The next morning, for the first time in what felt like years, I woke up… rested.

  No nightmares. No jolting awake at the sound of phantom howls. No replay of Dad's eyes in the dark woods, or Ethan in that dead-end corridor.

  Just one solid, uninterrupted block of sleep.

  I lay there for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling, cataloguing the feeling like it might evaporate if I moved too fast.

  Dad spoke.

  The memory came back in pieces. The barn. The rasp of his voice through the wood. My name, dragged through a throat that was wrong and broken, but mine all the same.

  Not your fault.

  It was awful. It was terrifying. But it was him. Somewhere under all that fur and fracture, he was still fighting.

  Hope hurt, but it was better than the hollow.

  I groped for my phone on the nightstand before I could talk myself out of it.

  Morning, I typed, thumbs moving faster than my brain. Had a nice run?

  I hit send. Dropped the phone on the blanket. Stared at the crack in the ceiling like it might answer instead.

  By the time I came out of the shower, steam still clinging to my skin, the notification light was blinking.

  Killed a boar, the first message said.

  My fingers twitched, then I exhaled.

  Of course he did. I tried not to think about it too hard.

  A second message sat under the first, time-stamped a minute later.

  Sorry. Good morning.

  A laugh slipped out of me, small but real. I sat down on the edge of the bed, towel still around my body, and typed back,

  Poor boar.

  The little three dots popped up immediately. Went away. Popped up again. Stopped. Came back.

  I rolled my eyes.

  You don't have to describe it, Ethan. Chill. See you at school.

  His answer came a moment later.

  We'll meet you at the parking lot.

  Then, under it, like an afterthought,

  Slept well?

  Very well, I wrote.

  The dots appeared one more time.

  I'm very glad.

  Silly warmth pooled in my chest. I turned the screen off like that might help, then got dressed as fast as I could before my brain started attaching hearts and flowers to plain text.

  The stupid smile, however, did not fully leave my face until I went downstairs and saw Jack and Elise.

  Jack leaned in the kitchen doorway, coffee mug in hand. Elise stood at the counter, slicing bread with her signature precision.

  "Your grandmother told me what you did last night," Jack said by way of greeting. "And what you got out of it."

  "And?" I asked, bracing. "Have you decided whether you want to ground me or find a way to use me?"

  Jack's mouth twitched.

  "What you did last night," he said, "you won't do again. Yes, you were successful. I'll give you that. You've got guts, girl. You get that from our side of the family."

  That, weirdly, stung and warmed at the same time.

  "But guts without sense are just a fancy way to say 'suicidal.' You have no idea what you were risking."

  My fingers tightened around the back of a chair.

  "Let me guess," I replied, trying to sound unimpressed. "My life?"

  He didn't blink.

  "Yours. Your sister's." Jack's gaze went flint-hard. "And Gabriel's."

  I swallowed. "Dad wouldn't hurt me," I said, heat flaring in my chest, more hope than conviction. "Not really. You can say whatever you want, but I know him. He knows me. He called me. He talked. He—"

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  "And that," Jack cut in, "is exactly why."

  I stared at him.

  "He loves you," Jack said. "He loves that pup down there snoring on the couch. That isn't debatable. But in that state, he has no measure. Instinct says protect, but instinct doesn't know how strong it is. It doesn't know how hard to press before a hug becomes broken ribs. It doesn't know how deep to bite before it stops being a playful or a warning nip and starts being a wound. It doesn't know the difference between pulling you out of the way and throwing you through a wall."

  The words hit like punches.

  "And if he did that," Jack went on, quieter now, "and saw what he'd done… that would be the end of him. Not because I'd make it so. Because he would. Are we clear now, or do you need me to draw you a diagram?"

  For a second it felt like all the air had left the room.

  I imagined Dad, half gone, trying to pull us close, not knowing his own strength, and something happening, one wrong movement, one wrong swipe. The image made me stop breathing.

  "So I can't…" I started, then stopped. "I can't go to him at all."

  Jack took a breath in through his nose, then out, slow.

  "You will," he said. "Again. But when we say so. And with us right there. Not in the middle of the night with no backup. Understood?"

  It wasn't the answer I wanted. But it wasn't no, either.

  "Understood," I said, voice rough.

  "Good," he replied.

  Elise slid a plate full of scrambled eggs toward me, eyes softer than they'd been in days. "Eat, dear," she murmured. "You need your strength."

  Right. My thoughts flickered to school, to Ethan, and my stomach did a little involuntary quiver.

  No, no, no, you don't get to do that, I wanted to hiss at my system. It was like my own body and mind were getting confused by this whole situation, leading me somewhere that was forbidden to go.

  I forced down some toast, kissed Hailey's head on the way out, and pretended the barn didn't loom at the edge of my vision as I drove away.

