Chapter 11 : Aftermath

*

The funeral was a symphony of muted grief, a cacophony of whispers and suppressed sobs that echoed through the small Blackwood cemetery. Selene stood at the periphery, a statue of contained anguish, her body rigid and her eyes dry. The pain inside her was too vast, too consuming to be expressed through something as mundane as tears.

Allen's mother, Margaret Ross, clutched a weathered photograph of her son—a candid shot from his last birthday, his trademark mischievous grin frozen in time. Her shoulders trembled with each quiet sob, her grief a palpable force that seemed to bend the very air around her. Naksu stood beside her, a pillar of silent strength, her hand resting gently on Margaret's back.

Selene remained separate, isolated. Her mind churned with a toxic mixture of emotions—fury so intense it threatened to consume her, grief that cut deeper than any blade, and something else. Something electric and unknown that hummed just beneath her skin, waiting.

The supernatural events from the forest clearing replayed in her mind. The way metal had trembled around her, how the air had charged with an inexplicable energy. Objects had moved without being touched. She had felt powerful. Terrifying. And completely out of control.

As the mourners began to disperse, leaving behind fresh flowers and unspoken prayers, Selene felt a presence approach. The familiar warmth, the scent she had once found comforting, now felt like a violation. She didn't need to turn to know it was Cane.

"Don't," she said, her voice low and dangerous, vibrating with an unnatural undertone that made nearby mourners pause. "Don't you dare come near me."

Cane stopped, his breath catching in his throat. The distance between them was more than physical—it was a chasm of betrayal, of secrets, of unforgivable violence. "Selene, I—"

"Your sister killed him," Selene interrupted, finally turning to face him. Her eyes burned with an intensity that made Cane take an involuntary step backward. The ground beneath their feet seemed to tremble slightly, tiny pebbles dancing in response to her rising emotions. "She murdered Allen in cold blood. And you—you did nothing."

"It's not that simple—" Cane's words were cut short by the raw fury radiating from Selene.

"Isn't it?" A nearby wreath of flowers began to wilt, its petals curling and browning as if touched by an invisible flame. "He was my friend. My *best* friend. And now he's gone."

For the first time since she had known him, Cane looked genuinely afraid. But it wasn't fear of her—it was fear of something *within* her. Something awakening.

The mourners around them began to notice. Whispers started, fingers pointed. But Selene heard nothing, saw nothing except the man—the werewolf—who represented everything she had lost.

"I'm going to find out the truth," she said, her voice a promise and a threat. "About Allen. About your pack. About *everything*."

Cane's response was lost as Selene walked away, leaving behind a trail of subtly disturbed objects—a flower pot tipping, a wreath swaying without wind, a metal chair vibrating almost imperceptibly.

The supernatural world had just declared war. And Selene was ready to fight.