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The sun had barely crept into the sky, yet the tension in the pack house was already a tangible weight in the air. Outside Bavanda’s room, Avynna stood quietly, a small tray of untouched food in her hands—fruit, bread, and warm tea that had long since gone cold.
She cleared her throat softly, resting a trembling palm against the wooden door. “Bavanda… sweetheart, please,” she whispered. “Just a few bites. Or come outside for a little while, even if you don’t speak. Let me see your face.”
Silence.
Only the occasional shifting of fabric inside told her that her daughter was still alive on the other side. Alive… but distant. With each passing hour, it felt like Bavanda was slipping further from her reach.
“I know things are awful,” Avynna continued, her voice cracking. “But I don’t believe those people. I don’t. I know my daughter—” Her words cut off when shouting erupted from downstairs, then began rising up the stairwell like a growing storm.
“She needs to face the Council!”
“She was seen! We have two witnesses!”
“She’s hiding because she knows she’s guilty!”
Fists pounded against the walls and doorframes as angry voices gathered just outside Bavanda’s room. The fragile peace shattered.
Avynna turned sharply. “Enough!” she shouted, stepping between the crowd and the door, her arms raised. “She is still my daughter. You will not barge in like animals—”
Before she could finish speaking, the door creaked open behind her.
Bavanda stepped out, pale and hollow-eyed, her hair a tangled mess, her clothes loose on her frame. She said nothing for a long moment, then finally, quietly:
“I’ll answer your questions.”
She didn’t look at her mother. She didn’t look at anyone. She simply walked past them, head bowed, into the crowd that had once called her Luna-to-be.
The hall was cold. Cold in a way that crept into the bones, settled deep, and didn’t leave. Bavanda sat in the center of the room, surrounded by a circle of sharp eyes and hushed voices.
This was the second accusation. Another witness claiming to see her vanish into the woods under moonlight, blood trailing behind like a thread of guilt.
“I didn’t do it,” her voice trembled. “I swear on the Goddess, I didn’t—”
“You said that last time too,” growled one elder. “Yet another witness saw you. Are you saying both people are lying?”
Bavanda swallowed, the lump in her throat refusing to settle.
Avynna quickly injected. “Where's this second witness?"
A sob broke from the crowd almost immediately. A woman—her cheeks streaked with tears—stepped forward. “You killed her! I saw her with my own eyes! The way you laughed when—when—”
“I never laughed!” Bavanda clutched her chest. “I wasn’t even there. Please, you have to believe me.”
But they didn’t. Not anymore.
Even her parents, standing behind her, seemed smaller than they once were. Avynna’s hand trembled in Baron’s, her lips pinched together to hold back an emotional outburst. Baron’s jaw clenched, his silence screaming more than words ever could.
Steve stepped forward once, defending her. “This isn’t the Bavanda we know.”
“Then what is she?” someone asked from the crowd.
Bavanda turned toward them all, her eyes glassy. “I’m still me. Please…”
But their eyes were no longer filled with trust. Only fear.
***
The night was unusually still.
Not the kind of stillness that brought peace—but the kind that made the skin prickle. The stars hung too quietly overhead, and even the wind seemed to hold its breath. Bavanda tossed in bed, her sheets damp with sweat. Something pressed against her chest—a weight that had no name.
Then came the whisper.
Soft, delicate, like a strand of thread brushing across her ear. “Come.”
Her eyes shot open.
The room was silent, untouched. But the pull in her chest grew stronger, insistent. Like a tether yanking her spirit forward. She didn’t fight it. She slipped out of bed barefoot, moving through the pack house like a shadow, heart pounding in a rhythm she couldn’t calm.
Out into the night.
The moon glowed pale through clouds, casting long silver streaks across the forest floor. Bavanda followed the sensation—deeper and deeper into the woods—drawn by something she didn’t understand. Her limbs moved like they didn’t belong to her, yet the fear didn’t peak until she heard it.
Breathing—labored, shallow… and not far away.
She ducked behind a thick-barked tree, peering through its branches. A clearing opened ahead, surrounded by a circle of carved stones—they looked ancient, somewhat ceremonial.
And in the center stood… her?
At first her heart jumped. Was she dreaming?
But no, this version of her was different. Drenched in moonlight, smeared with something dark across her mouth and hands. She was humming—a low, haunting tune that Bavanda hadn’t heard since childhood.
Then she saw the body.
It was a pack member. A young male warrior—bound, gagged, sobbing in muffled fear. He was still alive.
Bavanda tried to move, to scream—to do anything—but her body wouldn’t obey. Her feet remained planted. Her mouth wouldn’t open. A tight, invisible force bound her to the ground.
The clone raised a jagged stone, whispering words in a language Bavanda didn’t know. Her smile widened, eerie and unnatural, and then—the strike.
Blood sprayed across the stones. The boy jerked, then went still.
Bavanda's heart shattered in her chest. Her vision blurred with horror, panic, helplessness.
The clone stood, tilting her head as if admiring her work. Then slowly, almost theatrically, she turned to face Bavanda.
Their eyes met.
For a moment, nothing. And then, that smile curled cruelly.
“You had everything,” she said, voice dripping with malice. “Now watch me take it from you—one breath at a time.”
And just like that—darkness.
Bavanda’s knees buckled as her mind gave way. The last thing she felt was cold. Cold in her bones. Cold in her soul.
Meanwhile, far from the pack, Loco stirred again in the rogue village. Sweat clung to his brow, his chest heaving. The dream had been different this time. Longer, and bloodier.
And her face... It wasn’t her.
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
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