The living room was still dim with the morning fog curling softly against the frosted windows. The silence sat between them like a third presence, heavy, watching.
Adam stood near the edge of the couch, his arms loosely crossed, feet shifting occasionally on the creaky wooden floor. Austin sat on the armrest, his face rigid, eyes fixed, but flickering faintly, like he was holding back something much heavier than anger.
The clock ticked in the background. And then Austin finally spoke.
"You've only been in Moonstone for two damn weeks."
Adam blinked, the words catching him like a slap across the jaw. Not because of the volume, but the disappointment laced in every syllable.
"Two weeks, Adam," his father continued, standing up. "And already the police are involved. Your name, tied to some back-alley party and a wild animal attack? Do you even realize how serious this is?"
Adam clenched his jaw, standing his ground. "I saved someone's life."
Austin's eyes sharpened. "And what if you died in the process? What if your body had been dragged out of those woods instead?"
Adam inhaled sharply, his voice rising, barely controlled. "If I hadn't gone, Brandon would've died. You think I planned for any of it to happen? I didn't go looking for trouble, Dad. But I wasn't about to run away from it either."
"Don't—" Austin's voice cracked before he caught it, fisted his hand, and looked away briefly. "Don't twist this like you're some damn vigilante."
"I didn't say that," Adam said, quieter now. "But you weren't there. You didn't see what happened."
Austin snapped his gaze back to him. "And whose fault is that? You don't tell me anything anymore."
That stung more than Adam expected. His eyes dropped.
"I'm trying," he muttered.
For a moment, only the distant hum of the refrigerator filled the space between them.
Then Austin said it.
"You're going to end up just like—"
He stopped mid-sentence. Eyes wide. The words had flown before thought could catch them.
Even Adam looked stunned.
There was a long, frozen beat.
Austin turned away, a hand to his face. "Shit. No. I didn't mean that."
But the damage was done.
Adam swallowed the lump rising in his throat. He didn't need his dad to finish the sentence to know who he meant.
Austin slowly sank back onto the couch's armrest. The fire in him dimmed to embers. His voice softened.
"I'm sorry, kid. I shouldn't have said that." He rubbed his face. "God, I'm just... scared, alright? I'm scared out of my damn mind."
Adam didn't speak. His chest felt heavy, throat tight.
Austin continued, quieter, almost to himself, "Your mom... she wanted you to be happy. To be someone who helped people. That's why she... that's why we worked so hard. And this school, Moonstone, it's not just a fancy name. It's your ticket. To everything. To becoming a doctor. To saving lives without throwing yourself into the fire every time it burns."
He looked up at Adam again, eyes glassier than before. "I just want you to live, Adam. To be better. To have more. That's all I've ever wanted."
Adam's heart stirred. There was so much weight in his dad's voice, more than he'd heard in a long time.
"I get it," Adam said quietly, almost apologetically. "But... Moonstone isn't cheap. I looked it up. The tuition's insane. How are you even... affording that?"
Austin's eyes narrowed for just a second. A flash of hesitation crossed his face.
Then he scoffed and waved a hand. "We'll talk about that some other time."
"No, Dad—"
"Later," he said more firmly. Then with a slower exhale, he said, "What matters now is that the school contacted me."
Adam tensed.
"They know about the party?" he asked.
Austin nodded. "The police involvement made it impossible to cover up. They were furious. Said your actions warranted a serious penalty. 20% docked off your academic average next term. A permanent mark on your record."
Adam's breath caught in his chest.
"But," Austin added, raising a hand, "because you saved someone's life, and the student council president vouched for you... the board decided to issue a formal warning instead. No credit loss. No record. Just a final warning."
Adam blinked. "So... I'm not—?"
"You're safe. For now." Austin paused. "But only just."
Adam didn't know what to say. His thoughts were a whirl of relief and regret.
Austin stepped forward, eyes locked on his son. "Don't waste this second chance. You hear me?"
Adam nodded, his voice soft. "I won't."
"No, I need you to promise me, Adam. Not just say it, mean it."
There was a beat of silence.
"I promise," Adam said finally.
Austin gave a small nod. But something flickered behind his eyes. Not quite peace. Not quite ease. Just... a pause.
Later, the light from the hallway slanted softly into the dim bathroom. The mirror above the sink was foggy, dew forming along the edges as Austin splashed cold water onto his face.
