Clara woke up gasping.
Air tore into her lungs as if she'd been drowning. Her eyes flew open and locked onto the ceiling—then snapped downward.
Three silhouettes.
Standing in her house.
Her heart slammed violently as she scrambled back, knocking over a chair, breath coming sharp and panicked.
Mark Swinton stood closest.
Simon near the door.
Iris by the window.
None of them looked shocked to see her awake.
That scared her more than anything.
"What—" Clara croaked. "What are you doing here?"
"You tell us," Mark said calmly. Too calmly. "You are the one who was sitting in some kind of....magic circle."
The word hit the room like a dropped knife.
Clara froze.
Slowly, very slowly, she lifted her eyes to him.
"You saw that," she said.
Iris stiffened. "Magic… circle?"
Simon blinked. "Okay, I knew today was weird, but—"
Mark cut him off without looking away from Clara. "Same markings showed up on the bodies the hunters talked about last night."
Clara's pupils contracted.
"So that's why you followed me," she murmured. "You think I'm behind it."
She laughed softly—no humor, just exhaustion.
"If I were," she said, "you wouldn't be standing here."
The temperature in the room dipped—not cold, not hot—wrong. Iris felt her skin prickle. Simon swallowed hard.
Mark stepped forward half a step. "Then start explaining."
Clara studied them.
Really studied them.
Mark—too controlled, too aware. Iris—quiet, watching, hiding something even from herself. Simon—human, but standing his ground anyway.
She exhaled.
"You're not normal," she said. "None of you are."
Simon opened his mouth. Closed it. "Okay, that's… unsettlingly accurate."
Clara straightened despite the lingering weakness in her limbs.
"Fine," she said. "Then I'll be honest—because whatever you are, you're not hunters, and you're not human."
She met Mark's eyes directly.
"I'm a witch."
Silence.
Iris's breath hitched.
Simon stared. "…like—hat, broom, spellbook witch?"
Clara didn't smile. "No."
Mark didn't react outwardly—but something inside him tightened.
"Oh are You now? That's the first I have heard of ," he said slowly.
"That's because we don't want to be met," Clara replied. "We're very good at staying hidden."
Her jaw clenched.
"Or we were."
Iris spoke quietly. "Then why are people being found dead with your symbols carved into them?"
Clara's eyes darkened.
"Because some witches broke the rules," she said. "They're using sacrifice. Blood. Chaos."
Mark's expression hardened. "And exposing you."
"Yes," she snapped. "And dragging our name through the mud while doing it."
She gestured at the ruined circle on the floor. "I'm here to stop them. That's it. No grand plan. No cult."
Simon frowned. "Then why did someone in a robe try to kill you Just now?"
Clara looked toward the door—just for a second.
"Because Maybe I got close."
Mark's voice dropped. "Close to what?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. That's the problem."
The room went quiet again.
Then Mark spoke.
"You didn't do the killings," he said. Not a question.
"No," Clara answered immediately. "And if I wanted to hurt people—" she glanced around the room "—you wouldn't have gotten inside."
That landed.
Iris folded her arms. "Then why reveal yourself to us?"
Clara hesitated.
Then answered honestly.
"Because now you are stuck with," she said, "whatever that was, that tried to kill me will return."
Mark froze.
That crawling sensation between his shoulders.
"And I would need some man Power," Clara finished, "a werewolf is enough to fullfill that part."
The air felt heavier.
Mark met her gaze. "Then we're involved."
Clara nodded once. "Looks like it."
Simon broke the silence first.
"You're… seriously believing her?" he asked, eyes darting between Mark and Clara. "She just casually said witch like that explains everything."
Mark didn't look away from Clara.
"I heard her heartbeat," he said. "It didn't spike. She's not lying."
Iris snapped her head toward him.
"You heard her heartbeat before," she said sharply. "And she still blocked your hearing outside. What proof do you have that she isn't doing it again right now?"
That landed.
Mark frowned because she wasn't wrong.
Before he could answer, Clara sighed and rubbed her temple.
"For the record," she said, "I'm not blocking him."
She gestured vaguely around the room.
"It's a ward. A spell on the house. Keeps werewolves from poking around where they don't belong."
Simon stared. "You… installed anti-wolf Wi-Fi?"
Clara ignored him.
