One evening after dinner, Anya sat on the edge of her bed with a textbook open in her lap. The words blurred together, unread. Her room felt too quiet, the air heavy in a way she could not explain.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
"Anya?" her mother's voice came gently. "Can I come in?"
"Yes," Anya replied quickly, brushing her hair behind her ear.
Margaret pushed the door open and stepped inside, holding a folded blanket in her arms. She glanced around the room, then at her daughter, taking in the way Anya sat hunched slightly forward, shoulders tense.
"You didn't eat much tonight," Margaret said softly as she walked over and sat beside her on the bed.
"I wasn't very hungry," Anya replied, forcing a small smile.
Margaret did not comment right away. She unfolded the blanket and draped it gently over Anya's shoulders.
"It's getting cold at night," she said. "I didn't want you catching a chill."
Anya held the blanket tighter around herself. "Thanks, Mom."
Margaret studied her face for a long moment. "Is this about Alaric?"
Anya froze.
She lowered her gaze to the book in her lap. "Is it that obvious?"
Margaret sighed quietly. "You've been distracted all evening. Ever since he left, really."
Anya nodded slowly. "He got sick so suddenly. His parents took him back to Central City to recuperate. I didn't even get to see him properly before he left."
Margaret's fingers tightened slightly against the blanket. "That must have been frightening."
"I keep worrying," Anya admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "He tells me he's fine, that I shouldn't worry. But how can I not? He's been with me my whole life."
Margaret reached out and rested a hand over Anya's. "I know."
Anya looked up. "You do?"
Margaret smiled gently. "You've always relied on each other. It's natural for the absence to feel… loud."
Anya let out a shaky breath. "It feels empty without him. Even the streets feel different."
Margaret hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Alaric has always been strong, Anya. Whatever he's dealing with now, he will be fine."
"You sound very sure," Anya said softly.
Margaret met her eyes. "I am."
Anya relaxed slightly. "Do you think he'll really be okay?"
"I do," Margaret replied calmly. "And when he comes back, he will not leave you like that waiting again."
Anya absorbed that quietly.
"Mom," she said after a moment, "what if people change when they leave?"
Margaret smiled faintly. "People always change. But the ones who matter don't disappear. Not really."
Anya swallowed. "I just miss him."
Margaret pulled her into a gentle embrace. "That's okay. Missing someone means you cared."
They stayed like that for a while, the room filled with quiet breathing and the soft hum of the house settling around them.
Before standing up, Margaret brushed Anya's hair back from her face. "You're safe here. And you're not alone. Remember that."
"I will," Anya said softly.
As Margaret turned off the light and left the room, Anya put away her textbook and lay back against her pillow, staring up at the ceiling.
It was the first time Anya truly felt how empty the world could be without Alaric in it.
They had always been together.
Ever since she could remember, Alaric had been there. Walking her to school. Sitting beside her during meals. Waiting outside classrooms. Standing just close enough that she never felt alone, even when she was.
And now he's gone.
Two weeks, he had said.
The days that followed stretched endlessly.
Anya went through her routines on autopilot. She woke up, got dressed, went to school and came home. She answered questions when spoken to, smiled when required, laughed at the right moments. From the outside, nothing seemed wrong.
Inside, there was a quiet ache that never faded.
She kept reaching for her phone without realizing it. Every time she passed the spot where he used to wait for her. Every time she walked past his house. Every time the wind shifted, carrying a scent she almost thought was familiar.
Nights were the hardest.
When the lights were off and the world finally quiet, loneliness crept in from every corner of her room. It pressed against her chest, heavy and persistent, filling the space he had left behind.
She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying his last words.
Don't worry about me.
How could she not get worried about him? He has been in her life since young.
******
After a few days, Anya's phone buzzed late one evening.
Alaric: Did you eat dinner?
Anya stared at the screen for a second before replying.
Anya: I did. What about you?
A pause.
Alaric: Yes. My mom won't stop watching me.
Anya smiled faintly.
Anya: That sounds like her.
Another message followed, almost immediately.
Alaric: How are you doing?
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
She wanted to say she was fine. That everything was normal. That she was managing just like she always did.
Instead, she typed the truth.
Anya: It's… quiet.
Several seconds passed.
Then:
Alaric: I know, I felt the same too.
Her throat tightened. She curled onto her side, hugging her pillow closer.
Anya: Are you feeling better?
Alaric: Yes, you don't need to worry.
Anya: I can't help it.
Another pause.
Alaric: I'll be back before you know it.
She closed her eyes, imagining his voice saying the words instead of reading them.
Anya: You promise?
This time, the reply came without delay.
Alaric: I promise.
That night, she slept a little better but the loneliness did not disappear.
*****
That night, long after the estate had fallen silent, Alaric finally lay down on his bed.
His body ached in a way he had never known before. Every muscle felt heavy, stretched to its limit from hours of relentless training. Dirt still clung faintly to his skin, the scent of the forest lingering despite the shower he had taken. His wolf was restless beneath the surface, pacing, alert, refusing to settle.
Alaric stared up at the ceiling, one arm draped over his eyes.
Anya filled his thoughts.
Her voice.
The way she frowned slightly when she was worried.
The quiet steadiness she tried so hard to maintain, even when she was afraid.
He exhaled slowly.
Being away from her felt wrong in a way he could not fully put into words. Like something essential had been taken from him and left an empty space behind.
I miss her.
The admission settled heavily in his chest.
Alaric clenched his jaw and forced himself to breathe evenly, the way his father had taught him.
Missing her was not the real danger. The danger was what would happen when he saw her again.
His wolf stirred at the thought, responding instantly, instinctively. A low, restless pull tightened in his chest, sharp and demanding. Even imagining her scent was enough to make his heartbeat quicken.
In his previous life, he had spent years learning restraint. Years forcing his emotions down, training his instincts into obedience.
But this time was different.
This wolf was new. Newly awakened. Raw and powerful and untested.
And Alaric did not fully trust himself yet.
If he loses control…
The thought cut off sharply.
He turned onto his side, fingers curling into the sheets beneath him.
He knew what his wolf wanted. The instinct was ancient, unquestioning. To mark, to claim and to ensure she would never leave.
But Alaric wanted her to accept him for who he truly was, not because fate demanded it, not because a bond tied them together, but because she also wanted him.
In his previous life, he still remembered the moment she had walked away from him. The look in her eyes when she learned the truth. The pain and the confusion. The quiet devastation when she realized he had stayed because she was his mate.
She had thought she was nothing more than destiny, that his feelings were an obligation and that memory haunted him.
This time, he would not make the same mistake.
He had been given a second chance, and he intended to use it wisely. He wanted Anya to learn about his identity slowly, safely, in a way that did not strip her of choice. He wanted her to understand that what drew him to her was not just the bond, not just fate.
He swallowed hard, forcing the surge of instinct back down, locking it away behind discipline and willpower.
Alaric closed his eyes and focused on her face, not her scent. Her smile. Her quiet strength. The way she trusted him without knowing how dangerous that trust truly was.
Slowly, painfully, his breathing evened out. The wolf receded, settling into uneasy rest.
As sleep finally claimed him, one thought remained, steady and unshaken.