ignore it.

Then it happens again.

And again.

A figure across the street when I leave campus.

Standing still.

Too still.

I blink—and they’re gone.

My steps slow.

That’s weird.

But not enough.

Not yet.

The next day, I notice a car.

Black.

Parked across from the building.

Engine running.

Windows tinted.

I tell myself it’s nothing.

People park. People wait.

Normal.

Still… I look at it longer than I should.

It doesn’t move.

By the third day, I can’t ignore it anymore.

I’m walking home, my bag slung over my shoulder, trying to focus on anything but the tension creeping into my chest.

Then—

Footsteps.

Behind me.

Slow.

Matching mine.

I stop.

They stop.

My heart starts pounding.

I don’t turn around immediately.

I breathe.

One.

Two.

Then I turn.

Nothing.

Just people passing by. Cars driving. Life moving.

But I know what I heard.

I keep walking.

Faster now.

My leg aches, but I ignore it.

A reflection in a shop window catches my eye.

And there—

Across the street.

A silhouette.

Watching.

The second I focus on it—

It moves.

Gone.

Like it was never there.

My stomach drops.

This isn’t in my head.

This is real.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to keep moving, to not panic, to not run.

But the feeling doesn’t leave.

It stays.

Close.

Heavy.

Wrong.

Freedom was supposed to mean safety.

Distance.

An ending.

But this?

This feels like the beginning of something worse.

Like I didn’t escape anything.

Like I was let go.

And now—

Someone else is coming for me.