"I didn't design it for you specifically," she added, glancing at Mark. "This whole town is practically filled with werewols. If I wanted privacy, I had to adapt."
Iris's eyes narrowed. "So you admit you can shut him down whenever you want."
"Yes," Clara said plainly. "And no, I'm not doing it right now."
Mark studied her, then nodded slowly.
"She's right," he said. "I can hear you both. Clear as day."
Simon muttered, "Great. So she could mess with you, she's just choosing not to."
"That's… comforting," Iris said dryly.
Mark turned back to Clara. "So what you were doing earlier. You going to do that again sit there and sleep?"
Clara almost smiled.
"It's not sleeping," she said. "It's astral projection."
Simon hands on his face. "Of course it is."
"And no," Clara continued, pushing herself upright, "I can't do it again right now. It drains me. I need time to recharge."
Mark tilted his head. "How long?"
She thought for a moment.
"Come back tomorrow."
The room went quiet.
Later that night
The car slowed as the gates opened.
I didn't look at them this time.
I already knew what waited on the other side.
John parked in the driveway, stepped out, and opened my door like always.
"Good evening, Miss Hale."
Still Hale.
Not Cromvell.
Not worth correcting.
"Thanks," I said, and stepped out before he could add anything else.
The house looked the same—perfect, expensive, lifeless. Lights warm enough to fake comfort. Walls tall enough to keep secrets.
I didn't hesitate before walking in.
They were already there.
My mother sat at the head of the table, posture straight, expression composed. The kind of face people trusted in boardrooms and feared in private. My stepfather beside her. My stepbrother scrolling through his phone like the world owed him entertainment.
Dinner had started.
Of course it had.
No one looked up when I entered.
No one asked where I'd been.
No one asked if I was joining.
Because now I knew why.
I took my seat anyway.
A servant placed a plate in front of me without a word. Already prepared. Already cold. As if my presence was a variable they'd accounted for long before I arrived.
I picked up my fork.
My mother finally spoke.
"You were with them again."
Not a question.
"Yes," I replied.
She didn't ask who.
She didn't need to.
Her eyes met mine for half a second. Sharp. Measuring. The same look she used on people before deciding their value.
"You should be careful who you associate with," she said calmly. "Not everyone understands discretion."
The word hit harder than it should have.
Discretion.
I swallowed. "Funny. You say that like I'm the one hiding things."
The room went quiet.
My stepbrother stopped scrolling. My stepfather stiffened.
My mother set her glass down slowly.
"You're imagining problems where there are none," she said. "Eat."
I did.
The food tasted fine. Everything here always did. No poison. No cruelty. Just distance sharpened into routine.
I watched her hands as she ate.
Strong hands.
Steady.
Hands that had held power for decades.
Hands that had never once held mine when I needed them.
"You're going out tonight," I said suddenly.
Her eyes flicked up.
"So you do notice things," she replied.
"Every month," I said. "Same timing. Same silence. Same excuses."
She didn't deny it.
Didn't confirm it either.
"That doesn't concern you," she said.
There it was.
Not you wouldn't understand.
Not it's dangerous.
Just—
You're not part of this.
I felt something twist in my chest. Not pain. Something sharper. Something colder.
"Am I anything to you," I asked quietly, "besides a liability you haven't decided how to deal with yet?"
The table froze.
My stepfather looked down.
My stepbrother looked away.
My mother looked at me.
Really looked.
For a moment, I thought she might say something real.
She didn't.
"You're tired," she said. "Go to your room."
Dismissed.
I stood without another word and walked out.
No one stopped me.
Upstairs, my room felt smaller than it used to. The walls too close. The silence too loud.
I locked the door and leaned against it, breathing slowly.
Mark's words echoed in my head.
Elena Cromvell. All Alpha.
My mother.
The most powerful werewolf in the city.
And I wasn't even trusted enough to know.
I looked at my hands.
They were shaking.
Not from fear.
From something else.
Something waking up.
If I was really nothing—
Then why did it feel like the house was watching me now?
Why did my pulse feel louder than it ever had?
Why did the silence feel… tense?
I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, teeth clenched.
They could keep their secrets.
They could keep their packs and their power and their rules.
But one thing was clear now:
Whatever they were…
I was one of them.
Whether they wanted me to be or not.