Liam’s P.O.V.
The woman who took in—her na was Beatrice, but she told to call her Becky. She wasn’t what I expected. I thought she’d be another person who gave a sandwich and sent on my way. Instead, she pulled into her tiny apartnt above her café, gave a blanket, and told to take a warm bath. I didn’t argue. I had never felt so cold in my life.
She stood outside the bathroom door, telling she left so clothes on the counter. "They might be a little big, but they’ll do for now," she said.
I could barely recognize myself when I looked in the mirror. Clean. No dirt, no gri. Just a pale boy with scars that stretched up into his hairline.
By the ti I stepped out, Becky had hot soup waiting for . "Eat first," she said. "Then we’ll talk."
I didn’t argue. I ate like I was starving. Because I was.
She didn’t ask questions right away. She let sleep first. The softest bed I had ever touched.
The next morning, she sat down at the kitchen table, hands folded in front of her. "So, sweetheart," she said. "Do you rember your na?"
I hesitated. My lips parted. But nothing ca out.
She sighed. "That’s okay, honey. We’ll figure it out." She tapped her fingers against the table. "For now, you need sothing to go by."
She studied , and I could see the wheels turning in her head. Then she smiled. "How about Noah?"
"Noah," I repeated. The na felt foreign, but not bad.
"You like it?" she asked.
I shrugged.
Becky smiled. "Noah it is."
The next few days were strange. Becky took to the police station to report as a missing person. I thought maybe they’d take in, try to put sowhere else, but they didn’t. They just wrote down a report and told us they’d let us know if soone ca looking.
So I stayed.
Becky put to work in her café. "Nothing too crazy," she said. "Just wiping down tables, running plates."
I had never worked a day in my life, but it felt...nice. The routine. The warmth. The sll of fresh bread and coffee.
Becky never pushed. She let be quiet when I wanted to be. But she always made sure I ate. Made sure I slept.
I started to feel safe.
Then a week later, they ca.
Two n walked into the café. They were tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in clean button-ups. One had dark hair, slicked back, the other was blond. They scanned the room before their eyes landed on .
"There he is," the blond one breathed. He smiled, sothing relieved and warm in his expression. "Brad."
I blinked. "What?"
The dark-haired man stepped forward. "You’re Brad," he said. "Our little brother."
Becky looked between us, her brow furrowed. "Who are you?"
The blond one put a hand on his chest. "I’m Jared, and this is Tommy. We’ve been looking for Brad for weeks." He turned to . "You got lost, kid. We thought we’d never find you."
I didn’t move.
Becky narrowed her eyes. "The police never ntioned brothers."
Jared reached into his pocket and pulled out a photo. It was an old picture of a kid that...kind of looked like .
Becky studied it. She exhaled. "Oh, honey," she whispered, looking at . "You have a family."
Sothing in my chest tightened. A family.
Jared held out his arms. "Co on, Brad. Let’s go ho."
I hesitated. Becky squeezed my shoulder. "It’s okay, sweetheart."
So I went.
They drove far. Too far. Into the woods.
And then everything changed.
Jared pulled the car to a stop, and Tommy got out. The second I stepped out, they grabbed .
Jared shoved forward, and my stomach hit the ground. My head spun. I tried to scramble up, but hands pinned down.
"You really thought we were your brothers?"
Tommy’s smirk twisted into sothing cruel, sothing that made my stomach drop.
I felt the world tilt beneath .
"You’re gonna make us a lot of money, kid."
Everything inside went cold.
No. No, this couldn’t be happening.
I took a shaky step back, but hands clamped down on my arms, iron-like grips that sent panic surging through my veins. My breath hitched. My lungs forgot how to work.
"No—please, don’t—"
They weren’t listening.
Tommy’s fingers curled into my shirt, dragging forward as if I weighed nothing. My pulse slamd against my ribs, a frantic, stuttering thing.
I fought. I kicked, twisted, tried to wrench free—but they were stronger. There were too many of them.
That was when I heard, "Do not be afraid. I will protect you."
A voice. Deep, steady, powerful. But it wasn’t coming from the n. It wasn’t coming from anywhere. It was inside .
And then suddenly I felt, pain.
A pain so violent, so overwhelming, it shattered everything. It tore through my body like wildfire, setting my bones ablaze. My skin stretched, pulled, tore—my vision blurred. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.
And then, the world was red.
I could sll them. Their sweat. Their fear. It was sharp, intoxicating. My heartbeat slowed—not with panic, but with sothing else. Sothing deep. Sothing ancient.
I moved before I could think.
They scread.
