Chapter 16 – The First Run (Almost)
1324 Words
By afternoon my brain was fried from “how not to antagonize the Council 101.”
Polite phrases, strategic silences, don’t rise to bait. Aiden and Elias turned it into a grim improv game: they played smug inspectors, I practiced not cussing them out. Tessa kept “dinging” us with a spoon on a mug when we slipped.
“You glare like you’re about to throw a wrench,” Elias said. “They’ll write that down.”
“I glare like that at everyone,” I muttered.
“Practice soft eyes,” Tessa said. “Or at least ‘mildly annoyed’ eyes.”
By the time they let me escape, my jaw ached from grinding my teeth.
Mira caught me at the bottom of the stairs. “Come on,” she said. “You need a different kind of practice.”
“If this involves more fake smiling, I’m out.”
“Running,” she said. “No fake anything. Rowan’s already at the trail.”
The word made Nyra perk up instantly. Yes.
My stomach did a nervous flip. “Shift practice?”
“Not a full one,” Mira said. “Just… letting your body remember it’s more than a cage. Clothes you don’t mind ruining?”
I glanced down at my borrowed T-shirt and sweats. “Already ahead of you.”
We met Rowan at the edge of the trees. He leaned against a pine, arms folded, dark hair pulled back, expression skeptical as always.
“You don’t look like a runner,” he said.
“You don’t look like a therapist,” I shot back. “Here we are.”
His mouth twitched. “Fair.”
The forest swallowed us within a dozen steps. Silverpine’s buildings faded behind us, replaced by trunks, undergrowth, the drip of yesterday’s rain off leaves. Every breath tasted green and damp.
My heart sped up just from being under the canopy.
Mira walked at my side; Rowan ranged a little ahead. “We’re not shifting,” Mira said. “I promise. This is about moving. Feeling. Letting Nyra stretch a little without throwing you in the deep end.”
Nyra pushed her nose to the front of my mind, ears pricked.
Rowan glanced back. “Start easy. Human pace. Ask your wolf to help, not take over.”
“That’s not really our dynamic,” I said.
“Maybe change it,” he said. “You’re not sixteen anymore.”
That stung. Because it was true.
We started at a walk. The ground was uneven—roots, rocks, soft patches of moss—but my body adjusted quickly. Too quickly. Muscles in my calves and thighs seemed to remember a rhythm I hadn’t let them use in years.
“Breathe with her,” Mira said softly. “In when she does. Out when she does.”
I rolled my eyes, but I tried.
It was… weird. Breathing had always been something I did while trying not to feel Nyra. Now I let her lead: inhale when the forest smelled particularly sharp, exhale with a tiny shiver of satisfaction when a bird called overhead.
After a few minutes, Rowan picked up the pace. “Jog,” he said. “Nothing fancy.”
We jogged.
Branches brushed my arms. My ponytail slapped my neck. My lungs burned, but not in a bad way. Heat built in my chest, spreading down my limbs.
Nyra moved with me, not against me. Every time my foot landed a little off, she nudged, subtle adjustments—lengthen that stride, avoid that root, lean into that slope.
I realized my hands had uncurled. Fingers relaxed, not clawing at my palms.
“How’s your head?” Mira asked, not even breathless.
“Attached,” I panted. “No extra voices. Just the usual.”
Nyra snorted. Rude.
Rowan slowed near a small clearing. “Stop here.”
We did. My pulse thundered in my ears; sweat stuck my shirt to my back. But under the exhaustion there was a hum I couldn’t name—like my whole body was tuned slightly higher.
“Now what?” I asked. “Group stretching? Trust falls?”
“Trust you,” Mira said. “Close your eyes.”
Every muscle locked. “Nope.”
“Maia.” Her voice gentled. “We’re right here. No Council. No needles. No tables. Just trees. You can open them anytime.”
Rowan added, “If something even rustles wrong, I’ll hear it.”
We stood in silence for a beat. The air smelled like damp earth and sap. A breeze shifted the canopy, sending a soft shh through the leaves.
Slowly, I closed my eyes.
“Where is Nyra right now?” Mira asked.
“In my ribs,” I said. “Pacing.”
“Ask her what she wants,” Mira said. “Not what you’re afraid she’ll do. What she actually wants.”
I almost snapped back with a joke. Instead, I listened.
Nyra felt… restless. Not feral. Not trying to break walls. Just… cramped. Curious. Wanting to feel dirt under our shared skin, wanting to shake out limbs that had been too still for too long.
Run, she said. Not far. Not fast. Just… more.
My throat tightened. “She wants to run,” I admitted. “More than this.”
“Do you?” Mira asked.
The honest answer scared me. “Yes,” I said. “And no.”
Rowan stepped closer; I felt his presence like a solid tree trunk at my back. “You stop when you say stop,” he said. “No one holds you down here.”
The words hit harder than he knew.
“Just… let her touch the surface,” Mira said. “Not a full shift. Think of it as cracking a window, not kicking down the door.”
I took a breath. Then another. “Okay,” I said. “Window.”
I eased my grip.
Heat licked along my forearms, up my spine. My skin prickled. My nails tingled with that almost-pain I remembered too well, but this time it stopped before it reached breaking. Muscles tightened, then loosened with a strength that felt… good.
My senses sharpened. I could hear a squirrel chittering far above, the tiny scrape of Rowan’s boot on bark, Mira’s steady, patient breathing.
“Eyes,” Nyra murmured. “Just a little.”
I cracked my lids.
The world was brighter. Edges crisper. Greens deeper. A faint golden halo edged my vision.
Mira watched me carefully. “How’s the pain?”
“Manageable,” I said, surprised. “Less… tearing. More… stretching.”
“Good.” She smiled. “You’re leading it this time. Not them.”
Not them.
I flexed my fingers. There was the barest hint of nails wanting to lengthen, but they didn’t force the issue. I exhaled, shaky but still on my feet.
“That’s enough,” I said. “Window closed.”
The heat ebbed. The gold dulled. The forest remained—the smells, the sounds—but the intensity faded to something I could live with.
Rowan stepped around to face me, assessing. “You stayed upright,” he said. “Didn’t scream, didn’t pass out, didn’t punch me. I’ll call that a win.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I said. “Next time I might punch you on principle.”
He smirked. “Progress.”
Mira’s eyes were bright. “You just did more, safely, than they ever let you do on that table,” she said. “On your terms.”
The words landed somewhere deep, under old scars.
Nyra lay down behind my heart, content. Again, she said.
“Another day,” I whispered. “We’ve got time now.”
For the first time, the idea of “next time” didn’t taste like dread.
It tasted like a promise I might actually want to keep.
- Writer
