Zoe POV

The pack never stopped mourning Chloe.

Six months after her death, they established her death anniversary as an official pack holiday. Every year on that day, we are required to attend memorial ceremonies and celebrations. It is not optional.

They named products after her. Chloe's Honey. Chloe's Soap. Chloe's Candles. I see her name everywhere I go.

One of the main streets was renamed Chloe Boulevard. A statue of her is being designed and will be placed in the town square. Her belongings—her clothes, her books, her photographs—are displayed in glass cases at the packhouse for everyone to see and remember.

The pack worships her memory like she was a saint.

It feels excessive. Unnatural. Like they are creating a new goddess instead of remembering a person.

But I cannot say that. I cannot question any of it.

Because Chloe's death is connected to me. Because if I speak up, they will remind me that I am the reason she is gone.

*****

What hit me the most was, my relationship with my parents died that night.

My mother has not spoken a single word to me since she said I was not her daughter. Not one word in six months.

My father never mentioned what happened that day. He acts like I do not exist unless he has to acknowledge me.

I stopped speaking at home. There is no point.

When they look at me—on the rare occasions they do—I can see it in their eyes. I thought they wish I had died instead of Chloe. They wish the rogues had taken me and left her alive.

I love my family. I always have. Watching them suffer like this, knowing there is nothing I can do to ease their pain, tears me apart.

I have thought about it so many times. If I had died instead of Chloe, would they be okay? Would they smile again? Would the house feel like a home instead of a tomb?

Sometimes I wonder if that would have been better for everyone.

*****

My parents stopped supporting me financially. No money for school supplies. No money for clothes. No money for anything.

I needed to survive, so I tried to find work.

I went to the bakery first. Ms. Davis looked at me through the glass door and shook her head before I could even speak. She flipped the sign to "Closed" even though it was the middle of the day.

The general store owner saw me coming and turned away, busying himself with stocking shelves until I left.

The clinic receptionist told me they only hire qualified medical staff. I said I could clean or help with paperwork. She said they would call me. They never did.

Every shop on our territory rejected me or pretended I did not exist.

So I started walking to human territory every weekend—about ten miles round trip. I found work at a diner washing dishes, at a laundromat folding clothes, and doing cleaning jobs for a few households. The pay is not much, but it is enough.

I became self-sufficient because I had no other choice.

My mother does not care whether I am home or not. I think she assumes I am out with boys, doing the things she believes I do. The things Jake accused me of.

It hurts more than I want to admit.

*****

Three days after the funeral, Noah issued a command to the pack: no one was to speak to me.

It spread quickly. People started avoiding me in the halls. Turning away when they saw me coming. Acting like I did not exist.

Alpha Owen overruled the command after three days. He said it was inappropriate for the future Alpha to issue such orders without proper authority.

But the damage was done.

Most people still follow Noah's unspoken rule. They ignore me. They walk away when I approach. They treat me like I am invisible.

Or worse—like I am contaminated.

Noah was not always like this with me.

When Chloe was alive, he was kind. He treated me like a little sister.

Every year on my birthday, he brought me small gifts. A carved wooden wolf pendant on a leather cord that I wore every day. A book I had been wanting. Little things that showed he paid attention.

When I fought with my parents or felt upset, Noah would find me and talk to me. He made me feel like someone cared.

I know now it was because of Chloe. He loved her, so he was kind to her family. To me.

I do not blame him for hating me now. I understand it.

I just miss the Noah who used to smile at me.

*****

I still attend the pack high school.

Annie is gone. Her whole family moved to another pack a month after the funeral. I heard they wanted a fresh start.

Jake is still here.

And so are the others.

"Did you shower today, Zoe?" a girl named Melissa asks loudly in the hallway. "Because you smell like garbage."

Her friends laugh.

"Look at her face," another girl says. "All those zits. No wonder Jake dumped her."

They call me names. Pimple Face. Trash Girl. Whore.

In the cafeteria, someone sticks their foot out and I trip, my tray clattering to the ground. Food splatters every where.The bullying continues every day.

Iris stays silent in my mind. She does not heal my bruises or cuts. If she did, people would know I have a wolf.

'We have to stay hidden,' she reminds me. 'Just a little longer.'

But it is hard. So hard.

The students think I am wolfless. That I never shifted. That I am weak and pathetic.

So they get bolder.

One day, they grab my backpack and throw it into the girls' bathroom. My books follow, landing in the toilet with a splash.

I go to retrieve them.

That is when they corner me.

Three girls. I recognize them from my classes, but I do not know their names.

"You think you can just walk around here like nothing happened?" one of them says.

"You killed Chloe," another spits. "You don't deserve to be here."

Before I can respond, hands grab my hair and yank me down.

I hit the tile floor hard. Pain explodes through my knees.

"This is for Chloe," someone says.

They start hitting me. Kicking me. Pulling my hair until I think it will rip out of my scalp.

I curl into a ball and try to protect my head.

'Iris, please—'

'I cannot. Not yet. I am sorry.'

The pain is overwhelming. My vision blurs. I taste blood.

I am going to pass out. I am going to—

Something inside me snaps.

A roar builds in my chest. Not my voice. Not Iris's voice.

Something else. Someone else.

Power surges through me and I shove the girls away with strength I did not know I had. They stumble backward, crashing into the stall doors.

My vision sharpens. Everything becomes clearer, brighter, more intense. I can smell their fear—sharp and acrid.

Heat radiates from my body. My hands tremble with barely contained energy.

One of the girls screams.

"Her eyes! Look at her eyes!"

I turn to the mirror.

My eyes are glowing. Not the soft glow of a normal wolf. This is different. Fierce. Wild. Primal.

Red.

And I can feel her. Another presence. Not Iris.

Angry. So angry.

'Touch them again,' a new voice snarls in my mind, rough and savage, 'and I will rip out your throats.'

The three girls are frozen, staring at me with wide, terrified eyes.

'GO F*CK AWAY,' the voice growls, and this time it comes out of my mouth. My voice but not my voice. Deeper. More dangerous.

They run. All three of them flee the bathroom, stumbling over each other in their panic.

I want to chase them. I want to make them bleed for what they did to me. For months of pain and humiliation.

'ZOE! LISTEN TO ME!' Iris's voice cuts through the fury like a blade, urgent and commanding.

'Breathe. Focus on my voice. Come back to me. NOW.'

But the anger does not fade. It burns hotter, demanding release.

'Let me out,' the other voice snarls. 'Let me show them what happens when they hurt us.'

'NO!' Iris's voice is so eager now. 'Zoe, please! You have to calm down! CALM DOWN!'

But I cannot calm down. The anger is too strong, consuming everything.

'Zoe, please!' Iris sounds desperate now. 'Listen to me! You have to calm down!'

'Who—who are you?' I don't answer Iris but manage to ask to another sound through the haze of rage.

In my mind, I see her appear.

A small wolf with fiery red fur, moving with quick, agile grace. Her eyes burn with the same fury that consumes me.

'I am Freya,' she says, her voice rough and fierce. 'Your second wolf.'

My breath catches.

That is impossible. No one has two wolves. No one.

But she is here. In my mind. Real.

I have two wolves?