The Wolves: Part One: Lost

I was running through the forest. The towering pines of Hawke's Ridge stretched endlessly toward the storm-darkened sky, their branches twisting together overhead like skeletal fingers. Moonlight filtered through the dense canopy in fractured beams, illuminating patches of moss and wet earth beneath my bare feet. The air smelled of rain. Wet stone. Pine needles. And something metallic. Blood. A cold breeze brushed against my skin, sending a shiver through me. My white nightgown fluttered around my legs as I moved deeper into the woods, the fabric damp from the mist clinging to everything around me. The silence was wrong. No birds. No insects. No distant rustling of wildlife. Only the steady pounding of my heart. Ahead, the trees parted. Hawke's Lake stretched before me, dark and still beneath the storm clouds. The water reflected the sky like black glass, disturbed only by the occasional ripple spreading across its surface. Twisted trees leaned over the shoreline, their reflections distorted in the water below. A familiar dread settled in my chest. I wasn't alone. A figure stepped from the shadows. Tall. Lithe. Dangerously beautiful. Dark waves fell across his forehead, framing sharp features and olive-toned skin. But it was his eyes that stole my breath—emerald green flecked with gold, glowing softly against the darkness. His gaze locked onto mine. The world seemed to stop. "Lena." My name rolled from his lips like a promise. Or a warning. I wanted to run. Instead, I moved toward him. Drawn by a force I couldn't explain. He crossed the distance between us in seconds. Strong hands settled against my waist, pulling me against him. Heat radiated from his body, impossible and intoxicating. Then his lips found mine. The kiss was gentle at first. Tender. Familiar. A strange ache bloomed in my chest—as though I'd known him once and forgotten. Then everything changed. Pain exploded through my neck. I gasped. Sharp teeth pierced my skin. Tears stung my eyes as weakness flooded my limbs. The world tilted violently around me. The man stepped back. His face twisted. Bones cracked beneath skin. The emerald in his eyes darkened into crimson. Blood stained his mouth. My blood. Terror seized me. "Lena!" The voice shattered the nightmare. I turned. My father burst from the trees, panic etched across his face. "Run!" he shouted. For one desperate second, relief surged through me. Then a massive black beast launched from the darkness. Its glowing eyes blazed like wildfire. The creature slammed into my father, driving him to the ground. "Dad!" My scream tore through the forest. Darkness swallowed everything. Morning sunlight filtered through my curtains, casting pale gold across the room. I forced myself upright. Today was different. Today was my eighteenth birthday. The thought should have excited me. Instead, unease settled heavily in my stomach. Eighteen. An age that felt strangely significant, though I couldn't explain why. Pushing the feeling aside, I crossed the room toward my closet and pulled out a cream-colored sweater. The soft knit felt comforting beneath my fingertips. Outside, Black Hollow remained wrapped in its usual blanket of fog, the forests beyond town hidden beneath the pale morning haze. After dressing, I stopped in front of my mirror. Long dark brown hair spilled down my back in loose waves, reaching nearly to my waist. In certain light, it looked almost black, but the morning sun revealed subtle chestnut tones woven through the darker strands. It was one of the few things about myself I never really thought much about, even though Sage constantly complained she wished her hair would grow that long. My gaze drifted over my reflection. Storm-gray eyes stared back at me, pale blue flecks catching the sunlight filtering through the window. My skin carried a soft olive tone that faded toward pale during the colder months. Delicate features framed my face, and though my build was small and nearly petite, gentle curves softened the narrow lines of my frame. Natural rosiness settled on my cheeks and lips. People noticed me. I knew that. I wasn't blind to the lingering glances in the hallway or the occasional compliments from classmates. I knew I wasn't ugly, but I'd never quite seen what everyone else seemed to. Maybe it was because grief had settled inside me so young. Maybe it was because I'd spent years feeling different from everyone around me, carrying questions no one could answer. Whatever the reason, the girl in the mirror never felt quite like the person others described. Still, something about my reflection felt different this morning. Older. Sharper. As if I were standing on the edge of something vast and unseen. A strange chill ran down my spine. For a moment, I couldn't shake the feeling that my life was about to change. Then I looked away. Downstairs, the scent of cinnamon, vanilla, and freshly brewed coffee drifted through the house. The familiar warmth eased some of the tension in my chest. "Happy birthday, sweetheart." My mother's voice greeted me the moment I stepped into the kitchen. Rose Atler stood by the stove with a spatula in hand, blonde curls pinned loosely away from her face. A dusting of flour decorated the sleeve of her sweater, evidence she'd been awake far