Greykin Chronicles | Greykin Mountain

| 8 | Nightfall

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For the rest of the afternoon, Jackson stayed where he was and watched the pack. He locked eyes a few times with Daimon, but he didn't seem to understand that Jackson wanted to talk to him—or he did but just didn't care.

Once the sun set, the pack morphed into wolves of different shapes, sizes, and colours. Seeing so many man-sized wolves in the same place made Jackson feel nervous, especially since it had earlier been made clear that most of them wanted him dead. But the fact that he was still safer here than out in the wild made him stay.

The wolves howled into the night. Their song sent a shiver down his spine, forcing him to tense up in response. Maybe a little part of him even felt like he should join, but these weren't his people, and he probably had no right to mourn the two they had lost.

When the howling came to an end, the pack remained as wolves; some huddled up with others, some slept alone, and Jackson...he started to feel the heavy weight of despair. He tried to remain hopeful—he was safe, alive, and he knew a little more about what was going on out here in Greykin—but he wasn't any closer to finding anyone he'd come looking for.

He wasn't any closer to finding Ethan.

Should he sneak off while everyone was sleeping? He looked over his shoulder, but the thought of heading out into zombie-wolf-infested woods in the middle of the night horrified him more than the idea of never finding Ethan and the journalists.

Or did it?

He turned his head to look ahead, but when his eyes met the body of whoever was standing in front of him, he flinched and looked up—

Daimon. He glared down at him with a skeptical look in his eyes.

Jackson shuffled around uncomfortably. "Uh...I—"

"I'm surprised you haven't tried to run off yet," he interjected.

He shrugged. "I figured it's safer here than out there."

"You lived through two cadejo attacks now. Don't fancy your odds?"

Jackson looked away. "I'm not an idiot. If staying here means I don't have to risk getting eaten or turned into one of those zombies, then fine."

Daimon sat beside him. "That's the only reason?"

"What more could there be?" he uttered, glancing at him.

"Maybe your story is bullshit. Maybe you're just a rogue looking for an easy way into a pack."

"I'm not lying," he insisted frustratedly. "I have no reason to lie. I literally had no idea about any of this until I got here. Wolf walkers were just a rumour."

"Or so you say."

Aggravated, Jackson looked away. He didn't have the energy to argue.

"Tell me about the people you came looking for," Daimon requested.

Jackson scoffed. "Why?"

"Because no one in their right mind comes all the way out to a place like this to look for strangers, especially someone who suspects wolf walkers aren't extinct."

A conflicted frown struck Jackson's face. Extinct? When had he used that word? Before he got to Ascela, wolf walkers were just stories, stupid little ideas that he and Ethan talked about when they got a little high or became sleep-deprived because they were up so late working on stories. But his interest in wolf walkers didn't spread further than his mere curiosity of their existence. Finding Ethan and his missing colleagues was his objective. If telling Daimon about them would convince him to give him answers, then he'd try. "I just...don't think they deserve to be forgotten," he told him.