It ran down his cheekbones in uneven rivulets, catching briefly on the faint scars across his brow and the curve of his temple, old stories carved into flesh. His skin, deep and rich as polished ebony, glistened under the pale overhead light.
His beard was tightly trimmed, neat. His buzz-cut hairline was freshly shaped. He looked every bit the soldier. But behind his eyes, there was something else.
Fatigue. And guilt.
He exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the sink. Then he looked up and met his own gaze.
"How the hell do I tell him," he whispered to the man in the mirror, "that I'm not paying for anything... I'm trading."
He reached for the black duffel bag near the tub and unzipped it. Inside, military-grade gear, matte and cold. He slipped on the reinforced underarmor. Then the bulletproof vest. Then clipped his FSS military badge onto the left strap.
The final piece, his firearm. A sidearm in the lower pocket, another tucked into the holster at his hip. He checked both. Loaded. Safety on. Secured. Every click echoed louder than it should.
When he stepped back into the living room, he looked like a man transformed.
Adam had wandered into the kitchen. He was stacking slices of bread with cheese and ham, completely frozen mid-motion as he saw his dad walk in, geared up like he was heading into a warzone.
"What the hell are you wearing?" Adam asked.
Austin raised a hand calmly. "Not now."
Adam took a step forward. "But Dad—"
"I said not now," he repeated gently, but firmly. He picked up his duffel bag and moved to the door.
"I'll explain everything soon. Just not tonight."
Adam stared at him. Worried. Confused.
Austin hesitated at the door, then turned back one last time. "Promise me you'll be safe. Just... don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."
"I promise," Adam said, this time without hesitation.
Austin smiled faintly. "Good. Lock up tomorrow when you leave."
And with that, he stepped outside.
Outside, a black FSS Jeep waited just past the curb, its engine rumbling low. A man leaned on the passenger side, arms crossed. He wore similar gear, more worn, a little messier. Connor.
"You good?" he asked as Austin approached.
Austin nodded and climbed in. "Yeah."
Connor shut the door behind him and strapped in. "They already briefed you, right?"
Austin nodded again. "Most of it. What else do I need to know?"
Connor threw the Jeep into gear, pulling out of the quiet neighborhood.
"Dhampyrs. Spotted a hundred and thirty klicks north of base. Heading south. Fast."
Austin's brows furrowed. "That's way too close for comfort."
Connor's eyes flicked toward him. "We don't know where they came from. Past Lake Superior, there's nothing but dead roads and empty snowfields. Some say they crawled out of the mines. Others say they're migrating."
"Villages are at risk," Austin muttered.
Connor nodded grimly. "And the brass say it's up to us to contain the threat."
Austin exhaled, jaw tight. "So what's the plan?"
Connor gave a lopsided shrug, tapping the dashboard. "That's where you come in, soldier boy."
Austin stared ahead, the Jeep disappearing into the foggy horizon. And the weight of secrets settled heavy on his shoulders.
***
The chapel bell tolled behind him, a soft echo carried on the cool Sunday breeze as Adam stepped through the academy gates. His shoes crunched faintly on the gravel path that cut through the courtyard, quiet now, almost reverent, like the world was giving him space to breathe.
The sunlight was thin, wading through a pale spread of cloud cover, washing the world in shades of pewter and silver.
His blazer hung open, the tie a little looser than it had been that morning. Church had been… grounding, in a way. Not necessarily because of the scripture, though the priest's voice had been steady and kind. It was more the rhythm of it, the shared silence, the warmth of candlelight, the way everyone sat together, not talking, not pretending.
But now, back at school, that quiet was beginning to feel heavier.
Students trickled across campus in small clusters, voices low, footsteps lazy. Some wore their Sunday best, others already halfway changed into school uniforms, casual wears or hoodies. A few parents lingered by the gates, giving last-minute hugs or tossing reminders about the week ahead.
Adam offered a polite nod to a security guard and made his way toward the dormitory tower, tugging his backpack higher up his shoulder. He took the stairs two at a time, passing the muffled echoes of other students in their rooms, music, laughter, a video game soundtrack somewhere.
Then he reached the door to his dorm.
He paused a second, hand on the knob. The door was slightly ajar. Not uncommon. Bryce probably left it open on purpose. The guy had this thing about airflow, something about letting the "vibe" breathe.
