The sound of muffled voices and relentless daylight piercing my eyelids dragged me from uneasy sleep. For a moment, I lay still, disoriented, my body heavy with the aftertaste of fear. The house felt wrong in the daylight, too quiet.

I reached for my phone on the nightstand.

It wasn't there.

A jolt of panic snapped through me. I sat up too fast, my head spinning as I searched the bed, the floor, the narrow strip of space between the frame and the wall.

Nothing.

I frowned, trying to remember. Had I taken it out of my bag before going to sleep? Had I checked it after the howling started?

I couldn't remember.

The voices outside rose, then cut off abruptly. A door slammed shut.

Hailey's bed was empty.

My stomach dropped.

I was on my feet before my brain fully caught up, bare toes curling against the cold floor as I crossed the room. My bag sat by the windowsill where I'd left it the night before. I dumped its contents onto the bed with shaking hands until my phone slid free.

Ten percent battery.

A stack of notifications bloomed across the screen. Group chats. Missed messages. None of them addressed me.

I scrolled anyway.

Names passed by. Jokes. Plans. Someone complaining about a test I wasn't taking anymore. The conversation flowed neatly around the space where I used to be.

I locked the screen and set the phone face down.

That was how it had been for a while now. Not suddenly, not dramatically. Just a gradual thinning, people drifting away once my life stopped being easy to be around. Once hospital visits replaced weekend plans. Once grief became something I carried with me like a smell that never quite washed out.

I didn't blame them.

I crossed back to the window and pulled the curtain aside.

Dad stood in the front yard, his shoulders rigid, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Jack faced him, posture relaxed, as if this were nothing more than an inconvenience. They stood too close. The space between them felt charged, like the air before a storm.

Carefully, I nudged the window open.

Cold air rushed in, carrying their voices with it.

"...that I should have what, just abandoned them?" Dad snapped. His voice was raw, stripped of control. "Is that what you're suggesting?"

My breath caught painfully in my throat.

"I'm suggesting you just lost a mate," Jack replied. His tone was sharp, clipped. "And you're not thinking straight. You know damn well there are people around here who'll see them as nothing but-"

"Do not dare use that word." Dad's voice dropped. It wasn't loud, or even angry.

It was deeply, deeply wrong.

The sound raised every hair on my body, a low, guttural undercurrent threading through the familiar cadence of his voice. Something inside me recoiled on instinct.

"Regardless of what they are to you, or to us," Jack snapped back, "they don't belong here, Gabriel."

The floorboard beneath my feet creaked. The sound was tiny, barely above a whisper.

Both of them snapped their heads up.

For a split second, no one moved.

Then, because my brain had completely abandoned me, I lifted my hand and waved.

Dad's eyes locked onto mine. Guilt flickered across his face, followed by grief, followed by something darker. Something that made my chest tighten.

He inclined his head briefly in acknowledgment, then turned and followed Jack away to the barn.

The window rattled softly as I shut it.

I stood there for a moment, staring at my reflection in the glass. I didn't like the way my eyes looked. Too wide. Too alert.

I forced myself to move.

The smell hit me halfway down the stairs, a strange mix of maple syrup and burnt batter. It clung to the air, thick and sweet and wrong.

The kitchen came into view.

Hailey sat at the table, legs swinging happily, her fingers sticky with syrup as she munched on something vaguely pancake-shaped. On the stove, Elise stood hunched over a pan, scraping at a blackened patch of batter with intense focus.

She groaned in frustration. The sound was too deep, too rough.

Then her head snapped up and her face lit instantly with that wide, unsettling smile.

"Good morning, dear!" she chirped. "Care to join us? I'm making pancakes."

I glanced at the pan. "I can see that."

She gestured proudly toward a plate stacked with uneven, semi-successful attempts. "Please, help yourself."

I slid into the chair beside Hailey, who didn't seem bothered by the raw centers or charred edges in the slightest.

"Thanks," I said carefully, "but I'm not really hungry. Do you have any orange juice?"

For just a moment, Elise's smile faltered before snapping back into place.

"Orange juice. Yes. Of course."

She turned to the fridge, moving with unnatural smoothness. She retrieved an unopened carton and handed it to me along with a glass.

She didn't move away.

She watched as I opened the carton. Watched as I poured the juice. Watched as I handed Hailey her glass, still as a bird.

"Daddy said he's going to put up a tire swing outside!" Hailey announced, grinning up at me.

"Did he?" I asked.

"Yes," Elise cut in smoothly. "He wants you girls to feel at home. And so do we."

I snorted before I could stop myself. "I don't think Jack agrees."

Her hand waved dismissively. "Oh, don't mind him. He's traditional. Set in his ways." Her voice lowered. "It doesn't mean he doesn't care. Or that he doesn't want you here." She hesitated. "It's just... complicated."

I took a sip of juice, buying myself a second. "Well, it's not like I was dying to live here either." The bitterness slipped through despite my effort to keep it out. "But Dad didn't exactly give us a choice."

Something in Elise's expression softened. The look was fleeting, but it was real.

"You have another grandfather," she said carefully. "Is that right?"

"Yeah. Grandpa Gerard. He lives on the East Coast." I shrugged. "He's crazy rich. He and Dad hate each other."

Her eyebrows lifted. "How so?"

"Grandpa always thought Mom married beneath her," I said flatly. "He tolerated Dad because of us. Dad returned the favor."

Elise's eyes went cold. "I see."

The silence stretched uncomfortably long. Elise turned back to the stove, scraping at the pan with renewed intensity.

Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the window frames.

The kitchen door opened and Dad stepped inside, exhaustion carved deep into his features. He paused when he saw me.

"Kelsey," he said. "Can we talk for a minute?"

My stomach tightened. "About what?"

"School."

Of course. I'd been wondering when he'd mention it.

He gestured toward the hallway. "Just us."

I followed him out, leaving Hailey and Elise behind. At the far end of the corridor, Dad stopped and turned to face me.

"There's a high school in town," he said. "It's not..." He hesitated, searching for words. "Ideal. But it's the only option."

"Okay. When do I start?"

"Tomorrow."

The word hit harder than I expected.

"Tomorrow," I echoed. "You're serious."

"I am." His jaw tightened. "I know this is a lot. But routine matters. Normalcy matters."

I laughed softly. "Normal."

He flinched.

"I'll handle it," he said quickly. "I'll talk to the administration. Make sure you're... looked after."

I searched his face, the familiar lines, the things that made him my father. "Dad," I said quietly. "Should I be worried about something?"

For a moment, he looked like he might answer.

Then he shook his head. "Of course not, pup." He rested a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. "But just in case... If anything happens. If anyone bothers you, call me. Immediately."

I took a step back. That was... odd. I wasn't a kindergartener. Unsure how to respond, I simply nodded, watching relief wash over his face.

As he walked away, the house creaked softly around me.

Outside, the forest stood silent. And somehow, that felt worse than the howling.