Chapter 6: The Pull Between
The trees stretched on, seemingly endless, a dark, blurring tunnel around her. She ran barefoot, the rough branches tearing at her clothes, but she felt no pain. Her breath burned in her chest, a fiery ache, yet she pushed onward. Something howled, a chilling sound from behind her, but she wasn’t afraid. She didn’t look back. The moon hung low and full above the towering treetops—too close, too bright, a luminous eye watching her frantic flight. Her legs didn’t ache, didn’t tire. Her skin didn’t freeze despite the biting cold. She wasn’t running from anything; she was running toward something, an unseen pull guiding her deeper into the moonlit woods.
Then—a jarring, impossible sight. A mirror. Standing perfectly upright in the middle of the dense forest, impossibly placed between two ancient trees, fog curling sensuously around its ornate frame. She stopped, her breath catching in her throat, and looked in. Her reflection stared back, familiar yet unnerving. The same tangled hair, the same worn hoodie, the same piercing green eyes—until they blinked. And glowed gold.
Eden sat up in bed with a sharp, ragged gasp, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. The morning light, weak and apologetic, filtered meekly through her curtains, painting faint patterns on the wall. Sweat clung to her spine, cold and uncomfortable. Her sheets were tangled around her legs like grasping vines, a residue of her restless sleep.
It was just a dream. A terrifying, vivid dream. But she could still feel the phantom sensation of dirt under her feet, the biting cold of the night air. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and padded silently to the mirror above her dresser. The same face stared back. The same eyes. But she leaned in anyway, peering closer, searching for any lingering trace of the golden light. Nothing. No glow. Still… she didn’t look quite right. Not quite like herself. The unease gnawed at her.
Her door creaked open, breaking the fragile silence. “You’re up early,” her father said from the hallway, his tone unreadable, a flat, almost cold observation.
“Couldn’t sleep,” she murmured, her voice thin.
He stepped inside, but kept his distance, just enough to cast a long, unsettling shadow across her floor. “You’ve been… off lately.”
“I’m fine,” she replied, the lie automatic, too quick.
“I didn’t ask if you were fine,” he countered, his voice sharp, cutting through her evasion.
She stiffened, a surge of irritation mixing with her fear. “Maybe I’m just tired of being watched.”
He tilted his head slightly, a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture, then stepped closer, his eyes scanning her face with an unnerving intensity, as if she were a complex puzzle he was trying to solve. “What happened near that gas station, Eden?”
Her blood turned to ice, chilling her to the bone. “I told you. I got turned around.”
“There was a coyote sighting reported in the area,” he pressed, his voice even, yet laced with a dangerous insinuation.
She didn’t blink, maintaining her carefully constructed facade. “I didn’t see anything.”
His gaze narrowed, piercing. “You sure about that?”
Eden looked him straight in the eye, her resolve hardening. “Yes.”
A long, heavy pause stretched between them, thick with unspoken questions. Then he smiled. It wasn’t kind. It was cold, knowing, and utterly devoid of warmth. “You’re a terrible liar.” He turned and left without another word, leaving her to grapple with the chilling implications of his statement.
By the time she arrived at school, Eden’s hands hadn’t stopped shaking. She kept them buried deep in her hoodie pocket as she walked through the crowded halls, trying to hide their tremor. The noise of slamming lockers and chattering students was too loud, assaulting her senses. The fluorescent lights overhead were too bright, harsh and unforgiving.
“Hey,” Sierra said, catching up beside her, her voice a cheerful contrast to Eden’s inner turmoil. “You look like hell.”
“Didn’t sleep,” Eden mumbled, offering the same tired excuse.
“You should skip last period and come to the lake,” Sierra suggested, undeterred. “Logan’s bringing beer.”
“I can’t,” Eden said, the words automatic, a refusal born of deep-seated fear. “Too much homework.”
“You’ve said that every day this week,” Sierra pointed out, a hint of exasperation in her voice.
Eden didn’t respond, her thoughts already pulling away, drifting to the terrifying events of the previous night. In second period, she found she couldn’t focus. The words on the whiteboard blurred into static, meaningless squiggles. She caught herself glancing repeatedly at the window, staring too long, lost in the view of the ordinary world outside.
Her teacher’s voice, a faint buzz in the background, eventually broke through her haze— “…incident reported north of town last night. Wildlife officials believe it was a coyote.” Something in her stomach dropped, a cold, hard knot of dread.
A girl at the back raised her hand, her voice a casual interjection. “My uncle saw it. Said it wasn’t acting normal.”
“What do you mean?” someone else asked, curiosity piqued.
The girl shrugged, her voice light. “Said it didn’t run. It just… stood there. Staring at him. Like it wanted to talk.” The class erupted in laughter, a wave of easy amusement. But Eden didn’t laugh. The hair on her arms stood on end.
