Fragments of the forgotten

My brain froze.

“I’m a werewolf,” Wiltz said, voice smooth and casual, like he’d just admitted to being left-handed. His eyes held mine steadily across the candlelit table.

I blinked. “I’m sorry… what?”

He chuckled, as if he were the one who had just dropped a casual bomb in the middle of dinner. “You heard me.”

“You’re a… werewolf,” I repeated slowly. My fingers tightened around the stem of my glass. “Like—full moon, claws, teeth, the whole thing?”

“Not exactly how it works, but yes. More or less.” Wiltz leaned back in his chair, almost smug. “I figured it was time you knew.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. My thoughts scrambled like startled birds. My magic hummed in my chest—tugging, tightening, as if it was bracing for something.

“You’re not human,” I said numbly. “You’re not human, and you’ve been hanging out with me this whole time.”

He smiled. “I mean, technically I’m part human. We’re not that different, you and I.”