Shelta and Sarah left, carrying Patrick’s body between them. Arthur had to help. Their silence was louder than any accusation, and the way Sarah’s eyes lingered on me before they disappeared out the door said more than words ever could. The chasm between us… the divide that had begun long before this day… widened with every step they took. It was unspoken, but we all knew the truth. The weight of Patrick's secrets, his choices, and the things he hid from us… it didn’t matter anymore. Not to Sarah. Not now. Their grief had consumed them, leaving no room for explanations or truths. All they wanted was Patrick back, and all they could see was Autumn, the one who took him away in a savage, brutal instant. The image of her attack haunted them, a memory too horrifying to erase, and the fear in their trembling hands was as clear as their mourning. They needed time to sort through this. We all did.

As for the rest of us, we were caught in the same whirlwind of grief and denial, only aimed at Autumn. Eleanor clung to our daughter’s lifeless body like a lifeline, arms wrapped so tightly around her that it seemed she believed she could shield Autumn from the reality of death. Her face was pale, streaked with tears she could not wipe away. She refused to let go, refused to surrender to the inevitability of what was to come; the planning, the farewell, the cold finality of burying her child. Eleanor had always been strong, but this... this was breaking her in ways I had never seen. She held Autumn as though holding on would keep the world from crumbling further.

I stood frozen, my hands balled into fists at my sides, my jaw clenched so tight I could feel my teeth ache. I couldn’t mourn like they did. I couldn’t fall apart. Someone had to keep it together. Someone had to ensure we survived this and didn’t lose ourselves completely in the chaos. My emotions simmered beneath the surface, locked into compartments to store for a later time, but inside, I was screaming. Screaming for it all to stop, for some shred of mercy that never seemed to come.

Allen, however, had no such walls. His grief was wild, and untamed, his pain spilling out in monstrous ways. His werewolf features surfaced, clawing their way free as his control shattered. His claws scraped against the walls, his eyes burning with a desperate, animalistic agony. Eloise tried to soothe him, but her words did nothing to calm the storm within him. When Jane finally led him away, along with Eloise, back to the Rockwoods Reservation, I felt a strange relief. Allen didn’t need to see Autumn’s body… not like this. None of us did.

But there she was, sprawled on the basement floor, her dark brown hair now lifeless, the sheen gone from its strands. Her face was pale, her lips tinged blue, and though I hated to think it, I was grateful her eyes were closed. If they had been frozen open, I wouldn’t have been able to take it. She already looked so wrong, so different. Death had stolen not just her life but her essence, leaving behind a shell that wasn’t quite her.

Kayla remained, sitting quietly in the corner. I could see the conflict in her, the war between her feelings for Patrick and the cousin she had grown up with. She stayed… because of Autumn, not this Autumn… but the real Autumn. Because she understood, more than anyone else, that the thing we had seen wasn’t truly her cousin. It was something cursed, something twisted, something that had taken her and left destruction in its wake. Her gaze lingered on Autumn’s body, her expression heavy with grief and exhaustion, but she didn’t cry. Maybe she couldn’t.

Arthur stood nearby, his face a mask of stoicism, though the tension in his jaw and the way his hands trembled betrayed him. I noticed the way his eyes glistened, how the water pooled at the edges but never fell. Arthur was a man who had endured more loss than most… brothers, friends, and people he loved. But even he had limits. I could see him fighting, tooth and nail, to keep himself together, to not let this be the moment that broke him. He was losing the battle, but he fought it all the same, every second another struggle to hold back the flood. He remained quiet but stayed near the door… just in case he couldn’t keep it all back.

The room was heavy with grief, suffocating in its silence. No one said a word, but the weight of everything… of Patrick’s death, of Autumn’s brutal assault, of what we had all lost… it hung over us like a storm, unrelenting and dark. We were shattered, and there was no fixing us. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

I didn’t look at anyone as I climbed the basement stairs. My legs felt like lead, but I forced them to move, one step at a time. My cell phone was clutched in my hand like a lifeline, though I already knew it wouldn’t give me what I needed. As I reached the main floor, the familiar silence of the house hit me… too heavy, too suffocating. I thought about heading straight upstairs to my office, locking the door, and pretending none of this was happening. But instead, I veered toward the kitchen. Maybe a drink would take the edge off, dull the emotions clawing at the edges of my mind, begging to be let out.

