Whispers of the Wild Where Shadows Hide

The low moan of the door stirred Olivia from a light doze. She blinked toward the crooked scrap of pillowcase tacked over the narrow window—still mostly dark outside. Her limbs were tangled in too-warm bedding, and she groaned softly as she rolled toward the sound. Tilly was squeezing through the barely open door. “Tilly… it’s still dark out,” Olivia mumbled, rubbing sleep from the corners of her eyes. “Shhh.” Tilly snapped her finger to her lips, glancing quickly over her shoulder before easing the door shut. Her fingers twisted the knob just right, guiding the latch back into the frame without a click. She waited—ear pressed to the wood—listening for any sign she’d disturbed someone. “If you wake James, we’re both done for,” she whispered. She padded toward the bed, barefoot and deliberate, expertly sidestepping the creakiest floorboards before planting herself on the end of the cramped twin. Olivia shifted upright, folding her legs aside to make space. “We should be sleeping,” she muttered as she peeled back the edge of her patchwork quilt. “I couldn’t,” Tilly said, already wiggling her way in beside her with a bounce. “I don’t want to be alone.” “You’re too big for this—” “This is the last time. I swear.” Her voice turned pleading. “Please?” Olivia sighed dramatically, but the protest was weak. “Fine...” She flopped backward and scooted to the edge, nearly hanging off. Gathering her braid, she tossed it over her shoulder to clear space on the pillow, then rolled her shoulders, searching for comfort on the sagging mattress. “All right, come on then.” Tilly grinned, fluffed her side of the pillow, and settled in with a soft huff. Olivia tried to fight it, but a half-smirk crept onto her face. These nights were getting fewer. It was obvious Tilly didn’t crawl into her bed for herself anymore—she did it for Olivia. Even before her first shift, Tilly had changed. Her timidity had melted away and been replaced with something harder—protective, serious, always watching. Her frame had thickened. Her baby-faced softness sharpened. Her eyes no longer wandered—they locked, assessed, threatened. Olivia flinched when her sister’s finger brushed the bruise on her cheek. “Does it still hurt?” Tilly asked, her voice a whisper as her fingers traced the swollen skin. “Not really,” Olivia lied. It looked worse than it felt now. Her cheek would heal. It always did. Her lip though… that was the real ache. Persistent. Reopening every time she talked, chewed, or—goddess forbid—smiled. She pulled it into her mouth, tasting the iron-rich sting of fresh blood just under the scab. “This does though,” she murmured, sucking gently before releasing it. She didn’t look at Tilly. She didn’t need to. She could feel her sister’s stare. Tilly was mapping the injuries. Replaying the blow-by-blow in her mind, like she could piece together justice from memory alone. A growl rumbled deep in Tilly’s chest—a low, warning thing. “Hey,” Olivia nudged her with an elbow, “I’ll be fine.” When she finally turned, Tilly’s eyes were dark, rimmed with fury, her body tight with emotion. “Shhh,” Olivia tutted, brushing her sister’s arm. “It’s over. I’m fine.” Tilly exhaled through her nose like a bull in a pen, then cracked her neck side to side. “We will be fine,” she said, voice steel. “I know.” “Good night,” she muttered, tugging the blankets up to her chin like armor. The silence settled again, but Olivia’s thoughts refused. Wounds healed. That was easy. Bruises faded, cuts scarred. But it was the look in Tilly’s eyes she couldn’t shake—the pity. The anger. Like she was the one breaking her little sister. She shifted slightly on the mattress, her hand drifting up to the chain around her neck. Her fingers found the pendant easily in the dark—small, cool, familiar. She rolled it between her fingers, the rounded edges worn smooth from years of touch. She didn’t know where it had come from. Gloria said it was junk, a leftover trinket from whoever dumped her as a baby. But Olivia had never taken it off. It was the only thing she’d kept. The only thing that had ever felt truly hers. She didn’t know why, but some nights—nights like this, when the world felt too sharp—she found herself rubbing the pendant without thinking. Like it was a tether. A reminder. At home, Tilly couldn’t stop what James and Gloria did. No interference. No protection. But at school, she’d started running interference. Recruiting younger packmates to do the same. Olivia appreciated the break—but the whispers were growing. Eyes that once looked past her now followed like knives. Students who used to laugh behind her back now scowled openly, waiting. Watching. Tilly’s protection was a spotlight Olivia couldn’t afford. In a few short months, she’d be nineteen. No longer a ward. No more leniency. Decisions would have to be made. Most Wards enlisted as Omegas—slotted into whatever sector the community needed: Agriculture, Infrastructure, Sanitation, Infantry, Scribe Work. Placement was based on aptitude testing, taken after the first shift. But Olivia had never shifted. Never met her wolf. No trials. No aptitude. Just silence. At first, they called it a delay. A late bloomer. A mystery that would sort itself out. But she wasn’t blooming. She was wilting. Two years later, she remained what she’d always feared she’d be. Wolfless.