Zoe’s POV

I sit between my parents, trying not to move.

The funeral has been going on for nearly five hours.

I did not know funerals lasted this long. I have only been to one other funeral in my life—a distant pack member I barely knew. That one lasted maybe an hour. Maybe two.

This one feels endless.

The pack priest is still speaking. Still leading prayers. Still calling on the Moon Goddess to guide Chloe's spirit home.

My mother sobs beside me. Her whole body shakes with it.

My father has his arm around her, holding her up. His face is gray. Exhausted. But he does not let go of her.

They lean into each other. Supporting each other. Sharing their grief.

My chest tightens. My throat burns.

I have never seen them like this. So broken. So lost.

I want to reach out. To touch my mother's hand. To tell her I am sorry.

But I cannot.

She would not want my comfort. She does not want me here at all.

I would do anything to ease their pain. Anything to bring Chloe back. Anything to make this better.

But I cannot bring her back. I cannot fix this.

'If I had not put my phone down. If I had just deleted Jake's messages. If I had told someone about the harassment sooner.'

The guilt weighs on me like stone.

All I can do is sit here and watch them suffer. Watch them mourn the daughter they truly loved. The daughter they lost because of me.

***

As the sun sets, the temperature drops.

The cold seeps into my bones.

But that is not what makes me uncomfortable.

Heat spreads through my body. Unnatural heat. Like a fever burning from the inside.

My skin prickles and my muscles ache. I shift in my seat, trying to find a position that does not hurt, but everything hurts.

My head feels light and dizzy, and the world tilts slightly.

'What is wrong with me?'

Then I realize.

The shift. My first shift.

'No. No, not now. Not here.'

I am sixteen today. This is when it happens. When the wolf comes.

But it cannot happen here. Not in front of everyone. Not during Chloe's funeral.

I need to leave. Now.

'Maybe if I leave, it will help. Maybe if I anger them, it will give them something else to focus on. Something other than the grief.'

The thought feels wrong. Selfish.

But maybe anger is better than this endless sadness. Maybe hating me is easier than missing Chloe.

And I have no choice. I cannot stay here.

I lean toward my mother. "Mom," I whisper. "I need to—"

She does not look at me. Just glares. Her eyes are red and swollen but sharp with anger.

I stand up anyway.

My legs shake and I stumble slightly. A pot of daisies tips over as I brush past it, then another. The crash echoes in the amphitheater and people turn to look.

I see Noah staring at me, his gray eyes filled with anger, resentment, and hatred. I look away and keep moving.

My body knows where to go as some instinct deep inside pulls me forward toward the waterfall.

***

Images flash through my mind as I walk.

Chloe holding my phone. Her face serious. "I am going to go talk to him. Tell him to leave you alone."

She wanted to help me. She went to the forest because of me.

Annie standing in front of everyone, saying "Zoe and Jake were dating. I saw them together a lot." My best friend lied and betrayed me.

My mother's tears and my father's broken expression flash through my mind.

Noah's eyes, cold and furious, promising "Soon. Very soon."

The pain intensifies and I collapse into the grass, curling into myself. It feels like my bones are breaking, like my body is tearing apart from the inside.

I cannot do this. I cannot—

A voice speaks—soft but firm, not mine. 'You are almost there. Keep going.'

"I cannot," I gasp.

'You can. Get up. Move.'

I do not know who is speaking, but the voice gives me something to hold onto. I crawl on hands and knees in the dirt, and every movement is agony, but I keep going.

The waterfall gets closer and I can hear it now, the rush of water calling to me. My vision blurs and my arms give out as I collapse at the edge of the water.

The pain explodes and I scream as my bones crack, shift, and reform. My skin burns, stretches, and changes.

'Clear your mind. Let go. Let me through.'

"It hurts—"

'I know. But you must let go. Trust me.'

I do not have a choice, so I let go. The pain peaks, then suddenly it stops.

I am panting and shaking, but the pain is gone. 'Hello, Zoe. I am Iris. Your wolf.'

I try to speak, but the sound that comes out is not human—it is a wolf's sound.

I look down and see paws instead of hands—large silver-white paws with pink pads.

I scramble to the water's edge and look at my reflection. A massive wolf stares back at me with silver-white fur that seems to glow in the moonlight, pink paws and tail tip, and on my rear a red claw mark, sharp and distinct.

'What... what are we?'

'We are special, Zoe. Blessed by the Moon Goddess herself.'

'But I have never seen a wolf like this—'

'Because there are not many like us. We are rare. Unique.'

Iris pauses. Her voice becomes serious.

'Zoe. Listen to me carefully. We must not tell anyone about me. Not yet. We are special, and that means we need to be careful. Do you understand?'

'Why? What will happen if—'

'Just trust me. Please. No one can know I have appeared. Not your family. Not the pack. No one.'

Something in her voice makes me listen. Makes me understand this is important.

'Okay. I will not tell anyone.'

I stare at the reflection, at Iris, who is beautiful and powerful—nothing like I expected.

'The funeral,' I realize suddenly. 'I need to go back.'

'Then we shift back. I will guide you.'

The change back is easier, faster, and less painful. Within moments, I am human again—naked, with my brown party dress lying in shreds around me, torn apart by the transformation.

I gather the pieces carefully even though the dress is ruined, completely ruined, because it was one of the few things my mother ever bought for me, one of the few gifts she gave me. I cannot just leave it here.

I look around and spot a t-shirt caught on a branch nearby—someone must have left it behind. I pull it on quickly, and though it is too big, it covers me. I bundle the dress scraps in my arms and then run.

***

I burst through the door of our family quarters.

My mother is there, waiting. Her face is twisted with rage.

Her eyes sweep over me. The oversized t-shirt. The torn dress scraps in my arms.

"Where were you?" Her voice is ice. "You left your sister's funeral." Her gaze narrows on the shirt. "And whose shirt is that? Who were you with?"

"I am sorry. I did not mean—"

"You went off with some boy? During your sister's funeral?" Her voice rises. "How dare you! How dare you disrespect Chloe like this!"

"No! I was not—"

"Selfish!"

CRACK.

Her hand connects with my face, the same cheek as before. The pain is sharp and immediate, layering over the bruise that has not yet healed.

"You are not my daughter. Not anymore."

Her words hit harder than the slap.

"You hear me? You are nothing to me."

My mother turns away and walks to her room. The door slams shut.

I think my mother's door may never be opened for me again.