Fated by the Moon

..

Ember’s room at the pack house was barely larger than a storage closet, wedged at the end of a drafty second-floor hallway that no one but the cleaning crew ever visited. She could cross the faded carpet in three steps, or one if she was running from a nightmare. The walls were an indifferent eggshell, marred with thumbtack holes and a single smudge that looked like someone’s bloody handprint. She’d never asked.

Packing was easy. She owned two pairs of jeans that still fit, five t-shirts, a hoodie Jordan had given her for her sixteenth birthday, and a battered duffel bag with a busted zipper. She started with the clothes, rolling each shirt tight enough to wedge into the bag. The rest went into a cardboard box she’d scrounged from the recycling bin.

She hesitated over her shoes—converse or boots, not both—and chose the boots. They reminded her of trudging through forest trails, where the only sound was the crunch of needles underfoot and the low hush of her own breath.

Next, she sorted through the desk drawer, where she kept the things that mattered: a photo of her and Jacqueline at the lake, both soaked and laughing, arms flung around each other’s necks; an old harmonica she’d never learned to play; the acceptance letter, which she slid between the pages of her favorite book, a dog-eared copy of Call of the Wild. She debated taking the picture frame, but it was cheap plastic and half the glass was missing, so she snapped off the photo and left the rest.

Each object sparked a memory, good or bad. The boots: her first solo hike, when she’d outrun a pair of juvenile wolves trying to haze her and came home, bloodied but triumphant, to Jordan’s rare smile. The harmonica: the long nights after Jacqueline died, when the only thing louder than the pack’s howls was Ember’s need to drown them out with some other noise, any noise. The book: a gift from Ana, her surrogate grandmother, who lived alone on the edge of pack territory and fed her cookies and stories of the old world when the loneliness became too sharp.

Ember lined everything up on the bed—her whole life distilled to two piles. She glanced at the clock; it was almost noon. If she called now, Ana would be between morning tea and her afternoon soaps.

She punched in the number from memory, heart racing. The phone rang twice before Ana answered, voice brittle but bright. “Quinn residence.”

“Hi, it’s me.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” The sound of Ember’s name in Ana’s mouth always made her feel six years old again, sticky-fingered and invincible. “Are you coming by today?”

“Yeah. I… I need to ask a favor.”

A rustle of static as Ana shifted the phone. “Anything. You know that.”

“I, um, got in. To Sterling.” She waited, bracing for the wave of questions, the nervous tsking, maybe a guilt-trip about leaving. Instead, Ana just hummed, pleased.

“You’re the only girl I know who could make a pack of wolves look lazy,” Ana said. “When do you leave?”

“Orientation starts in two weeks. I was hoping—maybe—I could stay with you until then?”

“Honey, you don’t even have to ask. I’ll make up the guest bed. Bring your appetite and your allergy meds; the cats haven’t learned manners.”

Ember smiled, pressing the phone to her cheek. “Thank you.”

Ana’s tone softened. “You tell Jordan yet?”

“He knows. He’s…he’s okay with it.”

“And Kael?”

A cold ripple. “Kael’s not my problem anymore.”

A pause. “He’s chosen Jasmine, then.”

“Yeah. He said he’ll make it official tonight. He wants to break the bond.”

Ana’s answer was a dry laugh. “Let him. Some bonds aren’t meant to last. You remember what I told you about wolves and humans?”

“They’re oil and water,” Ember recited.

“Right. And sometimes you just need to let things settle.” Another pause. “Are you okay?”

Ember looked around at the stripped room—the bare mattress, the empty shelves, the suitcase waiting by the door. “I think so.”

“Good. And if not, you will be. Bring the harmonica. I’ll show you how to play.”

Ember felt the tears start, sharp and sudden, but she held them in. “Okay, Ana. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I’ll make lasagna.”

“See you.” She hung up before her voice could give her away.

The house was quiet, the rest of the pack off doing midday drills or, in Jasmine’s case, probably parading Kael around as a trophy. Ember zipped the duffel bag, slung it over her shoulder, and took one last lap of the room. It looked the same as the day she’d arrived—impersonal, temporary, as if she’d always been expected to leave.

She stopped at the window and watched the wind rattle the treetops, the sun spotlighting patches of moss on the shingled roof. The air was crisp, just starting to smell like autumn. She wondered what Sterling would be like in September, if the trees turned gold, if the city lights would drown out the moon.

She felt lighter than she should. She felt sadder, too.

Ember traced her fingers along the empty windowsill and let herself grieve for the things she couldn’t take with her—her aunt, the promise of a family, the illusion that she could ever be a real part of the pack.

She hoisted the duffel, squared her shoulders, and stepped into the hallway. Behind her, the door swung shut with a soft click.

She didn’t look back.