Layla didn't move from the door for a long time, her hand still clutching the knob, the echo of Kael's warning ringing in her ears. Stay away from him. The words twisted in her mind, tangling with the image of Julian's icy stare from the café and the wild intensity of Kael's gray eyes. She pressed her forehead against the wood, willing her heart to slow, but the hum in her head wouldn't quiet. It pulsed like a second heartbeat, faint but insistent, threading unease through her veins.
"You okay over there?" Mira's voice cut through the silence, muffled by her pillow. "You're breathing like you just ran a marathon."
"Yeah," Layla lied, her voice tight. She forced herself to step away from the door, glancing at Mira's shadowed form. "Just... thought I heard something."
Mira mumbled something incoherent and rolled over, her snores resuming within seconds. Layla envied her—oblivious, safe in a world where wolves didn't turn into men and strangers didn't know your name. She sank onto her bed, the mattress creaking under her weight, and stared at the ceiling. The desk lamp cast long shadows across the room, flickering faintly as the bulb buzzed.
Her fingers brushed the pendant still hanging around her neck, its surface warmer now, almost alive against her skin. She pulled it free, holding it up to the light. The silver caught the glow, the word Guardian etched in a script so fine she'd never really studied it before. Rowan used to say it was special, a family heirloom, but she'd never explained why. Layla had worn it as a kid, a comfort after her parents died, until embarrassment made her tuck it away. Now, it felt heavier, like it carried secrets she didn't want to face.
She set it back in its box, shoving it under her bed, but the unease didn't fade. The howl replayed in her mind—Kael's howl, she was sure of it now—and Julian's voice, smooth and sharp, layered over it. You've got a scent about you. What did that even mean? She rubbed her temples, the hum growing louder, a dissonant buzz that made her teeth ache.
Sleep was a lost cause. She grabbed her phone—2:17 a.m.—and scrolled through meaningless notifications, anything to drown out the noise in her head. But then the screen flickered, a brief glitch, and the pendant's chain rattled faintly under the bed. She froze, her breath hitching. Slowly, she reached down, pulling the box back into her lap.
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The pendant was glowing.
It wasn't bright—no blinding flash or movie magic—just a soft, silvery pulse, like moonlight trapped in metal. She blinked, sure she was imagining it, but the glow held steady, warm under her fingertips. Her chest tightened, a mix of awe and dread pooling in her gut. This wasn't normal. None of this was normal.
"Okay, Grandma," she whispered, her voice trembling. "What the hell did you leave me?"
She slipped the pendant back on, the glow fading as it settled against her collarbone, but the warmth lingered. She stood, pacing the cramped room, her bare feet silent on the floor. The hum sharpened, tugging at her like a thread, urging her toward the window. She resisted, clenching her fists, but it was no use. She crossed the room and peered out.
The lawn was empty, the forest still, but the air felt charged, electric. She pressed her hand to the glass, and the pendant flared again—brighter this time, a quick burst that made her gasp. Outside, something moved. Not Kael, not the wolf, but a shadow—tall, lean, gliding through the trees with unnatural grace. Julian.
He stopped at the edge of the woods, his pale face catching the moonlight, those blue eyes fixed on her window. Her stomach dropped. He shouldn't have been able to see her—not from that distance, not through the dark—but his gaze was precise, piercing. He tilted his head, a faint smile curling his lips, and raised a hand, beckoning her.
Layla stumbled back, her hip banging against the desk. The lamp flickered wildly, then steadied. When she looked again, he was gone, the forest swallowing him as cleanly as it had Kael. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, the pendant's warmth searing now, almost painful.
"What's happening to me?" she muttered, burying her face in her hands. The hum softened, retreating to a dull throb, but it left her dizzy, her thoughts a jumbled mess. Kael's warning, Julian's stare, the wolf, the pendant—it was too much, too fast.
She crawled back to bed, pulling the blanket over her head like a shield. Morning couldn't come soon enough. But as she lay there, eyes squeezed shut, a memory surfaced—Rowan's voice, soft and urgent, from years ago: "When the time comes, you'll know. It'll call to you." Layla had laughed it off then, a kid humoring her eccentric grandmother. Now, it didn't seem so funny.
The night stretched on, endless and oppressive, the pendant a steady pulse against her chest. She didn't hear the howl again, didn't see Julian's shadow, but she felt them—both of them—circling her like wolves around prey. And deep down, in a place she couldn't name, she knew Kael was right. She was in deeper than she understood, and there was no turning back.
When dawn finally broke, gray and sluggish through the drizzle, Layla was still awake, staring at the pendant in her hand. The glow was gone, the silver dull and cold, but the weight of it—of everything—pressed down on her. She didn't know what Kael and Julian wanted, didn't know why her grandmother's gift had woken up now, but one thing was clear: her life wasn't hers anymore. Not entirely.
She got up, splashing water on her face in the bathroom, and met her own eyes in the mirror—hollow, haunted, but sharp with something new. Determination, maybe. Or fear. Whatever it was, she'd need it. Because if last night was any indication, Ravenwood was about to get a lot stranger—and she was right in the middle of it.