Dad didn't come back that day. Nor that night.

  The house settled into its usual evening quiet, the cartoons ended, and Hailey finally drifted off with Mr. Winkle crushed to her chest.

  I lay awake and listened for the sound of his boots on the porch, the soft thud of the back door, his voice calling up the stairs. It never came.

  By morning, my eyes burned and my throat felt raw, like I'd swallowed sand in my sleep.

  Hailey padded into the kitchen in her pink Minnie Mouse pajamas, hair a tangled mess, rubbing her eyes with tiny fists.

  "Where's Daddy?" she asked, right out of the blue.

  I stuttered. "I…I…" I couldn't say I didn't know.

  "Did he go away again?" Her small voice pulled me straight back to the day of the funeral, to Grandpa Gerard's limousine, to the way Hailey had kept asking when Dad would come back for us, and I gave her answers in lies and half truths because I didn't know either.

  I sank to my knees and hugged her tight, like my arms around her could anchor us in the world.

  "No," I said into her hair. "No. He didn't leave us."

  Hailey's shoulders shook in my arms. "Then where is he?"

  "He had to go on a quick trip," I lied because I didn't know better. "He'll be back soon." I released her.

  Her face crumpled, then smoothed in that way kids do when they decide to believe you because you're a grown up and you know.

  "Okay," she whispered, climbing onto the chair.

  Elise spared me a side eyed glance but said nothing.

  She stood by the stove, flipping pancakes with mechanical precision, back straight, posture composed, like this was any other morning. But her eyes were focused and bright, watching me and not watching me at the same time.

  Jack sat at the table with a mug in his hand that I wasn't sure held just coffee. He did not eat. He just watched the window, jaw set.

  When Hailey ran to the living room for cartoons, I caught Elise as she wiped the counter.

  "Where is he?" I hissed.

  She didn't pretend she didn't understand.

  She glanced at the doorway, checked that Hailey was out of earshot, then lowered her voice.

  "He's in the forest," she said simply.

  My chest tightened. "Still?"

  "He left us that night, went in deep," she said. "He hasn't answered us since."

  Answered. The word sat wrong.

  "Is he mad at me?" The question slipped out before I could stop it. It sounded childish, pathetic, but I needed to know. "Because I ran. Is this my fault?"

  A flicker crossed her face, too sharp to be pity.

  "Fault is a human word," she said. "This isn't about blame. This is about what he was while your mother was alive and what he is now."

  My throat burned. "Meaning what?"

  Her shoulders dropped a fraction, like she had been holding herself in some invisible harness and finally loosened it by one notch.

  "Gabriel is a lupine," she said quietly, like it explained everything. "When he met your mother, something happened. Something that normally only occurs between lupines. Something that's beyond our control. Older than reason, older than emotion."

  "Let me guess — a bond?" I asked dryly. "Everything seems to revolve around it. Even me being born, apparently."

  Elise didn't comment, just nodded.

  "What is it?" I asked. "Really. And if you say ‘falling in love,' I swear I'll burn this house down."

  Something like irritation flickered in her eyes, followed by something like respect.

  "Falling in love," she said, and the way she shaped the words made them sound flimsy, "is a human verbal glitter you glue to your instincts so that they feel elevated and pretty. Bond is older. Primordial. We don't choose it." A sharp inhale. "Sometimes it arrives with emotion. Sometimes it doesn't. Feelings usually follow, but they are independent from the bond. Bond itself isn't a feeling. It's a complete system rewiring. A lock, if you will. A new, permanent axis around which the world turns."

  The back of my neck prickled. "Are you talking about imprinting?" I asked, thinking of all the werewolf movies and tropes I'd read or seen or heard about.

  She made a small, cutting sound in her throat.

  "To call it that," she said, "is like calling an earthquake a tremor. Listen. When a bond forms between two lupines, their instincts sync. Territory, danger, hunger, safety, offspring, all of it reorients around that new shared reality. It's natural. Normal. We don't question it when it happens. We accept it as a blessing, with joy. There's no greater harmony two lives can share."

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  I swallowed. "But?" I continued, dreading the answer. "My mom was human."

  She hesitated. Just half a heartbeat. But I saw it.

  "Yes. With humans it's rare," she said at last. "Very rare, and one sided. The human can develop… human feelings, I suppose." She wrinkled her nose in something very close to disdain. "However, the full weight of the bond falls almost entirely on the lupine. That is why, paradoxically, it's often more intense, like a gravity tilt. It pulled your father, anchored him in the human world, helped him fit in amongst your kind. Created you and Hailey. But the whiplash of destruction is that much worse if such a bond is broken."

  The implications lodged in my gut like a stone.

  My knees wobbled. I leaned back against the counter.

  Elise continued without mercy. "The bond snapped fully when Diane died. Ever since, Gabriel has been living with one foot rooted, one foot pulled into the dark."

  Suddenly a thousand little things slotted into place.

  How he'd laughed with us. How he'd always been there, warm, anchoring, orbiting our mother like she was the sun and we were the planets. How he'd begun to fade when she got sick, as if the colors were draining out of him slowly. How he hadn't cried at the funeral, not in front of us, not once. How he'd dropped us off with Grandpa Gerard with a tight jaw and empty eyes and then disappeared.

  For a week.

  I'd imagined bars, hospitals, motels with cheap sheets, anything that would fit into a human story.

  I never could have imagined this.

  Another memory hit me like a wave.

  "Like the parrots," I whispered before I could stop myself.

