The walls of my dorm room feel like they're closing in tonight, pressing against me with every breath I take. The air smells like the floral detergent I used to wash my sheets last week as I keep forgetting to get scented candles but beneath it, there's something else, something sharp that makes my skin prickle. I roll onto my side, kicking at the tangled blankets, but sleep won't come. Every time I close my eyes, I see flashes of things I can't explain shadows moving where they shouldn't, shapes that twist just beyond my vision.

The clock on my nightstand glows red in the dark 3:17 AM and outside, the wind scrapes against the window like it's trying to claw its way inside. I sit up, rubbing my face, but the restless feeling doesn't fade. If anything, it gets worse. My legs move before my brain catches up, swinging me out of bed before I even realize I've decided to stand.

Why am I doing this?

The question drifts through my mind, but it doesn't stop me. My hands grab my hoodie from the chair, pulling it on over my thin sleep shirt, and my feet slide into my sneakers without bothering to tie them. The laces drag against the floor as I step into the hallway, but the sound doesn't register. Nothing does.

The dorm is silent except for the hum of the vending machine at the end of the hall and the distant murmur of someone's TV through a closed door. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering just enough to make the shadows shift in the corners of my vision. I walk past Jessica's room, where the faint sound of laughter spills into the hallway hers, bright and bubbly, and Jack's, low and warm. They're probably watching a movie, crammed together on her tiny dorm bed like they always are these days.

Would they notice if I never came back?

The thought should sting, but right now, it feels distant, like it's happening to someone else. Right now, all I can focus on is the strange, insistent pull in my chest, tugging me toward the exit door at the end of the hall.

The night air hits me the second I step outside, cold enough to make my breath fog in front of my face, but I don't shiver. My feet carry me across the empty quad, past the darkened windows of the art building, toward the line of trees at the edge of campus. I've never gone into the woods at night never even thought about it but now, the idea of turning back doesn't cross my mind.

The first branches snag at my sleeves as I push through the underbrush, their fingers catching on my clothes like they're trying to hold me back. The ground is uneven, roots rising up to trip me, but I don't fall. My body moves with a certainty I don't understand, stepping over rocks and dodging low hanging limbs like I've walked this path a hundred times before.

The deeper I go, the quieter the world becomes. The wind fades, the distant sounds of campus disappear, and even my own breathing seems muffled, like the trees are swallowing every sound. The air here is different heavier, warmer and it smells like damp earth and something else, something wild and musky that makes the back of my neck prickle.

Then I hear it.

A growl.

Low, rumbling, so deep I feel it in my bones before I actually hear it.

My body freezes, but my heart kicks into a frantic rhythm, pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. The rational part of my brain screams at me to run, but my feet stay rooted to the ground.

Because I'm not afraid.

That's the strangest part.

The trees rustle ahead of me, branches snapping under the weight of something moving something big and then I see them.

Eyes.

Glowing gold in the dark, fixed on me with an intensity that steals my breath.

They're not human.

And they're not alone.

The last thing I remember is the crunch of leaves underfoot something stepping closer before the world tilts, and everything goes black.

I wake up naked.

The realization hits me slowly, like cold water seeping into my bones. My skin prickles under the weight of a thick wool blanket, rough against my bare thighs. The air smells like pine and woodsmoke, nothing like the stale dorm room I fell asleep in did I fall asleep?

My head throbs. The last thing I remember is the woods. The eyes. The growl.

Oh God.

I jerk upright, clutching the blanket to my chest. The room spins a rustic cabin, all dark wood. And across from me, sitting in a worn leather chair like he's been waiting, is Jerome.

His gaze drags over me, slow, deliberate. "You're awake."

My mouth is dry. "Where am I?"

"My place." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "You were wandering half a mile into Blackpine Woods. Barefoot. In a T-shirt." His voice drops. "You're lucky I found you first."

First?

I swallow hard. "I don't... I don't remember."

"Mm." His eyes catch the light gold, not brown. Not human. Just for a second. Then he blinks, and it's gone. "You were calling out. In your sleep."

A shiver runs down my spine. "Calling what?"

He doesn't answer. Instead, he nods toward my arm. "That's new."

I look down.

And freeze.

Etched into the inside of my wrist is a symbol black as ink, swirling like smoke under my skin. I scrub at it, nails biting into flesh, but it doesn't fade.

What the hell is this?

Jerome watches me panic, his expression unreadable. "It's a mark."

"From what?"

The corner of his mouth twitches. "From the woods."

That's not an answer. I yank the blanket tighter, suddenly aware of how exposed I am how close he is. My clothes are folded neatly on the bedside table. I don't remember taking them off.

Did he—?

"I didn't touch you." His voice is rough, like he's fighting to keep it even. "But someone something else might have. If I hadn't been there."

The implication hangs between us, heavy and sour. I want to scream. I want to run. But my body won't move.

Jerome stands abruptly, tossing me a hoodie. "Get dressed. I'll take you back."

His truck smells like him leather and something smoky . I stare out the window, the symbol on my wrist burning under my sleeve.

"You should stay out of the woods, Rachel." His fingers tighten on the wheel. "Especially at night."

I don't answer.

My room is exactly how I left it. Unmade bed. Half-empty coffee cup. Sketchbook open to a half-finished drawing of a wolf I don't remember drawing.

I slam the door shut and press my back against it, sliding to the floor. My hands shake as I roll up my sleeve.

The mark is still there.

And for the first time, in the dim light, I realize

It looks like a bite.