What Hunts the Wolf

Chapter 6: Closer

The drive home feels shorter than usual.

Or maybe I’m just distracted.

The road blurs past in familiar turns and quiet stretches, but my mind never really settles. It keeps circling back—half-formed thoughts, sensations I can’t quite explain, that same low, restless feeling sitting just under my skin.

By the time I pull into the driveway, the sun is already starting to dip, casting everything in that soft golden light that makes things look… normal.

Like nothing is wrong.

Like everything is exactly the way it’s supposed to be.

I know better.

I kill the engine and sit there for a second longer than I need to, my hands still resting on the wheel. The quiet presses in around me, too still after the noise of the day.

Then I force myself to move.

Inside, the house is warm, familiar in a way that almost feels unreal compared to everything else.

I drop my bag by the door.

“Hello?”

“In here,” Auntie calls from the kitchen.

I hesitate for a second—just long enough to notice it—then walk in.

She’s at the stove again, moving with that same steady, practiced rhythm she always has. But when she turns this time—

She smiles.

Not small. Not distracted.

Real.

It throws me off more than anything else has all day.

“…Hey,” I say.

“Sit,” she gestures. “You look tired.”

I almost argue.

It’s automatic at this point.

Almost.

But the truth is, I am tired.

Not just physically.

Something deeper.

So I sit.

The chair creaks under me, grounding in a way I didn’t realize I needed.

She sets a plate in front of me, then another for herself before sitting across from me.

For a moment, neither of us says anything.

Just the quiet clink of utensils, the soft hum of the house around us.

Then—

“How was school?”

I shrug. “Fine.” She raises an eyebrow.

I sigh, pushing the food around on my plate before answering. “It was… loud.”

“That’s school,” she says lightly.

“No, I mean—” I stop.

Because I don’t have the words. Because “everything feels too sharp and too close and too much” isn’t something you just say over dinner. She watches me carefully now.

“Different?” she asks gently. I hesitate.

“…Yeah.” She nods slowly, like she understands more than she’s letting on.

“You’ve been through a lot,” she says. “It’s normal for things to feel… off.”

That’s not it.

Not even close.

But I let her believe it is.

Because it’s easier.

Because I don’t even understand it myself.

We eat in a quieter kind of silence after that—not awkward, just… calmer.

At one point, she tells me about a neighbor who keeps letting their chickens wander into her yard, and I actually laugh.

Like really laugh.

It catches both off guard.

For a second, something soft flickers between us.

Normal.

And for a little while… Things feel okay.

Later that night, I sit on my bed, staring at my hands.

The room is quiet, shadows stretching across the walls as the last of the light fades. Something’s changing. I don’t know how I know that. But I do.

I flex my fingers slowly.

They feel… different.

Stronger.

More precise. Like every movement has more control behind it than it should. I glance around my room, then reach for the edge of my desk. Carefully—

I press my fingers into the wood.

It splinters.

Not loudly or dramatically.

But enough.

I jerk my hand back, staring at it.

“…Okay.”

That’s new.

My heartbeat picks up— not with fear.

With something else. Something sharper.

Excitement.

That realization settles heavy in my chest. Because that’s worse. A quiet feeling curls inside me.

Not panic.

Not quite.

Something deeper. Like part of me… likes it. I drop my hand into my lap, forcing myself to look away. “Cool,” I mutter. “Love that.”

I don’t.

The next morning, sunlight pours through my window. For once, I actually slept.

Not well—but enough. I sit up, stretching slightly—

then freeze. I can hear birds outside.

Not just noise.

Not just background.

Individual sounds. Wings shifting. Leaves brushing together. Something small moving through grass.

Too clear.

Way too clear.

“…Okay,” I whisper.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand slowly, testing it.

Everything feels…

Sharp.

Like the world turned up the volume without asking me first. I glance toward the mirror. Same as always. Mostly. My mint-green hair sticks up in every direction, begging to be brushed—tamed. But my eyes—

For a split second, they look different.

Sharper.

Brighter.

Alive in a way they weren’t before.

I blink.

It’s gone.

An uneasy feeling settles in my chest.

“Weird,” I mumble.

Understatement.

Downstairs, a small box sits on the table. Auntie stands nearby, arms crossed, eyebrow raised.

“Well?” I step closer, opening it.

Inside—

A helmet.

Keys.

My motorbike.

I look up at her.

“It came in?”

“You’ll need a way to get around,” she says simply.

I lift the helmet out—a bright blue with black stripes. Not my original one, but it’ll do.

A grin pulls at my lips before I can stop it.

“Thank you.”

“Be careful,” she adds quickly. “And no speeding.”

“No promises.” I yell with excitement.

She gives me a look.

“…Kidding.”

Mostly.

I grab the keys and head out before she can say anything else.

By late morning, I’m already on the street. The wind rushes past me as I ride—loud, but not overwhelming.

Controlled.

I like it.

Maybe a little too much.

My phone buzzes when I stop.

Mara.

I hesitate—then text back. After getting lost a few times, I finally find the shopping area. Mara waves me down, her hair flying in her face. My mood immediately shifts. After climbing off my bike, I look up at the small café.

“Okay, this is cool,” Mara says, circling the bike. I turn my head to look at her.

“I know,” I grin slightly.

“You’re officially ten times cooler than I thought.”

“Low bar.” I say with a shrug, she laughs.

We spend the day wandering—grabbing snacks, walking through town, talking about random things that don’t matter. For a while…

I forget.

Forget the woods, the bite, my parents, everything.

It feels normal.

Good even.

But the second she leaves—

It all comes back.

That pull.

Low and quiet.

Unavoidable.

A chill runs down my spine.

The woods.

I don’t even think about it, I just hop on my bike and go.