  ***

  The parking lot was exactly as I'd left it yesterday, just with a slightly different shade of sky.

  They were waiting.

  Nell, hands in her jacket pockets, face calm but eyes alert. Ethan stood beside her, every line of him sharp and focused, like a wire pulled tight between two posts.

  The second my car turned in, his attention locked on.

  Our gazes met the moment I stepped out of the car.

  Just for a heartbeat, something easy slipped in. His mouth tugged up. I felt my own answer before I could stop it, a small, stupid smile that felt like the first warm day after a long winter.

  We froze almost at the same time.

  Nell's eyes sharpened. A couple of distant conversations in the lot dipped. I felt noses twitching, boys turning their heads, not toward me this time, but toward him.

  We both smoothed our faces like we'd rehearsed it.

  "Morning," I said, in the most boring voice I could manage.

  "Morning," he echoed, equally bland.

  The moment snapped. The invisible ring around us remained.

  We fell into formation. Ethan a step ahead, Lara sliding in beside him from somewhere near the entrance, all polished braid and sharp cheekbones. Nell at my side, half a step back, making sure I didn't drift.

  On the way in, I started really noticing it.

  The boys.

  They looked at me, yes. They scented the air, yes. But their eyes bounced off me and landed on Ethan when they thought he wasn't looking.

  That sandy-haired guy, Matt, once again paused mid-laugh as we passed. This time I paid even more attention. His nostrils flared. His pupils jumped wider. For a second, something predatory flickered there, not directed at me but at Ethan's back.

  Then Ethan's head turned, just a fraction.

  Matt snapped his gaze down like someone had yanked a leash. His fingers tightened on his backpack strap. He moved on.

  Later, near the old stairs, I caught Tess's boyfriend Ryan doing the same. Tess clung to his arm, talking about something, but he wasn't listening. His eyes tracked Ethan, assessing, calculating, like a wolf eyeing another wolf who might not be as solid as he used to be.

  Nell's hand brushed my sleeve once, as if to say, I see it too. We didn't comment.

  By lunch, my nerves were fraying on the edges.

  We sat at the same table as yesterday. Ethan and Lara on one side, Nell and I on the other. The hum of the cafeteria felt higher-pitched than usual, like everyone had tuned a little higher without realizing it.

  I picked at my sandwich more than I ate it.

  At some point in the middle of a conversation about homework that none of us were really having, Lara leaned in, cool as a snake in the shade.

  "Ethan," she said, voice low enough that only our table could hear. "Next time you decide to use a boar as a stress ball, warn me first, will you?"

  My sandwich stopped halfway to my mouth.

  Across from me, Ethan went very still. Not bristling, not snapping. Just… still. Like a lake with black ice under the surface.

  "What?" I asked, before I could stop myself.

  Lara's eyes slid to mine, gleaming.

  "He got a bit too enthusiastic on the hunt," she said lightly. "Kept shaking long after the boar stopped moving. It was very… intense."

  The word made me shiver.

  Nell's gaze cut to Ethan, sharp and fast. "Is that so?" she asked, tone neutral in the way that meant it really wasn't.

  Ethan didn't answer. His jaw flexed once. His fingers tightened around his cup.

  Nell, Ethan, and I sat in a fragile triangle of silence while the rest of the cafeteria kept pretending nothing was happening.

  I caught Nell's eye. She gave the tiniest shake of her head.

  Don't ask. Not here. Not now.

  ***

  Later that night, just before I went to bed, I texted Ethan. Because Lara's words wouldn't leave my mind, and I couldn't go to sleep until I settled it, and because my mind would then imagine all kinds of crazy things.

  Okay, what was that thing with the boar?

  A few minutes later the screen lit up.

  You don't want to know.

  He was right. I really didn't.

  You okay? I sent.

  Pause. Three dots.

  Okay is a loaded word for me right now, he replied.

  I typed quickly. You're right. Sorry.

  Three dots blinked in and out of existence. Then: Don't apologize. It's not your fault.

  "Not my fault" , I whispered to myself, sitting cross-legged. Nothing was my fault, yet everything was.

  Another bubble showed up.

  We'll figure something out. Together.

  Now he was comforting me. Great. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, not knowing what to write.

  Another message popped onto the screen.

  Kelsey… Nell told me about your father. Is he… better?

  My fingers trembled. I knew Dad's condition couldn't stay a secret. After all, Nell was there when he came back from the forest. She witnessed the state he was in.

  He… I typed. Is… getting there.

  A long pause. As if he didn't trust himself to type the first thing that came to mind.

  I hope he gets well soon.

  A spark of warmth lit somewhere beneath my ribs and a small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

  Yeah, I hope that, too.

  A pause, then:

  See you tomorrow, Kelsey. Sleep well.

  I smiled without meaning to.

  Thanks, you too. Goodnight, Ethan.

  I fell asleep quickly that night.