It had been a month since the last full moon.
School never went back to normal.
It couldn't.
Mark felt it the moment he walked through the gates each morning—the way conversations dipped, the way eyes lingered just a second too long. People remembered him. The new kid who showed up mid-term, dominated the basketball court like it was nothing, and carried himself like he'd already lived somewhere worse.
Simon stuck to him like gravity.
Not out of fear. Out of loyalty.
He cracked jokes louder now, filled silences faster, like he was trying to outrun something neither of them talked about. Some days he acted normal—too normal. Other days he stared at Mark like he was waiting for him to disappear again.
Iris stayed close, but not obvious.
She never asked about that night again. Never said the word. But she watched Mark carefully—his hands, his posture, the way his eyes drifted toward windows when clouds moved.
They talked more. About nothing important. About school, music, stupid teachers.
But every conversation had a weight under it, like both of them were pretending not to stand on a fault line.
Friends
Simon was still Simon—loud, sharp, fearless in the way only someone who didn't understand danger yet could be.
But now he checked exits.
He walked Mark home sometimes without saying why.
He asked questions that sounded like jokes but weren't: "So… if someone did try to mug us, hypothetically, how fast could you move?"
Iris changed more subtly.
She smiled less at school. Snapped faster when people annoyed her. Teachers noticed. Students kept their distance.
But around Mark, she softened.
Not comfort. Not pity.
Resemblance.
Like she was looking at a mirror that hadn't figured out what it was yet.
Home
Home was quiet.
Too quiet.
His parents tried. God, they tried.
His mother cooked more than usual. Asked too many small questions. Watched him when she thought he wasn't looking.
His father hugged him longer now. Like he was afraid to let go. Like if he did, Mark might vanish again.
They never pressed him about the island.
They believed his lie because they needed to.
Mark hated himself for that part.
At night, he locked his door. Not because he feared turning.
Because he feared waking up.
Even Mark himself lived on edge.
Not the dramatic kind. The quiet kind that gnawed at the back of his skull.
He sensed it everywhere now.
A car that slowed too much near his house.
Footsteps that stopped when he turned.
Scents that lingered just long enough to be noticed—then gone.
He wasn't being hunted.
He was being watched.
Measured.
Evaluated.
Sometimes, late at night, he stood at his window and stared into the dark, breathing slow, counting heartbeats that weren't his.
Next day
The moon hadn't risen yet, but Mark could already feel it.
That familiar pressure behind his eyes.
That hum under his skin, like something pacing inside him.
He was alone on the field when they arrived.
Not suddenly.
Not aggressively.
They came the way people approach a grieving animal—slow, open, careful not to startle.
Five of them.
Mark smelled them before he saw them.
Wolves.
His body tensed on instinct, every muscle coiling. His hand drifted unconsciously toward nothing—old habits from the island.
"We're not here to fight," the man in front said gently.
He looked normal. Mid-thirties, worn jacket, tired eyes. Not dominant. Not threatening.
Just… steady.
"We noticed you last full moon," the man continued. "while you were running with no direction in mind."
Mark said nothing.
Another voice—female, soft. "That's hard. Being alone on a night like that."
Mark's jaw tightened.
"I was fine."
No one laughed. No one challenged him.
The woman nodded. "I'm sure you were. But you shouldn't have to be."
That hit harder than any threat.
The man took a step closer—not into Mark's space, just close enough to be heard.
"We're not asking you to join us," he said. "Not like that. We just… thought maybe you shouldn't spend the next full moon alone."
Mark frowned. "Why do you care?"
The man hesitated, then answered honestly.
"Because someone should have cared when you didn't know what you were."
Silence stretched.
Mark's breathing slowed.
They weren't sizing him up.
They weren't measuring his strength.
They were… worried.
"You don't have to trust us," the woman said. "Stay the night. Leave in the morning. No rules. No questions."
Mark looked away.
The moonlight crept higher, brushing the edge of the field.
"I don't even know who you are," he muttered.
The man smiled—small, genuine.
"That's okay. We know who you are."
Mark exhaled slowly.
