The grand clock sitting in the middle of the room chimed. It was three o'clock.
The dose of… Skyla had given me had worn off. My body felt fine, but my mind was entirely restless.
I had told her about the notes I had seen and how they had distorted my mind— the wrinkle of surprise on her forehead marred her expression. I knew that look.
Skyla had a suspicion I had probably imagined it. But that wasn't true. I had seen it. And it wasn't a vision. It had been real. Still, I had to pretend it didn't bother me anymore, and I knew I had layered my composure with that pretension, making her worry less.
I needed to visit the library. I knew there had to be an answer, but it was what the answer might be that made me restless.
The notes— was it a warning? Did I need to run away? But from what, or from whom, exactly?
I turned towards the other side of the pillow, closed my eyes, willing my mind to follow suit, but it clearly wasn't working.
I sat back up, pulling my old leathery diary from the top of the coffee-colored table sitting next to the bed.
Pulling it open, a wave of nostalgia hit me. The last time I had written anything here, my life had been free of this chaos, this clouding uncertainty, this questionable existence. And now, I wanted to write, but nothing was coming forth.
What do they say about losing our muse? Had my tomorrow already died without me knowing?
Staring at the blank page for a while as the feeling of restlessness grew. No. It wasn't just my muse that I had lost. I had lost my sense of self.
My identity was the muse— the driving force. The voice I needed when nothing else made sense. When I saw the hate in father's eyes grow, when the resentment from Conrad turned into verbal abuse, when mother's love became a cold memory— it had been the assurance that I was one of them, that I belonged, that had kept me going.
But now, all I had was a fractured identity, a blurred future I had to cling to each day.
Heaving a deep sigh, I knew I was exhausted— drained, in fact.
The door to the room suddenly swung open with a force that made me spring to my feet, tossing the diary onto the bed.
"Camille!" It was Skyla.
Her eyes—a fiery shade of the blue moon—she had partly shifted, the smell of blood and sweat clinging to her.
"What the gadeffvking moon is going on?" I asked, glancing at her and the bloodstains on her shirt.
"You're going on!" she snapped, moving toward me.
"There's been an attack at the lab. Demuel said he couldn't figure out where to find you when he arrived to get some of the silver spears!" Her eyes were sharp, anger and adrenaline surging through her.
"Attack? I… I had no idea," I stammered, trying to process the weight of what she was saying.
"When did it happen? Was it an invasion from some other pack?" I followed her hurried pace as she rushed out of the room, searching for something I had no idea about.
She didn't reply. Her feet moved with impeccable speed, catching up with her as she reached the armory—which was breathtaking, but I didn't have the luxury of touching each piece. There were more urgent matters.
"Skyla, I need to…"
"Camille, I don't have time for this right now." She exited the armory, slinging a black bag over her shoulder as she passed me. Her eyes were red.
She was furious, and I had no idea why or what to do.
"Skyla, I'm sorry about the lab. And I can't shake the feeling that all of this happened because of me," I said, my emotions spilling over my face.
"But I'm sorry, and I just want to know if there's anything I can do to help."
"Nothing," her expression unreadable.
"I'm coming with you, Skyla. I can't just sit here while everyone is fighting off the bea—"
"It's the beast from your vision," she blurted, her eyes redder and full of pain— revealing a version of Skyla I had never seen in the few weeks I'd been here.
I swallowed hard. "It can't be," I managed to whisper.
"It has begun, Camille, and none of this is your fault. I only failed to help some of the pack members because I wasn't prepared. Thank the goddess Demuel, Elder McKenzie, and a few others who fought it and managed to chain it."
I exhaled a deep breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
"That's not the main issue," she said, squeezing the handle of her bag.
I furrowed my brow, turning to look at her. "Skyla, did we lose anyone?" My chest suddenly clenched, making it hard to breathe.
"What's a fight without a loss?" Her expression was slightly coy. "We lost a few pack warriors."
I covered my mouth with my hand. It was all because of me. The words echoed in my mind.
"But that's not the point. The important thing is, it shifted back to its true form."
"What?" I asked, feeling the heat rise around my underarm and face. "Do beasts have the ability to change back to their real form?"
"That's why we're moving to strengthen the borders first. Elder McKenzie says she believes it's a mutated species."
"She?"
Skyla nodded.
"Mutated species? Meaning someone was behind this— because they needed the blood of a rogue and a pure-blood to create them."
She offered a half-smile. "That's the point."
"Does this have anything to do with Alpha Sigewuf?" I asked, already fearing the answer.
She nodded again. "Alpha Vikron said he's the only one on the radar for now. At least that explains why he needs you."
"How could this even involve me?" Anxiety gnawed at me. "I'm not a rogue, or a pure-blood, or whatever!" I said through clenched teeth.
"You don't know yet, Camille," she replied. "We don't know what you are, but whatever it is, we know you're special."
I wanted to argue— to scream that I was neither. That I was just an Aston-Lakenheath werewolf who loved to hunt. I was merely a deviant nineteen-year-old with her life mapped out before the moon goddess turned it upside down with a cruel twist.
But I said none of these things. Instead, I moved toward the window, stared into the distance. Even though I couldn't see the lab, I didn't move.
As I approached the door, she paused. I felt her gaze on me. "There's more coming, Camille," she added.
"And they're coming for you," she said, shutting the door behind her and returning to join the others.
I nodded. I already knew that. Hiding here wouldn't save me. Something—or someone—would find their way here someday. And when they did, I had to be ready to face them.
The growing restlessness inside me only intensified. It was only a matter of time before it gave birth to whatever it was concealing.
Rubbing my hand over my temple, I closed my eyes. What would tomorrow bring? Death, pain, chaos— or something else, I wondered.