And when the screaming stopped, I was running. My paws—paws—thudded against the earth. The wind roared in my ears. The scent of blood clung to my fur.
I didn’t stop until the forest thinned, until the darkness receded, until my body twisted and cracked and I was suddenly—human again.
I was naked.
I sucked in a breath, cold air burning my lungs. My hands shook. My legs felt like they weren’t mine. My head was a whirlwind of terror, confusion, and sothing raw.
I ran.
I ran through the rainy streets, past people who gasped, who shouted, who pointed—but I didn’t care. My feet were numb. My skin was frozen.
Becky’s house. I needed to get to Becky’s house.
I stumbled onto the porch soaked to my bones, barely able to lift my arms as I pounded against the door.
It swung open.
"Noah—?" Becky’s eyes went wide. Her voice shook.
And then I collapsed.
She caught , her arms wrapping around , pulling inside, pressing a blanket around my shoulders. Her warmth, her scent—coffee beans and honey—it was the first thing that felt real.
I told her everything.
Every trembling word, every broken piece of the nightmare.
Becky sat across from on the couch, her hands gripping a steaming mug of tea she had forgotten to drink. The room was softly lit, the only source of warmth coming from the small fireplace crackling in the corner. The rain outside tapped softly against the window, but the storm inside was louder.
I spoke in a low voice, my throat raw from running, from screaming, from everything. My fingers twisted in the blanket she had wrapped around , my nails digging into the fabric as I forced myself to relive it—the betrayal, the pain, the change.
When I finished, Becky’s face crumpled like a house of cards. Her lips parted, but no sound ca out at first. Her fingers shook as she set the mug aside, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"I let you go with them," she whispered, her voice brittle. She reached for my hands, gripping them tightly, like she could anchor to the present, keep from slipping away. "I let them take you."
I swallowed past the lump in my throat, shaking my head. "You didn’t know."
Her lips trembled. "I should have."
I could see it—the guilt. It was written all over her face, in the crease between her brows, in the way she clutched my hands as if afraid I would disappear.
She pulled forward, wrapping her arms around , holding so tight it almost hurt. But I didn’t pull away, I let her hold .
Becky slled like cinnamon and old books, like ho. She made feel safe.
She pulled back just enough to et my eyes. Hers were fierce, burning with a kind of rage I had never seen in her before.
"No one’s taking you again," she vowed. "Not without proof. Not ever again."
Her words settled deep into my bones, a promise forged in tears.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, my body aching in ways I didn’t understand. My muscles felt stretched, my bones heavy, like I wasn’t ant to be in this shape. Like I was sothing else, sothing more.
The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic tick of the clock on the wall and the distant patter of rain against the rooftop. But then—
"We are one."
The voice. Him.
I swallowed hard, my heart thudding painfully against my ribs.
"Who... what are you?" I whispered into the darkness.
He went quiet, and then he replied, "I do not know."
A cold shiver ran through , settling in my spine.
I took a slow, shaky breath. "Then I’ll na you."
The na ca from sowhere deep inside , like a whisper from a forgotten part of myself.
"North."
A hum of approval, deep and resonant.
"I like that."
A strange warmth spread through my chest. It was terrifying, but... not unwelco.
A normal person should have been terrified of hearing a voice in their head and having a creature living inside their body but strangely I wasn’t afraid. All I could think of was, I wasn’t alone in this.
A month passed. A month of healing. Of learning. Of listening to the voice inside .
I wasn’t human. Not anymore. Maybe I never was.
I was faster than before. Stronger. Any ti I had a cut on my skin, it faded within hours, sotis minutes. If I closed my eyes and focused, I could feel the world in a way I never had before—the scent of people, their heartbeats, the shift in their emotions.
But I was still just... .
Noah. Whoever the hell I was supposed to be.
*******
One day, She walked into the café.
I felt her before I saw her.
It was like the air changed, a subtle shift that sent a ripple through my senses.
I looked up, mid-wipe, my hand absently scrubbing at a table that was already clean.
She stood in the doorway, scanning the café.
She was likely my age. Maybe younger. Long, curly light brown hair that spilled over her shoulders, unatural silver eyes that glead even in the dim lighting.
And then she saw .
Her entire face lit up, as if she had just found sothing she thought was lost forever.
"Liam!"
The rag slipped from my fingers. It hit the floor with a soft plop, but I barely heard it over the pounding in my ears.
My heart slamd against my ribs.
That na sounded familiar.
But she—this girl—I didn’t know her.
So why did she look at like I was the answer to every question she had ever asked?
Who the hell was she?
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