Chapter Thirteen

It had only been a few minutes since I crossed through the portal, but I already felt like a ghost in someone else's world.

The air was colder here, sharper, and not just in temperature—but in feel. No scents to track, no whispers of wolves in the wind. Just fumes, concrete, and strange, bitter smells I couldn't place. Even my hearing—usually sharp and keen—felt muted. Like my senses were being wrapped in cotton.

The human world.

It was supposed to be my birthright once, wasn't it?

I took a few shaky steps toward the glowing streetlight and stopped at the edge of a wide, black road. Cars whizzed past, their lights blinding, their speed shocking. I flinched and stepped back. These things moved faster than horses. They growled louder than wolves.

A group of people passed me on the opposite sidewalk—two women and a man. They were dressed in strange clothing, holding phones that glowed in their hands, laughing loudly. They didn't even glance at me.

I swallowed hard.

I didn't belong here.

My boots scraped the pavement as I wandered forward. I had no map, no name to give, no home to walk toward. The Seer had only said, "Trust your blood." But how do you trust something that's fading?

The buildings loomed taller the further I went. Concrete giants. They stared down at me with windows that looked like soulless eyes. People were everywhere, and yet I felt more alone than I ever had in Thornridge.

No one greeted each other. No one stopped to sniff the air or feel the earth beneath their feet. Everyone was in a rush, locked inside glowing screens or blasting sound into their ears. Some wore strange hats with wires; others spoke into small black devices. I realized quickly that I was the odd one—wearing thick wool, carrying a satchel, my hair wild from the wind.

I ducked into an alley.

There, I leaned against a wall, breathing hard, fighting the wave of panic threatening to crash over me. What if this was a mistake? What if I had already lost too much of my wolf to survive here?

I sank to the cold ground and pressed my fingers to my temples.

"Focus, Luciana," I whispered. "Just… focus."

My stomach growled, and my throat ached for water. I hadn't thought of food or drink—only the mission. But now I realized how unprepared I was for survival in a world that didn't know me.

The sound of footsteps made me freeze.

A boy, maybe fifteen, appeared at the mouth of the alley. He looked thin, dressed in torn jeans and a faded hoodie. A backpack hung from one shoulder. His eyes darted toward me.

He hesitated.

"You good?" he called.

I blinked. "I… I don't know."

He approached slowly, looking me up and down. "You homeless?"

"I…" I paused. "I'm… lost."

His eyes narrowed. "You talk weird. Foreign?"

"Not exactly."

He shrugged and dug in his pocket. "You hungry?"

I nodded before I could second-guess myself.

He tossed me a granola bar.

"Don't worry. Ain't poisoned. I stole it from the gas station up the road," he said casually, like it was nothing. "You better eat it before the rats get curious."

I tore the wrapper and took a bite. Sweet, crunchy, and salty—it filled my mouth like warmth. My stomach tightened with hunger as I devoured it.

"What's your name?" he asked, leaning on the opposite wall.

"Luciana."

He smirked. "Fancy. I'm Mason."

"Thank you," I said between bites.

Mason shrugged. "You from one of them communes or something? You look… old-timey. Like Little House on the Prairie stuff."

I didn't know what that meant, so I stayed quiet.

He glanced around the alley. "You can't stay out here. It's gonna get cold, and cops don't like kids—or weird-looking girls—loitering."

"I'm not a kid," I said, offended.

He grinned. "Whatever you say, Little Red. You got anywhere to go?"

"No."

His grin faded.

"Well," he muttered, scratching the back of his head, "I crash at the old train yard sometimes. If you ain't picky, you can tag along. Nobody there's gonna ask questions."

I should've said no. He was a stranger. I didn't know if he was trustworthy. But I had nowhere else.

I stood, brushing dirt off my coat. "All right."

We walked together under the quiet stars. Mason didn't talk much, which I appreciated. I tried to remember the way, taking note of street signs, but everything blurred. My wolf would have remembered it all—but she was silent.

The train yard was rusted and crumbling. Graffiti painted the walls in angry, wild colors. Mason led me to an old boxcar with a tarp stretched over the top. Inside were piles of blankets, cans, wrappers, and two other teens around a small, battery-powered lantern.

One looked up and scowled. "Who's that?"

"Luciana. She's cool," Mason said.

The girl snorted. "We ain't got food for four."

"She ain't asking for your crackers, Liv," Mason muttered. "She's just crashing for the night."

The other teen, a boy with hair dyed blue, waved lazily. "Whatever. I'm not fighting over a tarp spot. Just keep your boots off my blanket."

I sat down quietly, still clutching my satchel.

They weren't wolves. I didn't need a nose to tell. These were kids like me—lost, left behind, forgotten. But unlike me, they had no fading wolf to mourn. This was all they'd ever known.

I lay down and stared at the roof of the boxcar, the cold seeping through my coat. For the first time in days, I let myself cry. Soft, silent tears.

I missed Darius. I missed Mayla and Garin and even Father, despite our cold distance. I missed the forest, the moon, the whisper of my wolf in my blood.

But I had to believe this would all lead to something.

Somewhere out there, my mother was alive. And if I didn't find her soon, I wouldn't have the strength to try again.