Chapter One – The Wrong House
The frying pan clattered against the sink with a sharp clang, louder than necessary. The sound made me flinch, though Mrs. Carter acted as if she hadn’t noticed. Her voice cut through the steam curling from the dishwasher, sharp and thin, like the edge of a knife.
“Why are you standing there, Vee? The dishes won’t wash themselves.”
I swallowed down the response that pressed at my throat. A part of me wanted to tell her that I’d been scrubbing plates for the last hour, my hands raw and pruned, but experience told me that answering back would only invite more venom.
“I just finished the last batch, ma’am,” I said softly, wringing the towel between my fingers.
Mrs. Carter finally turned from the counter, her sharp eyes raking over me like I’d failed some unspoken test. The powdered mask of her face cracked into a sneer. Her daughter, Lila, had left crumbs scattered across the marble after sneaking a midnight snack, but I already knew who would pay for it.
“You think being pretty excuses you from work?” she snapped, brushing a strand of dyed hair from her cheek. Her voice dripped with disdain, each word meant to sting. “Let me remind you no man will want a girl who is lazy, no matter how clever she imagines herself to be.”
That word again. Pretty. She spat it like an insult, like my face was an offense. As if my very existence stole something that should have belonged to Lila. Heat prickled the back of my neck, but I forced myself to keep my expression neutral, fingers tightening around the damp towel.
Before I could muster a reply, the back door creaked open.
“Mom, stop yelling at her.”
I turned toward the voice. Ethan stood in the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame. His brown hair fell in a mess across his forehead, shadows deepening the blue of his eyes. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, but his posture remained protective. His gaze flicked to me, steady, quiet, and soft in a way that made my chest tighten.
Mrs. Carter’s lips pressed into a rigid line. “Go back to your room, Ethan.”
“No.” The word came out simple and firm, as if it wasn't up for debate. His eyes didn’t leave mine, and for a moment, I felt pinned beneath the weight of his stare. There was something there, something unspoken but burning. A secret crush, maybe hidden, yet not hidden enough.
The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until Mrs. Carter snapped like a brittle twig.
“If your father hadn’t sworn to take care of her, she wouldn’t be under this roof. Don’t forget that.”
The words hit harder than I expected, twisting in my chest. I had heard them before, whispered in town, murmured behind closed doors: Your father and Mr. Carter were close, that’s why she’s still here.
My father. The man who was supposed to be dead. The man whose absence left a hollow place inside me that no amount of whispers could fill. And yet, sometimes deep in my bones, I wasn’t sure if I believed the story.
I dropped my gaze, unable to meet Ethan’s eyes again, and busied myself with stacking the last of the clean plates. The kitchen air felt thick, pressing down on me until I couldn’t breathe.
Later, when the house had grown quiet, I slipped outside.
The night air wrapped around me like a damp shroud. The Carter house sat at the edge of town where the forest loomed, tall pines crowding together as though guarding secrets. Darkness pooled beneath the branches, thick as ink, while the wind whispered through the needles.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Ethan.
You okay?
I smiled faintly despite myself and started to type a reply, but the night stole my attention.
A sound rose on the wind long, low, mournful. A howl.
My fingers froze over the screen, and the phone slipped from my hand, clattering against the porch. My pulse thudded loudly in my ears. Wolves weren’t supposed to roam this close to town. At least, not normal wolves.
I forced a shaky laugh, trying to quiet the chill crawling down my spine. “Get a grip, Vee,” I whispered into the night, as if saying it aloud might make it true.
But then the leaves rustled.
Movement caught my eye. A figure stood at the tree line, broad shoulders etched against the silver wash of moonlight. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, just stood there, watching.
My breath caught. My body went rigid, every instinct screaming at me to run, but my feet stayed rooted to the porch. The forest seemed to hold its breath, too.
Another buzz vibrated from my phone. Ethan again.
Don’t go near the woods.
My heart thudded. I glanced back toward the trees only to find the figure gone, as though swallowed whole by the darkness.
Shaken, I scooped up my phone and slipped back inside.
The kitchen light flickered weakly, casting trembling shadows across the walls. Mrs. Carter’s perfume lingered in the hallway, cloying and suffocating. I crept toward the stairs, praying she’d already gone to bed.
But she was waiting.
At the top of the steps, arms folded, eyes hard as flint. “You were outside.”
I froze. “I needed air,” I said, careful to keep my voice even.
Her gaze narrowed, sharp with accusation. “Girls who wander at night end up in trouble. Don’t come crying when no one wants you.”
The words stung sharper than the cold night air. With a bitter laugh, she swept past me, her perfume trailing like poison.
I shut myself inside my small room, locking the door with trembling hands. Only then did I allow myself to fall against the bed, my body shaking with everything I hadn’t shown downstairs.
Mrs. Carter’s cruelty was a familiar wound. Ethan’s quiet kindness was a balm I wasn’t sure I deserved. But beneath it all, something else had stirred tonight.
That howl hadn’t just been a sound.
It had been a call.
And the most terrifying part was that deep inside me, beneath the fear, beneath the anger, beneath the confusion, I felt an answering pull.
For a heartbeat, I wanted to answer it.
