Chapter 3

Finn's teacher pulled me aside on a Tuesday. He'd moved a desk that usually took two adults, and his eyes had done something she couldn't quite describe but couldn't stop thinking about.

"Good genetics," I said, which was becoming my answer for everything.

I sat him down that night. "Remember our rules about being different?"

"I have to be normal." He said it like a question. "But why, Mama? I could've just helped."

"I know, baby." Because being different will get us both killed. "Just trust me on this one."

Three weeks later, Soren Webb moved in next door.

Tall, easy smile, said he worked in IT. He was outside every time we were, which I told myself was coincidence right up until Finn grabbed my hand at the school bus stop and didn't let go.

"Mama," he whispered once we were inside. "He smells wrong."

"Wrong how?"

"Like the woods. Like something wild that's pretending not to be."

He's one of them.

I started watching the exits again.

The full moon came two weeks later. Finn always got restless on those nights, but this was different—I heard sounds from his room I'd never heard before, low and guttural, and when I pushed open his door he was standing at the window with his back to me.

When he turned around, his canines had come to points. His nails had curved into something that wasn't nails anymore. His eyes were completely gold.

"Mama," he said, in a voice that belonged to something much older than five. "Something's happening to me."

Then he tilted his head back and howled, and the windows actually shook.

We're out of time.

I started researching how to disappear again. I didn't move fast enough.

The park was Finn's idea—he'd been cooped up for days and I'd let my guard down, which was my mistake. He was playing near the slide when the German Shepherd got loose. Massive dog, clearly aggressive, heading straight for a group of toddlers before anyone could react.

Finn was faster.

He caught the dog in midair. A hundred pounds of animal, mid-lunge, and my five-year-old stopped it with both hands and made a sound that dropped the dog to its belly and froze every person in that park.

The silence lasted about three seconds.

Then the phones came out.

I grabbed Finn's hand and we ran.

Soren knocked that night. I left the chain lock on.

"It's late," I said through the crack.

"He's standing right behind you." Soren's voice was calm. "We both know he hears everything."

I didn't answer.

"Your real name is Nora Avery," he said. "Not Sophie Martinez. You've done a good job staying hidden." A pause. "But the Alpha is coming. You have twenty-four hours to decide how this goes."

I shut the door. Started packing with shaking hands.

Finn stood in the doorway and watched me fold his clothes without saying a word.

I didn't sleep that night. By six in the morning I had cash, both our passports, and Finn's stuffed wolf sitting by the door.

That's when Finn walked in—pajamas, wide awake, like he'd been up for hours.

"The air smells different," he said.

"Different how?"

"Heavy. Like before a storm." He pressed his hand flat against the window. "We can't leave today, Mama."

"Baby, we have to—"

"Do I have a daddy?"

The question landed and just sat there.

I was still trying to find an answer when my phone buzzed.

Unknown number. One text.

He wants to talk. Just talk. Riverside Park, 10 AM. He'll come alone. —Soren

I looked up at Finn. Finn looked at me.

Neither of us said anything.