Drawn next Door

The air felt heavier than usual. Not with rain or mist, though the skies did threaten both—but with silence. The kind that hung thick in your chest, that made every breath taste like regret. Like dirt and ash. Like death. Rows of mourners stood shoulder to shoulder around the clearing at Moonveil Hollow, their heads bowed beneath the gray sky. Some sniffled. Some quietly wept. Others just stared at the earth like it had betrayed them. I couldn’t move. I stood beside the casket, eyes fixed on the wooden box that held my sister’s body, as if looking hard enough could wake her up. My mate My heart. Gone. Mom stood a few feet away, trying to hold herself together, but her shoulders shook with every breath. She gripped a bundle of lavender too tightly in her hand, the stems cracking in her palm, petals falling like tears to the forest floor. Her sobs were soft, muffled behind a handkerchief, but they pierced something raw in me. Dad didn’t cry. He just stood there like stone, but when his eyes found mine—sharp, red-rimmed, accusing—I felt it in my gut. That look. It said everything he didn’t say out loud. You should’ve been there. This is your fault. He didn’t need to say it. I already told myself the same thing every damn hour since it happened. Then there was Luca. He stood across from me, face pale, jaw tight. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white, nails biting into flesh. He hadn’t spoken much since it happened. Could barely look anyone in the eye. I could see it—he was barely hanging on. That was his sister in that coffin. And I was the i***t who left her behind. The i***t who stormed off like a spoiled child because he couldn’t handle an argument with his father.q I looked down, my throat tight. My fingers curled inward until my nails dug half-moons into my palms. It was supposed to be a stupid, pointless fight. That’s all it was. Dad and I always argued, but something about that night—we both lost control. He accused me of shirking responsibilities, of acting like a rogue without a cause. I told him I didn’t want the pack life, didn’t care about the title, didn’t want the weight of it all on my shoulders. We shouted until the walls shook. I said things I shouldn’t have. So I left. I grabbed my coat, shifted halfway through the woods, and ran until my bones hurt. I needed space. I needed quiet. I didn’t even check to see if she was still awake. I should’ve known. Of course, she followed me. She always did. We were never apart for long. And when the rogues attacked the outer border near Haven’s Ridge, she was the first to respond. She thought I was out there. She went to find me. And by the time I heard the howls, by the time I came sprinting back with adrenaline surging through every vein… She was already gone. One clean strike to her neck. Instant. That’s what they said. But nothing about it felt clean. Nothing about it felt fast. It felt like an eternity, watching them carry her back. Watching Luca fall to his knees when they laid her body on the cold ground. Watching her Mom scream like her soul was ripped in half. Watching Dad walk away without a word. I should’ve been there. I should’ve fought beside her. Not wandered off like a coward. Not left her alone to face what should’ve been my consequence. I could still smell the blood. Still feel the chill in the air from that night. Still hear the cracking of bones. The howls. The silence after. I swallowed hard, blinking against the burn behind my eyes. I didn’t deserve to cry. I didn’t deserve to stand here like I belonged. Earlier that morning, I’d begged Mom to let me leave Hollow’s Dip for a while—said I needed to stay with my cousin Eli in the Allied town to clear my head. She didn’t want me to go. Not now. Not so soon. But when I looked her in the eye and said, “I can’t breathe here,” she nodded. She understood. This place was smothering me. Every tree reminded me of her. Every face asked questions I couldn’t answer. Every second I stayed here, I felt like I was rotting from the inside out. The ceremony was coming to a close now. The priestess was speaking softly, her words blurring into one long, meaningless hum in my ears. People began moving, shifting. A slow murmur of conversation crept back into the crowd as the casket was lowered. I stepped back. One more look. Just one more. Luca turned his face away, his hand covering his mouth as a fresh wave of grief twisted his features. My mother crumbled into my father’s side, and for once, he didn’t push her away. I turned to leave. My boots crunched on the dirt path as I moved through the clearing. Each step felt like tearing away from gravity, like leaving a part of myself behind. Because I was. I was leaving the version of me that still believed things could be fixed. But just as I reached the path that curved around the edge of the ceremony grounds, I heard a voice call my name. “Gabe.” I stopped. My spine stiffened. Uncle Ralph stepped out from the shadows between two trees, his coat buttoned tightly, his silver-streaked beard bristling against the wind. He looked tired—more tired than I’d ever seen him. “We need to talk,” he said. “Not now,” I muttered, turning away again. “It’s about the future of the pack.” I stopped again, teeth clenched. “I don’t want it.” “You haven’t even heard what I—” “I said I don’t want it,” I growled, turning to face him fully now. My voice cracked, louder than I intended. A few heads turned in our direction, but I didn’t care. “You are next in line, Gabe. “Pick someone else. You’ve got a whole council. Give it to Kane. He wants it.” “Kane’s not ready.” “Then make him ready.” My chest heaved. “I’m not coming back, Uncle. I told Mom, and I’m telling you. I’m done with Hollow’s Dip.” His face twitched. A mix of frustration and disbelief. “You’re not coming back?” he repeated, like the words tasted bitter in his mouth. “You heard me.” “You’re not coming back to Hollow’s Dip?” he said again, louder this time. His voice was tight, clipped. “No,” I said, quietly this time. “I’m not.” We stared at each other for a long moment. The wind rustled the leaves above us. Somewhere in the distance, a bird cried out. “You’d leave your people like this?” he asked, voice lower now, almost pleading. “After everything?” I didn’t answer. Because the truth was: I didn’t know if I had people anymore. “I lost her,” I said instead. “And I lost myself with her. You want someone who can lead? Someone who can inspire? That’s not me, Ralph. Not anymore.” “You sound just like your father.” That stung. Deeper than I wanted to admit. I turned away. “Goodbye, Uncle.” “You walk away now,” he called after me, “you may never be able to walk back.” I didn’t look back. Not when he spoke. Not when I reached the gates. Not even when I felt her spirit behind me, whispering for me to stay. I just kept walking. Because if I stopped, I might shatter completely. And I didn’t have anything left worth breaking.