At lunch, she skipped the chaotic cafeteria altogether, seeking a quiet respite. She found a secluded bench by the track field, sat with her knees pulled tightly to her chest, earbuds in but nothing playing, seeking the solace of silence. The wind carried the faint scent of cold metal and wet leaves, a familiar echo of the night before.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, startling her. Unknown number. No message. She deleted it without opening it, her finger hovering over the screen, a sense of unease growing. But something prickled at the back of her neck, a persistent, unsettling sensation. Like she was still in the dream. Still running. Still not alone.
The front office of the school smelled overwhelmingly of bleach and ink toner, a sterile, artificial scent that made it feel too clean, too real, almost unsettlingly so. A woman with bright red glasses and an overpowering amount of perfume clicked across the tile floor, her heels tapping a rhythmic beat, and pushed open a door discreetly labeled "Guidance."
“This way, please,” she said, her voice overly sweet. “We’ll get your schedules sorted.”
Behind her, two students followed silently, their presence unnervingly quiet. The boy was tall, powerfully built, with the lean, coiled tension of someone who never truly learned to relax. His hair was close-shaved, his jaw sharp and angular, and he wore a black hoodie with sleeves that seemed too long, almost obscuring his hands. His eyes—a striking gray, cold and flat—flicked over every hallway, every passing student, every surveillance camera, assessing, calculating.
The girl beside him walked with a looser, more casual gait, her demeanor almost deceptively easy. She smiled faintly, a polite, quiet curve of her lips. Her black curls were pulled back into a tight ponytail, accentuating the delicate line of her jaw, and her earrings were small, understated silver studs. She looked like she belonged in the school posters about student diversity and quiet ambition, the kind of effortlessly graceful student who excelled without drawing attention.
But her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
These were Caleb and Lira. They’d passed for humans before, blending seamlessly into countless mundane environments. They knew how to vanish into the crowd, how to act harmless, how to lull suspicion. But neither of them had forgotten what this truly was. This was a hunt.
“She’s in Building C,” Lira murmured under her breath as they turned a corner, her voice low and efficient. “Chem. Second floor. Room with peeling red tape on the door.”
“You already scouted?” Caleb asked, his voice flat, devoid of surprise.
“I walked the perimeter before sunrise,” she confirmed, her tone equally businesslike.
Caleb didn’t look at her, his gaze sweeping over the bustling hallway. “Of course you did.”
They passed a group of seniors laughing too loudly, their phones out, their voices bouncing off the metal lockers, oblivious to the predatory presence beside them.
“We’ve got two periods to get a read on her,” Caleb said, his voice dropping to a low, intense register. “Kade wants proximity. Vibe. Reaction.”
Lira scoffed, a soft, dismissive sound. “Vibe? What is this, a dating app?”
He stopped walking abruptly, barely turning his head, his gray eyes hardening. “I’m not in the mood for jokes, Lira.”
“You never are,” she retorted, a hint of weariness in her voice.
He didn’t respond, his attention already elsewhere.
Across town, in the dark, hidden underbelly of the Vallen stronghold, Silas knelt before Kade, his posture one of rigid deference. He was older than the other wolves, his face a roadmap of ancient scars that spoke volumes before his voice ever did. His expression was utterly devoid of emotion, every movement precise, controlled, a testament to centuries of discipline.
“You’ll move only when I say,” Kade commanded, his voice firm, unwavering. “The young ones are inside already. Watching. When they’ve confirmed she’s stable and alone, you extract.”
“Alone?” Silas asked, his voice like dry, rustling paper, a subtle question in his tone.
“She’s not to be harmed,” Kade stated, his voice absolute. A pause, heavy with unspoken implications. “No blood, Silas.”
Silas blinked slowly, as if trying to process something profoundly absurd, his impassive face betraying a flicker of surprise. “Even if she fights?”
“She won’t,” Kade asserted, his voice imbued with an unsettling certainty.
Silas raised his eyes, meeting Kade’s gaze. “And if she runs?”
Kade didn’t hesitate, his answer immediate and cold. “Then you follow.”
A long, tense pause stretched between them. Then Kade added, quieter now, almost to himself, a note of something akin to desperate hope in his voice: “I’m not sure what she is. But she’s tied to one of ours. That makes her ours—until I say otherwise.”
Silas rose without a single word, his movements fluid and silent. But as he turned to leave, Talon—leaning casually in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest—spoke, his voice a quiet warning. “She’s just a girl, Silas. Not prey. Not a test.”
Silas didn’t look back. He just said: “We’ll see.”
Back at the school, bathed in the mundane glow of fluorescent lights, Eden walked into third period, her thoughts still fragmented, her senses on high alert. The new boy—Caleb—was already seated in the back row.
Watching her.
Smiling.