Adam pushed the door open fully and stepped in.
There, sprawled casually across the beanbag like he owned the place, was Bryce. Shirt untucked, a thick hardcover book resting on his lap. His eyes lifted immediately at Adam's arrival, lighting up with that familiar spark.
"Hey! You're back!" Bryce beamed. "How was the sermon? Did they finally play that old organ you said sounded like a haunted accordion?"
Adam let out a soft chuckle and tossed his backpack near his bed. "Still haunted. And still off-key. One of these days that thing's gonna croak mid-hymn and send the whole congregation into spiritual panic."
Bryce laughed, short, airy, like it was just for show.
Adam didn't sit right away. He watched his friend as he pulled off his blazer, hanging it carefully on the back of the desk chair. Bryce had that usual energy in his voice, the kind of bounce he used when he was being playful, when he wanted to steer the mood.
But something was… off.
It wasn't in the words, but the space between them. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes. His posture looked relaxed, sure, but his fingers clung just a little too tightly to the book's spine, knuckles faintly taut. His gaze flicked away too fast.
Adam narrowed his eyes subtly, then sat on the edge of his bed. "You okay?"
Bryce blinked. "Yeah. Totally." He flipped a page in the book, but Adam could tell he hadn't been reading it at all. "Why?"
Adam tilted his head slightly, considering him. "I don't know. You seem... different."
Bryce chuckled again. "I think that haunted organ left you paranoid, man."
But Adam didn't smile this time.
There was silence for a few seconds. Only the low hum of the dorm's ventilation filled the room, soft and rhythmic.
Then Adam leaned forward a little, resting his forearms on his knees. "You weren't at the party yesterday."
That made Bryce pause. He didn't look up, just kept staring at the page, eyes scanning nothing.
"Aiva showed up. Wore this really cute outfit. I think she was hoping you'd notice," Adam continued gently. "She even said you might come. But you didn't."
Bryce inhaled slowly through his nose. Then he finally closed the book.
When he looked up, the smile was gone. His face was still, calm, but heavier now. Like he'd dropped a mask.
"I know," he said, voice quieter. "I already told her sooner that i wasn't going to come. Even though I wanted to."
"What happened?"
There was another pause, then Bryce leaned back into the beanbag, hands resting on his lap now, palms open like he'd run out of reasons to pretend.
"Yesterday," he began, eyes fixed on the ceiling, "was the anniversary of my mom's death."
Adam felt the words sink deep. He sat straighter, nodding softly. "Oh. Bryce… I'm so sorry, man."
Bryce gave a small nod. "Thanks."
Adam hesitated, then stood, walking over and sitting on the edge of Bryce's bed across from him. The room felt still, like even the air was holding its breath.
"I didn't know," Adam said.
"Yeah," Bryce replied, voice tight with restraint. "I don't… really talk about it."
Adam's heart twisted. The thought of Bryce, this bright, enthusiastic guy who never seemed to let the weight of the world touch him, carrying that kind of pain quietly for so long made something ache inside him.
"How did she… I mean, if you don't mind me asking."
Bryce's jaw flexed. His fingers tightened on the edge of the beanbag, his knuckles paling again.
"She didn't just die," he said, and his voice dropped lower. More deliberate. "She was murdered."
Adam froze.
The room felt colder suddenly, like the shadows had shifted, reaching just a little farther into the corners.
Bryce looked up at him now, eyes sharper, less guarded. Not angry. Not breaking down. Just honest. For once, completely.
"She was murdered," he repeated. "By werewolves."
Silence.
Adam stared.
His mind scrambled for something, logic, doubt, a joke, anything, but nothing came. Just a rising chill up his spine. Not the supernatural kind. Just the raw, very human kind that came from understanding that a piece of someone's soul had been shaped by horror.
Bryce didn't blink. Didn't move.
And just like that, the mood in the room tilted. No longer Sunday stillness. No longer quiet friendship.
Just truth, sudden, brutal, and heavy. And the realization that behind every smile, every laugh, every stupid impression or loud greeting… there had been this.
A history soaked in pain.
And Adam, sitting across from him, could only whisper, "What?"
But Bryce didn't answer.
He just looked down at the closed book again, hands resting gently on its cover. A question left hanging.
A truth finally spoken.
And something else rising beneath it.
Something darker.