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Lucas's Perspective

The Next Day

The forest was nearly silent, save for the soft, steady crunch of dried leaves and twigs beneath our boots as Isaac and I made our way deeper into the woods. The only other sound was the distant rustle of the breeze weaving through the trees, making the branches sway gently above us. It was the kind of quiet that felt heavy—not peaceful, but tense.

The sun was low in the sky, inching closer to the horizon with every passing second. Shafts of golden-orange light filtered through the canopy, casting long, jagged shadows across the forest floor. The deeper we walked, the more the light fractured, broken by leaves and branches until everything around us was tinted in hues of dying amber. I could feel the shift in the air—the way it thinned and cooled, how the silence settled into my chest. There was always this moment, just before moonrise, when everything seemed to pause. The earth exhaled, and something primal stirred.

Isaac walked beside me, his pace steady but slightly too fast, like he was trying to outwalk his own anxiety. His shoulders were tense, drawn high, and his hands were curled into restless fists at his sides. I noticed the way he kept darting glances at the sky through the trees, searching for the moon that hadn't yet appeared.

I looked over at him. "You okay?" I asked, keeping my tone light, but the concern still slipped through.

He gave a single, clipped nod. "I can feel it," he said, and though his face was mostly unreadable, there was a tremor in his voice. "The moon. Even though it's not visible yet… probably another ten minutes, maybe less."

I nodded back, offering him a small smile. "It's okay to be nervous," I told him. "This is your first full moon. That's a big deal."

He didn't respond right away, just let out a breath that sounded like it had been sitting in his chest all day. There was hesitation in it, disbelief, maybe even fear. He wanted to believe me, I could tell—but wanting and being able to were different things.

We kept walking. After a few more steps, the woods opened up, and the trees gave way to a clearing. It was quiet here too, but in a more expectant way, like the space itself was waiting for something to happen. And there she was—Malia—already there, leaning against the broad, gnarled trunk of an old oak tree. At her feet sat a worn duffel bag, half-zipped.

When she saw us approaching, she pushed herself off the tree and slung the bag over one shoulder. "About time," she said with a wry edge in her voice. "We've got maybe five minutes left."

I glanced at Isaac before turning to her. "The first full moon for a new pack member is important," I said, speaking more to him than her. "It's tradition for the rest of the pack to be there to witness it. For support." I smiled faintly, trying to soften the moment. "Even if our 'pack' is basically just the two of us."

Isaac nodded slightly, but his eyes were already on Malia. She crouched near the base of the tree and unzipped the duffel bag, her movements efficient, practiced. He watched her, his brow furrowing.

"What was your first full moon like?" he asked, voice quieter now.

Malia didn't pause. She pulled something from the bag—something metallic that clinked dully against itself as she lifted it into the light. Chains.

She answered without looking at him. "It was different for me. I was born a werewolf. You were turned, given the Bite. I shifted into a wolf naturally, instinctively. There was pain, sure—but it wasn't like this."

The soft clatter of the chains caught Isaac's attention before the meaning of her words did. His gaze dropped to the length of steel links spilling onto the ground, and his whole body went rigid.

"What are those for?" he asked, voice hardening.

Malia looked up at him, expression calm. "They're enchanted," she explained matter-of-factly. "Sigils carved into every link. Suppression Sigils. They're strong enough to hold you against the tree until the moon sets."

Isaac didn't respond immediately, but I saw the change in him. The way his breath stopped short in his chest. The way his jaw clenched so tightly I thought he might crack a molar. His eyes were locked on the chains, unblinking.

"You're not chaining me to that tree," he said flatly. His voice wasn't loud, but there was something final in it. A steel edge beneath the fear.

Malia stood straight, arms crossing over her chest. "Why not?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, visibly struggling. Finally, the words came, torn out from somewhere deep. "Because my father…" He stopped, swallowed hard. "He used to beat me. Then he'd lock me in the freezer. In the basement. Sometimes for hours. Sometimes… for days."

The clearing fell completely still. No one moved. The breeze moved through the trees, tugging gently at our clothes, but even the forest seemed to go quiet in response to his words.

I had already known, of course—I'd seen the show, I knew what had happened—but hearing him say it, his voice low and shaking, made it feel different. Real. Raw.

I looked at him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "We won't use the chains," I said quietly.

Malia's expression shifted. Her arms dropped to her sides, and for the first time, uncertainty crept into her features. She didn't argue.

Isaac exhaled, shoulders lowering a fraction, but I could still see the tremor in his hands. He wasn't okay—not really—but he was holding it together.

I stepped a little closer, speaking gently. "We'll get through this. Together. That's the point."

Above us, the sky had darkened from orange to indigo. The last light of the day was fading, and in its place, a cold, silver glow began to seep through the trees. The moon was rising.