I grabbed whiskey from the top of the fridge, my hand shaking as I twisted off the cap. The cold of the bottle bit into my palm, grounding me just enough to stop me from shattering right then and there. With my other hand, I dialed Sam’s number. I hesitated for a second, then hit call. I let it ring as I took a small sip, the bitterness of the whiskey barely registering. Ring after ring, and nothing.

Then, the voicemail kicked in, but it wasn’t Sam’s voice.

"The voicemail box you are trying to reach is now full. Please call back later."

The monotone, automated voice cut through the silence, and something inside me snapped. It felt like the phone was mocking me, rubbing salt into an already bleeding wound. I knew what Alex had said… that he was dead… but I just wanted it to not be true. Him… now Autumn… why was this happening?

I tilted the bottle back and drained it in one go, the liquid burning as it went down, but it did nothing to numb the ache. When the bottle was empty, I stared at it for a moment. My grip tightened, and before I could think better of it, I pulled back and hurled it at the wall.

The sound of shattering glass echoed through the kitchen, pieces raining down like tiny, jagged reminders of everything I was trying to bury. I stood there, chest heaving, my fists clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

A large hand grabbed my shoulder from behind, firm but not forceful, and spun me around. It was Frank. He didn’t say a word, just pulled me into a hug. His arms wrapped around me, steady and unyielding, and for a moment, I resisted. But his silence, the way his face remained stoic even as his grip tightened, broke through the dam. He was doing exactly what I had been trying to do… pushing everything down and staying strong for the rest of us. But his embrace told me I didn’t have to.

I let out a shuddering breath, my hands clutching the back of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping me standing. And then I broke. The tears came fast and hard, wracking my body as I buried my face into his shoulder. All the anger, the guilt, the overwhelming sense of loss… it spilled out in cries I couldn’t control.

Frank held on, unwavering, not saying a word. He didn’t need to. I knew what he was trying to tell me: You don’t have to carry it all. I’ll carry it for a while.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I let someone else share the weight… my big brother.

The day crawled by, a blur of faces coming and going. Everyone gradually left after offering quiet words, leaving us; Eleanor, Frank, Martin, Alex, and myself… mired in grief. Everyone else had retreated to process in their own way. The basement was too much to bear, so we’d left it behind, leaving Autumn laid out on a workbench, her body shrouded in a sheet. The sight of her lifeless form had been unbearable, dredging up feelings we weren’t ready to face.

It wasn’t just her death we mourned… it was everything she had been. The little three-year-old that marched around this house, terrorizing us, opening up everything she shouldn't be into. Snuggling up in my lap as I studied in my office, falling asleep with me in my desk chair. The 10-year-old who grew a new attitude, wouldn't do her chores and was still somehow just so kind to everybody. The woman she'd grown into studying biology, training, and hunting becoming one of the most lethal long-range hunters our family had at our disposal. The love she had for her cousin Delilah, and all of her family was proof of who she was. Eleanor and I were beyond proud and who she had become, and it was unbearable. It had all been taken away, stolen, and twisted. Seeing her dull lifeless body… registering that she was truly gone, it was hard.. too hard to put into words.

The sheet over her body was a fragile barrier, one we’d needed to create just to keep functioning. Looking at her for too long made it impossible to deny the truth: she was gone. We told ourselves we’d face it fully later. When we were stronger. But for now, we stayed in a fog, a limbo of shared grief that ebbed and flowed for days.

By the second day, it was clear we couldn’t avoid the practicalities any longer. Her body needed to be laid to rest. The family plot, where we’d buried Zeke and Bartley, waited for her. We had a storage unit outside of town with a few coffins set aside for family… just in case. It was a grim contingency, but one we had learned to prepare for. I planned to call Frank that day, to ask him for his truck so we could bring one back.

