The Last Tribid

Astrid

The shadows moved before I did.

They slithered between the trees, stretching unnaturally across the forest floor. The air felt thick, damp, and wrong. My feet pounded against the earth as I ran, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. Branches tore at my arms, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

Something was behind me. Watching. Chasing.

I didn’t dare look back.

Then came the whispers. Low and distant at first, but growing louder, curling around me like a cold breath against my skin.

"Astrid."

I swallowed hard, pushing forward, my heart slamming against my ribs. The trees stretched endlessly ahead, an unforgiving maze of darkness. My legs burned, but I kept running, fueled by the fear clawing at my chest.

Then I saw it.

A massive wolf stood in the clearing ahead, blocking my path. Its fur was dark as midnight, blending into the shadows like it had been born from them. Eyes the color of burning embers locked onto mine, glowing with something I didn’t understand.

I skidded to a stop, chest heaving.

It should have attacked. It should have lunged for me, bared its fangs, done something.

But it didn’t.

Instead, the wolf lowered its head.

Not in aggression.

Not in warning.

It bowed.

Like a servant to a queen.

A cold shiver crawled down my spine. The moment stretched, thick with tension, with something ancient, something powerful. My breath hitched.

Then everything vanished.

I woke up with a gasp, heart pounding against my ribs. My room was dark, but the nightmare still clung to me, thick and heavy. My skin was damp with sweat, my breath shaky as I sat up.

It was just a dream. Just a—

I froze.

The scent of damp earth filled my nose, the rich, unmistakable smell of the forest still lingering in the air. My fingers curled into the sheets, but then I felt it. A sharp sting on my arm.

I yanked back the covers. My breath caught in my throat.

There, on my skin, were three long, thin scratches.

Fresh.

Real.

I sucked in a slow breath and let it out, forcing my heartbeat to steady. It was just a nightmare. A stupid, vivid nightmare.

The scratches? I must have done that to myself in my sleep. Maybe I had a habit of sleepwalking and tripping over random things. Yeah, that made sense. I wasn’t about to start thinking my dreams could reach out and touch me in real life.

Shaking it off, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood. My body felt stiff, like I’d actually spent the night running through the woods. I rolled my shoulders and pushed the thought aside, heading for the bathroom.

As I turned on the shower, I caught my reflection in the mirror—same wavy brown hair, same dark eyes, same girl who’d been figuring out her life one step at a time. I was eighteen, a senior in high school, and living what should be a pretty normal life.

Except normal had never really felt right for me.

I didn’t remember much before I was adopted at eight years old. Just flashes—cold nights, blurry faces, the sound of someone calling my name in a voice I couldn’t quite place. My foster parents, Tom and Renee Monroe, had taken me in, given me a home, a life. They were good people, and I loved them.

But there had always been something missing. A gap in my past that no one could fill.

I turned away from the mirror and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the lingering unease. By the time I finished, I felt more like myself. I threw on a pair of jeans and a fitted hoodie, tied my hair into a messy ponytail, and grabbed my bag before heading out of my room.

The smell of coffee and toast hit me as I walked into the kitchen.

"Morning, kiddo," my dad greeted from behind the newspaper, giving me a quick glance over the rim of his glasses. "You look like you barely slept."

"Gee, thanks, Dad," I muttered, grabbing a slice of toast.

Mom was already at the counter, fixing her coffee just the way she liked it—way too much sugar, not enough milk. "Late-night studying?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Something like that," I mumbled, not really in the mood to explain why I looked like I'd just survived a horror movie.

I wasn’t about to tell them about the dream. Or the scratches.

"Well, eat something before you go," Mom said, sipping her coffee. "And remember, we’re having dinner together tonight. No training, no last-minute plans. Just family time."

"Got it," I said around a mouthful of toast before grabbing my bag and heading out.

The drive to school was quick, my usual playlist blasting through the speakers as I tried to push away the last remnants of my dream. By the time I pulled into the parking lot, the familiar sight of Eastwood High settled me.

Normal.

I just needed to focus on normal.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and headed inside, weaving through the crowded hallways until I reached my first class. But the second I pushed open the door, my stomach dropped.

There, pressed up against the side of Jason’s desk, was Bianca.

Jason's girlfriend.

Or whatever she was to him.

Her manicured fingers were buried in his hair, her body practically molded against his, and Jason—Jason wasn’t exactly pushing her away.

I froze for half a second, gripping the strap of my bag a little tighter before forcing myself to walk in like I hadn’t just walked into something I definitely didn’t want to see.

Jason and Bianca. I didn’t know how, but somehow, they were together.

Jason has been my best friend since I was little, and though I used to feel something for him, I don’t know if he ever felt the same way.

It wasn’t until one day he invited me over to his place—I thought it would be just the two of us—until he casually mentioned that his girlfriend would be coming too.

Girlfriend???

Like, who does that?

I should’ve known. Jason had always been friendly, easygoing, the kind of guy people naturally liked. So of course, Bianca wrapped herself around him like a damn snake the first chance she got.

Rolling my eyes, I walked past them and headed straight for my seat, forcing myself to ignore the way Bianca’s lips curled into a smug little smile.

I hated the sight of her. She was exactly the type of girl who thought the world revolved around her—rich, pretty, and a certified mean girl. And, of course, she had her little fan club.

On the other side of the class, her minions sat with their boyfriends, giggling over something on their phones. Just great.

This was going to be a long-ass day.

By the time class ended, I had managed to stay out of trouble, but Bianca just couldn’t help herself.

As I grabbed my bag, her voice rang out, sickly sweet but laced with venom.

“Careful, Astrid. With the way you lurk around Jason, people might think you’re his little lapdog.”

I stopped in my tracks.

The fuck did she just say?

Slowly, I turned to face her, my expression blank, but my fingers twitched at my sides.

Jason was right there. He heard it. He saw the way Bianca smirked, waiting for a reaction.

And he just stood there.

Not a word. Not a single damn thing.

My blood boiled.

Without another glance at either of them, I turned on my heel and stormed out of the class.