Ethereal | Twilight |

014

The night sky pooled in his ears like dark ink spilling into water, humming low and steady, whispering truths quieter than lies. Not everyone was cruel. Not everyone wore deception like a second skin.

Still, as he walked past Paul, something in the air shifted. It was almost sweet, almost sharp, like the silence between them had taken on a flavor. They were a mile out from the reservation, their footsteps slow and steady, the space between them full of ghosts. Packmates waited ahead, but the two of them lingered behind, walking together without speaking, without looking at each other, as if the memory of the day before hadn't cracked open something they didn't yet know how to name.

Paul's expression hadn't changed. His scowl sat firm on his face, unbothered, familiar. Sora glanced at him—his nose was proud and carved straight, like it belonged on a statue, his eyes sharp and focused on the horizon, holding no warmth. 

His copper-toned skin caught what was left of the dying light, the edges of his jaw and throat gilded in gold. His body moved with the quiet intensity of someone trying not to feel anything at all.

Sora looked away, his jaw tensing, breath caught in the back of his throat. The awkwardness between them wasn't just uncomfortable. It was lethal. It crawled up his spine like cold fingers, clenching just beneath his skin, dragging out every second.

When they reached the clearing, Paul shifted without a word. One moment he was there, and the next, the place where he had stood was only wind and space. No goodbye. No glance.

Sora sighed and turned left, toward home. He didn't have the energy to care. He would fall back into routine like he always did. Go to work at the restaurant. Make just enough cash to afford the high. And when the drugs kicked in, for a few minutes—maybe a few seconds—he could forget. He could forget what it felt like to walk beside Paul and not be able to reach him. Forget how the silence rotted in his chest. Forget what shifting did to his mind when it crawled up with images he hadn't meant to remember.

He hadn't touched anything in months. Not because he was healing, but because it stopped working. The highs dulled too quickly, flickering out before he could even hold onto them. Especially if he shifted too early. Everything slipped through the cracks of his hands now—memories, feelings, time. Nothing stayed long enough to matter.

He really needed to start putting more hours into the restaurant or find a second job altogether. Something early. Something brutal. He could wake before the sun rose, patrol just long enough to cover for Paul, then vanish before they had to speak. That was the plan. But tomorrow? He wasn't doing any of it. Not the job. Not the patrol. Nothing.

He would call Jared as soon as he got home. Use the leftover cash buried deep in his school bag, the one stuffed behind a pile of clothes in his closet, and buy just enough to forget everything. Maybe enough to numb it for two nights if he was lucky.

The moment he stepped onto the porch, his body stiffened. The smell hit him immediately. His mother. And alcohol. The sour sting of wine and something older clung to the air, pressing against the back of his throat. It dragged old memories from the corners of his mind, ones he had buried too deep to name. They stirred like smoke, curling under his skin, whispering in a voice that wasn't his.

He bit down on the inside of his cheek, teeth grinding into the raw skin until he tasted blood. His tongue flicked over the torn edge again and again, trying to focus on the sting. His hand tightened around the doorknob, its metal cold and damp against his palm. When he finally turned it, the door creaked open with a slow, aching groan, the sound bleeding into the silence of the house.

She was there. Of course she was. Draped across the couch like something permanently set in the center of the room. Her body was slouched, but her posture was calculated, like she was always prepared to speak and strike in the same breath.