Meanwhile, Martin and Alex had been having quiet, heated conversations on the side of the house. Martin’s frustration was palpable, his voice rising at times, though Alex remained eerily calm. She didn’t argue back, just stood there with an unnerving certainty, her red hair stark against the beige wall of the hallway. Eleanor and I noticed but didn’t press Martin… he seemed too agitated to explain. We weren’t sure if their arguments were about Sam, Autumn, or something else entirely.

Then there was Alex herself, who had been acting differently since the earthquake. The strange red lights that had erupted from the ground and engulfed her were impossible to forget. None of us had dared to bring it up… to shift our focus from grief to whatever that was. If we did it would feel like we had already moved on from Autumn. I couldn’t do that… not yet. She deserved so much more. But it lingered in the back of our minds. Whatever had happened, Alex seemed unharmed… stronger even. Maybe that’s what she and Martin were arguing about.

As I dialed Frank, discussing the logistics of the coffin, I watched Alex step out of the house. She moved with purpose, her expression set in anger, shaking her head in frustration. For the first time since this all began, she left the safety of our home in broad daylight. She barely glanced at me as she passed, her jaw tight, her eyes distant. Something like an apology rested in her eyes, but it was hard to tell.

I shifted my gaze to Martin, hoping for some clue, but he said nothing. He sat alone on the far side of the house, his elbows on his knees, his hands rubbing at his temples like he was trying to push away a headache that wouldn’t quit. Whatever had happened between them, it had clearly left its mark.

We were all unraveling in our own ways, even Martin… steady, composed Martin. The weight of this loss with Charles, now Autumn… everything it dredged up was crushing all of us… even him.

From somewhere deep in the house, the shattering of glass followed by a heavy clatter of furniture ricocheted through the air, stopping me cold. My heart jolted, slamming against my ribs as I whipped my head toward the noise. It came from the basement… or at least it sounded like it. But no one was down there. No one except Autumn… her body.

Before I could react, Martin moved like a blur, a silent specter tearing through the house. His unnatural speed left a gust in his wake, but I was right behind him, my legs stumbling into motion as adrenaline surged through me. My mind raced. There was no way… no way… anyone could’ve gotten into our house, let alone the basement. Every lock was secured. Every entry was sealed after Alex’s exit.

I reached the basement stairs just as Martin shoved open the door. It banged against the wall, and I followed him into the dim space, my heart pounding in my ears. But nothing could prepare me for what I saw.

Martin stood frozen, clutching the sheet that had covered Autumn’s body. But the workbench beneath it? Empty. Completely bare. My daughter… her lifeless form that had lain there for two days… was gone.

The chaos of the room screamed at me. A small, slim, grimy window near the basement ceiling was shattered, with jagged shards of glass clinging to the frame. Blood streaked the edges, bright against the sunlight streaming through. Tools and weapons that had been neatly organized on the bench below it were scattered haphazardly across the floor as if thrown in a hurry… or knocked away by a fleeing animal. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the sour scent of disturbed dust.

I couldn’t breathe. “What the…” The words choked in my throat as my mind scrambled to piece it together. “What the fuck?” My voice cracked, shaking with disbelief as I took a stumbling step forward.

Martin didn’t respond immediately. He stood rigid, his chest heaving as his eyes darted between the bloodied window and the empty workbench. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the sheet tighter, his expression teetering between panic and something darker. He stared into the shattered window, unable to follow into the sun.

Finally, he exhaled sharply, his voice low and tight. “Carter... there’s something I need to explain.” His gaze flicked toward the broken window. “Alex… she did something. And I don’t know what it means.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I snapped, panic twisting into anger as my heart thundered louder. “What did Alex do? Did she take her? Did she take my daughter?” My eyes flicked to the blood on the glass. “Why would she do that?” I demanded.

Martin didn’t answer right away. He just stared at the empty workbench like it held some secret only he could see.

“Alex did not take her…”