"…Okay," he said. "Just for the night."
Relief passed through them—not excitement, not victory.
Just quiet relief.
They turned together, walking—not running—toward the trees.
For the first time since the island…
Mark followed someone without feeling like prey or weapon.
Later that Day
Simon was crouched behind a stack of old sports equipment, holding up a rusted chain like he'd just discovered treasure.
"Okay," he said, tugging it experimentally. "This thing could hold a truck. Or at least… a very angry wolf-boy."
Mark stared at him. "You found that in the school storage?"
"Found is a strong word," Simon replied. "Borrowed. Permanently."
Iris was on the other side of the room, pulling open a janitor's closet. Her expression was tight—focused in the way it got when she was worried but refused to show it.
"This won't work," she said without turning around.
Simon scoffed. "Everything works until it doesn't."
Mark shifted uncomfortably. "You guys don't have to do this."
Iris finally faced him. "Yes, we do."
She held up a pair of heavy-duty metal cuffs—industrial, not police issue.
"My mom's company owns half the maintenance contracts in this city," she added quickly, as if daring him to question it. "These are rated for machinery."
Mark swallowed. "You're planning to chain me up?"
"We're planning to keep you alive," Simon corrected. "And everyone else."
There was a pause.
"I locked myself up before," Mark said quietly. "in some abandoned building's basement with Metal chains."
Iris's jaw tightened. "And?"
"And I broke them."
Simon's grin faded. "Oh."
Another silence.
Iris set the cuffs down carefully, like they might explode. "Does it hurt?"
Mark didn't answer right away.
"It feels like something else wants out," he said. "Like I'm borrowing my body."
Simon tried to joke. "Well, we'll just… borrow it back."
Neither of them laughed.
Iris crossed her arms. "We don't know what we're doing."
"No," Simon admitted. "But we're trying."
Mark looked at both of them—really looked.
Two people who should've walked away. But didn't.
"The full moon is tonight," Mark said.
Iris nodded. "Which is why we're not letting you face it alone."
Simon tilted his head. "Unless you want to."
Mark hesitated.
"That's the thing," he said. "I don't know what I want."
The room felt smaller suddenly.
That's when Mark told them.
"They found me," he said. "Other wolves."
Iris stiffened instantly.
Simon leaned forward. "A pack?"
Mark nodded.
"They invited me. Said they don't want me alone on the full moon."
Iris didn't even think. "No."
Simon blinked. "We're not even hearing him out?"
No going," she replied flatly. "You don't know them."
"They weren't hostile," Mark said. "They were polite. Almost… sad."
"That's worse," Iris shot back. "Predators don't need to be aggressive to be dangerous."
Simon frowned. "Iris—"
"They already grabbed him once," she said, eyes locked on Mark. "Tied him to a chair. Interrogated him."
"They were enforcing rules," Simon argued. "Their rules."
"Exactly," Iris snapped. "Their rules. Not his."
Mark stared at the ground. "They invited me. Properly this time."
Iris leaned forward. "And what happens when you don't fit?"
"What happens when you're useful to them?"
"What happens when you're not?"
Simon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay. Counterpoint."
Both of them looked at him.
"Mark," Simon said, "you've been surviving on instinct since you were twelve. As you have told. A plane crash. An island of twisted monsters. Hellish training of the Mercenaries. A full moon curse you didn't even knew existed."
Mark didn't argue.
"You finally get a chance to learn something about yourself," Simon continued. "About what you are."
He grinned slightly. "And let's be honest—you can take anyone there if things go sideways."
Iris shot him a look. "That's not comforting."
"It is if you're Mark."
Mark finally looked up.
"What if they're lying?" he asked quietly.
Simon shrugged. "Then you leave."
Iris shook her head. "It's not that simple."
Mark exhaled slowly.
"I'm tired of guessing," he said. "I'm tired of not knowing where I belong."
The moon peeked through the clouds.
Iris watched it, unease flickering across her face. "Just… don't trust them blindly."
Simon clapped Mark on the shoulder. "And don't go in thinking you're weak."
Mark nodded.
Neither of them smiled