114

Dawn broke to meet the entire pack still bustling up and down like they hadn't slept at all. The aftermath of the attack was everywhere. One didn't need to look far.

Bavanda had locked herself in her room, all by herself. No one wanted to listen to her, not like she had much to say anyway.

Bavanda’s hands were stained with blood. Her breath came in ragged gasps. The battle had been chaos, and in the heat of it, she lost control. She had felt her claws sink into flesh, had heard the agonized cry. And now… she couldn’t take it back.

She sat on the cold stone floor of her room, hugging her knees to her chest. The voices in her head were loud—mocking, accusing. The room felt too small, too suffocating.

The girl hadn't left Bavanda's room since the attack, but she was so quiet—it was like she wasn't there at all. Eventually, she moved.

The girl sat on Bavanda’s bed, her face dimly lit by moonlight streaming through the window. The pack house was quiet now, but inside Bavanda’s mind, the voices never stopped. She let out a slow breath, staring at the ceiling, the weight of everything pressing down on her.

“Are you okay?" The girl asked, her voice soft and calm.

Bavanda hesitated. "I can’t tell what’s real anymore. The voices... they won’t stop. Sometimes, I hear whispers that aren’t mine, thoughts that aren’t mine. And when I close my eyes, I see things—horrible things. It’s like my mind isn’t my own.”

The girl listened, her expression unreadable, but there was a quiet understanding in her gaze. She didn’t interrupt, she just listened.

Bavanda continued, "I tried to talk to my parents about it, but they look at me like I’m broken. Like I’m dangerous. Maybe I am. I don’t feel like myself anymore. My wolf should be guiding me, but I can’t even feel her properly."

"Maybe you’re not losing control.” The girl finally said, “Maybe you’re changing, finding the better version of yourself.”

Bavanda laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "Changing into what? And how is this better?"

"You might not see it now, but you will eventually. You're finally turning into who you were meant to be."

Bavanda turned her head sharply, meeting the girl’s calm, piercing gaze. "What if I don’t want to change? What if I just want to be normal? To be who I was before all of this?"

The girl smiled lightly, her calmness never wavering. "Normal is a cage they put you in. You were never meant to be just another wolf in this pack. You feel it, don’t you? The power inside you? It’s been caged for too long."

"Then why does it feel like I’m losing myself?" Bavanda insisted, gripping the sheets as the rage rose.

The girl leaned in closer, her voice gentle but firm. "Because you’re not meant to be the person they want you to be. You are more, Bavanda. And deep down, you know it."

Silence stretched between them. Bavanda wants to argue, to deny it, but she can’t—because a part of her does know it.

Sha swallowed, finally looking away through the windows. She turned back to the girl, and asked softly, “What's your name?"

“I thought you'll never ask." The girl mumbled softly. “They call me Theresa."

Bavanda's lips parted to say something but at that point, a knock sounded on the door. It opens before she can answer. Steve stepped in, his expression grim. Bavanda looked up, and the moment she saw his face, she knew

Steve sighed, his voice quiet but firm. "He didn’t make it."

The words slammed into her like a blade. Her whole body tensed. She gripped her hair, her breath coming faster. “What do you mean he didn't make it? Didn't the wound heal?"

Steve sighed again. "We don't understand it either. The wound didn't heal, and he kept bleeding, until… until his last breath.”

He heart stopped, and tears began falling off her eyes.

Shaking her head violently, Bavanda exclaimed. "No. No, that’s not possible. I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—"

Steve chipped in, softly. "I know. But it happened."

Her vision blurred, as she kept trembling, painful whispers escaping her lips. “I killed him. I… I killed a man.”

The reality crashed heavily on her. The weight was unbearable. Bavanda buried her head in between her hands, as the voices get louder, feeding on her guilt. Her hands curled into fists, nails biting into her skin.

She could feel herself spiraling, losing control—until a soft touch pulled her back. Cool fingers brushed against her cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Bavanda flinched slightly, but on looking up, her eyes fall on her—Theresa.

"Breathe, Bavanda." She cooed, her voice soft and comforting

Bavanda stared at her with desperate eyes, her voice breaking. "I killed him! I—"

Theresa tilted her head, eyes calm and steady. "It was an honest mistake, you didn't know. You think this makes you a monster?"

Bavanda responded with a whisper, a huge lump forming in her throat. "Doesn’t it?"