  Elise's eyes snapped to mine. Something like shock flashed through them, gone as quickly as it came.

  "What parrots?"

  "When I was eight," I said numbly. "We had a pair of tiger parrots. The female died. The male stopped eating. Dad said some animals do not heal when their mates die. They just… stop."

  A line formed between Elise's brows. For a moment, she looked almost… stricken.

  "Yes," she said quietly. "Like the parrots."

  My eyes burned.

  "Are you telling me he's going to die?" I asked, sudden panic creeping into my voice.

  Her reaction was immediate, visceral.

  "No," she said quickly. "No. A broken bond doesn't always mean death." She paused.

  "He came back home not because he wanted to, but because he needed a crutch and a purpose. And for a lupine, the pack is that crutch."

  "And the purpose?"

  She blinked, then wiped her hands against her apron in a gesture that was so strangely, painfully human. "The purpose is you."

  My whole body went numb. "Me?"

  "Hailey and you," she corrected. "The broken bond seeks an anchor." She looked at the window. "You're his offspring. The blood of the bond. The only living link to that which is lost. And you are young and vulnerable, especially Hailey. As the only living parent, the instinct to nurture and protect is absolute."

  She paused. Weight and unease settled deep in my stomach. Needing something to hold onto, I reached for the counter.

  "But other instincts live in him as well, untethered now," Elise continued, relentless. "They need an outlet."

  "The forest," the word escaped my lips, and she nodded.

  "He resisted it as much as he could," she said, quieter. "But the moon weakens control, loosens inhibitions." Her eyes crinkled at the corners in an expression dangerously close to sympathy. "Instinct becomes faster than reason. That is why…" Her gaze fell, and she turned away, her hands fidgeting around her apron.

  I blinked. "What?"

  She stopped, closed her eyes as she leaned against the sink. She looked tired and old and, oddly, genuinely human. Somehow it disturbed me even more.

  She didn't look me in the eyes when she spoke. "You shouldn't have run." Her eyebrows drew together.

  A wave of shame hit me, sharp and immediate, like I was a child again, being scolded for something I never understood.

  I took an involuntary step back. Her head snapped in my direction so fast I stuttered.

  "W… why?" I wouldn't be intimidated. I wouldn't. "Are you saying it's my fault he's out there? That I've somehow—"

  "It's a reflex," she said, and it sounded pained. "Like a knee jerk. It's difficult to suppress even when we're fully in control. To Gabriel in that state, it was impossible. When you ran, his body reacted in a way his mind couldn't bear. The instinct to chase collided with the instinct to protect. In his mind it was like two trains colliding. He stopped himself, but it broke him."

  My throat went dry. I remembered the growl, the whimper, the thud. "Jesus."

  "We don't know," she turned again, reached for a cloth, folded it, "what we'll find in that forest." Her eyes met mine and I saw real grief there.

  It made sense. Dad was her son, even if they weren't… human.

  But all this, all of it, was simply too much.

  I loved my father. I wanted him back.

  But I didn't sign up for this.

  For a heartbeat, I wanted to reject every word she said, shove the truth back into the dark where it belonged. I hated the weight of it. I hated how tight I suddenly felt in my own skin.

  "I didn't know."

  Her face softened at the edges, only a fraction. "Of course you didn't. What happened," she sighed, "was on Gabriel alone. It happened because of his choices, not yours."

  I swallowed. "You said that Hailey and I were his purpose."

  She almost smiled. Almost. "Yes."

  "That's…" I shivered. "Not normal."

  "For a human, no. For a lupine, very."

  I snapped. "I don't want to be his purpose. Neither should Hailey. It's not… fair!"

  Her gaze hardened. "It's lupine," she said. "Fair has nothing to do with it. Our ways are different than humans'. Our nature is different. The bonds we create with humans are a bridge over a chasm. Once the bridge collapses, only the chasm remains. That is the fact of our life."

  I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes in a desperate attempt to keep myself upright under the weight of it all.

  The worst part was, deep down I knew Dad didn't choose this either. I didn't think he ever wanted us to know, to carry that burden. Maybe that's why he kept secrets. Maybe he was afraid that once the dam of truth broke, we'd all be flooded.

  And he was right.

  As if Elise only now realized how overwhelmed I was, her eyes softened at the corners in something close to sympathy. I couldn't stand it, so I turned and went upstairs, fighting the urge to run.

  As I climbed, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I flinched so hard I nearly stumbled.

  I drew it out and checked.

  A message from Nell.

  Where are you?

  I stared at the screen, fingers numb.

  Another message followed.

  Are you coming to school?

  Then,

  Kelsey. Answer.

  And finally,

  Answer so I know you're alive.

  My hand shook. I locked the screen and, as soon as I entered my room, turned it face down on the table.

  My dad was somewhere out there, lost, broken in ways I couldn't comprehend.

  I couldn't think about school.

  About hallways full of stares.

  About boys with blown pupils.

  About Nell, who wasn't human.

  About Ethan, who wasn't either. Oh, God, Ethan.

  My chest clenched. The memory of the dead end corridor flooded me, his hands on my arms, his voice ragged, the way his pupils had swallowed his eyes. The heat of his breath against my neck.

  I knew now it was their thing. Lupine. Other.

  No.

  I shoved the thought away so hard my vision blurred.

  Not him.

  Not now.

  I picked up the phone, thumb hovering over Nell's name, then hit clear all instead.

  The silence that followed felt worse. Because I knew it would come back to haunt me.