earlier than necessary. Her hazel eyes softened when they landed on me. For a moment, she simply looked at me. The way mothers sometimes do when they're remembering every version of their child all at once. "Eighteen," she said quietly, shaking her head with a small smile. "I still remember bringing you home from the hospital." Heat crept into my cheeks. "Mom." "What?" she teased. "I'm allowed one sentimental moment on your birthday." A laugh escaped me despite myself. "There she is," Sage announced dramatically from her seat at the table. My little sister pointed a fork in my direction. "The birthday woman." I rolled my eyes. "Birthday woman?" "You sound ancient," Sage informed me. "Thanks." "You're welcome." At twelve years old, Sage possessed an endless supply of confidence and absolutely no filter. Syrup decorated the corner of her mouth, and her warm, golden hair was only halfway brushed. She looked entirely too pleased with herself. Mom set a plate of heart-shaped pancakes in front of me. Not just one pancake. Several. Stacked. Covered in strawberries. "Sage helped," Mom said. "I supervised," Sage corrected. Mom laughed. "You ate half the strawberries." "Quality control." I couldn't help smiling. Mom settled into her chair, and for a few moments everything felt normal. Warm. Safe. The kind of morning I wished could last forever. Then my eyes drifted toward the empty chair beside the window. Dad's chair. The smile faded slightly. The space felt impossibly noticeable. Seven years later, Max Atler's absence still lingered inside our home like a shadow that never completely disappeared. Mom noticed where I was looking. For the briefest moment, sadness flickered across her face. Not overwhelming grief. Just the quiet ache of missing someone every day. Her hand found mine across the table and squeezed gently. Dad used to do that. The realization tightened something in my chest. "We're proud of you, Lena," Mom said softly. Sage nodded immediately. "Very proud." I laughed quietly. "Even when I make you clean your room?" Sage gasped. "Especially then." The knot in my chest loosened slightly. For a little while, we talked about school, birthday cake, and Sage's latest attempt to convince Mom that owning a pet fox was a reasonable life choice. The conversation was easy. Comfortable. But beneath it all, I couldn't shake the feeling that this morning mattered. As though something had been waiting for my eighteenth birthday. Eventually, I glanced at the clock and sighed. "As much as I'd love to spend my birthday eating pancakes all day, I should probably get to school." Mom smiled. "Probably." "Unfortunately," Sage added. I grabbed my bag from the kitchen counter and leaned over to kiss Mom's cheek. "Love you." "Love you too, sweetheart." Sage pointed her fork at me. "Try not to become too old before dinner." "I'll do my best." With one last laugh, I headed out the front door. The crisp morning air greeted me immediately. Fog drifted lazily between the trees lining our street, softening the edges of the familiar town. Black Hollow always seemed suspended somewhere between waking and dreaming, especially in the early mornings. My route to school took me past the cemetery. It always had. Most days, I simply walked by. Today, I found myself slowing. Then stopping. Before I could talk myself out of it, I pushed open the iron gate and stepped inside. The cemetery was quiet except for the faint rustle of leaves overhead. Fog curled between the weathered gravestones, wrapping the grounds in a ghostly stillness. Like the dead were listening. I made my way toward the far edge where my father rested. MAX ATLER The engraved letters had softened with time, worn by years of rain and wind. I knelt and brushed my fingers lightly across the stone. "Happy birthday to me, I guess." The words came out quieter than I intended. A lump formed in my throat. "I wish you were here." The familiar ache settled heavily in my chest. For several moments, I simply sat there, letting the silence surround me. Then movement caught my attention. A figure emerged through the fog several rows away. Dean Edwards. Black Hollow's golden boy. Star quarterback. The boy half the girls in school secretly dreamed about. Including me, once upon a time. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his jacket as he moved along the gravel path. Dark brown hair fell slightly across his forehead, and the morning mist softened the sharp lines of his features. For a moment, he didn't notice me. Then his gaze lifted. Our eyes met. The world seemed to still. Neither of us spoke. Something flickered across his expression. Recognition. Concern. Regret. I couldn't tell. The feeling vanished almost immediately. My pulse stumbled unexpectedly. For a second, neither of us looked away. Then Dean lowered his gaze and continued down the path without a word. I watched him disappear deeper into the cemetery, questions lingering in my mind. Why was he here? Who was he visiting? And why did it feel like he was carrying secrets of his own? Eventually, I forced myself to leave. Black Hollow High rose in the distance beyond the fog-covered streets. The first day of senior year was about to begin. Though I couldn't shake the feeling that everything in my life was about to change.