Theresa shook her head slowly, her fingers gently wiping away a stray tear from Bavanda’s cheek. "No. You have shown enough remorse, that should tell everyone that you didn't mean to. You survived whatesoever happened out there, that makes you strong. And I think that's all that matters."

Bavanda stared at her, searching her eyes for something—punishment, blame, anything. However, all she found was understanding.

The girl reached for her hands, her grip warm and steady despite the blood staining them. “This wasn't your fault, Bavanda. Without you, they wouldn't have won that battle, and that's a fact they can all attest to. They made you into a weapon, and now they're afraid of the damage you do. But you didn't ask for this."

Bavanda exhaled shakily, her body still trembling, but the panic isn’t suffocating her anymore. The voices weren’t as loud. The girl’s presence was like an anchor, keeping her from drowning in her own guilt.

Steve watched from the doorway, arms crossed. He said nothing, but his expression was conflicted. He didn't trust the girl, but Bavanda would not listen to him. There was no use even trying.

Slowly, quietly, he turned and left the room. Theresa watched the door close, a smirk appearing on her lips.


***

Later on, Bavanda sat on the edge of the bed, watching the girl sleep. Theresa.

The soft rise and fall of her chest should have been comforting, but it wasn’t. Something about her presence was too still, like she was barely there, like if Bavanda blinked, she’d disappear.

Since no one else was ready to listen to her, she had spent every waking hours beside Theresa. That way, at least, she had some peace.

Moreover, she was scared. Scared for Theresa.

The pack doctor had said the girl was fine—no injuries, no signs of trauma—but Bavanda knew better. Whatever had happened to her before she appeared in the garden had marked her, in more ways than one.

And yet, she never seemed afraid. If anything, she was calm. Unnaturally so.

As if she had been waiting for this. For Bavanda.

The next few days blurred together. Bavanda didn’t care for anything outside the four walls of the room where the girl rested. She barely acknowledged the warriors patrolling the pack house. She ignored Steve’s increasingly frustrated attempts to speak to her.

Her parents? She barely even thought about them.

All she cared about was Theresa.

They spent hours talking, lying in bed like old friends, whispering in the dark when the moonlight cast eerie shadows across the walls. Bavanda told her everything—about the voices, the visions, the way her parents feared her.

And the girl listened. Really listened.

She never asked questions, never doubted her. And when Bavanda admitted that she sometimes thought she was losing herself, the girl only smiled.

“You’re not losing yourself,” she murmured one night. “You’re just finding the part of you they never wanted you to see.”

Bavanda frowned. “What does that mean?”

The girl turned to her, brushing a strand of hair from Bavanda’s face. “It means you’re more than what they tell you. They see you as a threat, don’t they?”

Bavanda swallowed hard. “Yes.”

Theresa said, “Well, that's because they don't understand. People tend to fear what they don't understand, and what they fear… they destroy. You can't let that happen, can you?”

A strange warmth spread through Bavanda’s chest at those words. Theresa understood her, more than any one else had done in the past few weeks. She felt seen.

Avynna tried to talk to her daughter two nights later. Bavanda barely let her in the room.

“You can’t keep shutting us out,” Avynna said, voice heavy with worry. “We’re your family.”

Bavanda folded her arms. “Family?” she scoffed. “That’s funny. Because all I feel from you is fear.”

Avynna’s expression faltered. “Bavanda, that’s not—”

“You’re afraid of me,” she hissed. “You don’t trust me. And you never will.”

Her mother took a deep breath. “That’s not true.”

“Then why do you look at me like I’m a monster?”

Silence.

Bavanda clenched her fists, her breathing uneven. The voices whispered in her head, fueling her anger.

When Avynna finally spoke, her voice was soft but firm. “That girl—there’s something off about her, Bavanda. You’ve barely known her, but you act like she’s—”

“She’s the only one who doesn’t make me feel like a mistake! And her name is Theresa.” Bavanda snapped.

Her mother flinched.

Something in her chest twisted, but she ignored it. She turned away, facing the girl, who sat on the bed watching the exchange silently.

“She stays,” Bavanda said, her voice final. “And if you can’t accept that, then leave.”

Avynna stared at her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a quiet sigh, she stepped back.

She didn’t argue neither did she fight. She simply walked away.

And for some reason, that stung Bavanda more than anything.