5. Echoes of the Past

Evelyn's POV

 

The ferry groaned as it docked, metal scraping against wood, the sound echoing like a memory I hadn't earned. Each jarring thud resounded in my chest, a haunting reminder of everything I was trying to leave behind.

 

I stepped off, wrapped in nothing but the cloak Thistle had given me—an inadequate shield against the silence that enveloped me. I felt like a ghost drifting through a world that had forgotten my existence.

 

Millie was waiting. 

 

Her silver braid peeked from beneath a knitted cap, her coat buttoned askew, a testament to her eagerness to see me. Her eyes scanned the crowd, searching until they landed on me. There was no smile, just an open embrace.

 

"Come here, baby." 

 

I let myself be held. Just for a moment, I melted into the warmth of her embrace, allowing the walls I'd built around my heart to crumble. 

 

As she pulled back, her gaze swept over me, as if searching for bruises that hadn't surfaced yet. I could feel her worry clinging to the air between us.

 

"I received a call yesterday from an older man named Thistle," she said, her voice steady but soft. "He told me about your mother's passing and that you'd be arriving today."

 

"How are you doing, darling girl?" she asked again, her arms enveloping me once more, bringing a comfort that felt both exciting and heavy.

 

"As good as I can be, Grandma Millie. Thank you for letting me stay with you." I felt tears welling up, threatening to spill over. "I don't have anyone left."

 

"You have me, honey, and that is plenty." She smiled faintly, but I could see the weight of my situation reflected in her eyes.

 

"Oh, Thistle also mentioned you should go by Eve now. Said it's safer." 

 

The name felt foreign on my tongue, like I was borrowing it from someone braver who had lived a life I could barely remember. "Eve." 

 

I nodded, testing it out. It felt strange, as though I was trying on a new skin that didn't fit quite right.

 

"He didn't say why," Millie added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Just that you need to live as human. No slipping. No questions."

 

"He's right," I replied, desperation clawing at my heart.

 

She didn't press further; instead, a questioning look lingered in her eyes, filled with concern for someone she suspected was running from a darker reality.

 

The walk to her cottage was quiet, the mist clinging to the streets, wrapping around me in a way that felt intimate yet suffocating. The ocean whispered secrets I didn't want to hear. Millie's home was tucked behind a row of salt-worn houses, a sanctuary marked by wind chimes that sang softly like lullabies.

 

Inside, the air was thick with the comforting aroma of rosemary and old paper, a scent that hinted at countless shared stories and warmth.

 

"I called the local school to register you. You'll start on Monday," she said, handing me a folded schedule. "They think you're from the city. Keep it simple. Blend in."

 

"My wolf is gone," I murmured, the admission feeling like a knife twisting in my gut.

 

Millie paused, then nodded, understanding passing between us like a silent pact. "Good. Keep it that way."

 

She didn't ask what I was running from. She didn't inquire about who I'd left behind. Instead, she quietly made tea and unfurled a blanket on the attic bed, showing me where I would be staying now.

 

That night, I lay beneath a slanted ceiling, the wind rattling the panes, each gust echoing the turmoil within me. I tried to remember who I was before the mark, before Kai's quiet steadiness and Kane's fiery spirit. 

 

But memories slipped through my fingers like sand—I couldn't grasp them.

 

So, I whispered the name Thistle had given me, "Eve," hoping that by saying it aloud, I could summon something long lost. I waited for a flicker of recognition or warmth, but nothing came.

 

The sheets smelled like lavender and salt. Millie had tucked me in with tender hands, placing a cup of chamomile tea by my side, but I hadn't spoken since we arrived. My mark throbbed beneath my skin, a soft pulse like an anxious heartbeat. 

 

I curled into the unfamiliar bed, tears tracing silent paths down my face until sleep took me like a tide, pulling me down into the depths of consciousness.

 

DREAMING

 

I was in the woods again.

 

The trees loomed taller than they should've been, their silver bark shimmering with life. Moonlight spilled in twin rivers across the forest floor, dividing the path ahead in two.

 

Kai stood on one side, his green eyes calm and steady, while Kane stood on the other, blue eyes bright with anticipation, waiting for me.

 

I was just twelve—barefoot, marked but unshifted. The tremors of uncertainty ran through my trembling hands. 

 

Kai spoke first, his voice a gentle breeze that rustled the leaves. "You'll forget me first."

 

Kane followed, his voice deeper, laden with sincerity. "You'll love me last."

 

I took a step forward, my mark glowing with ethereal light as the moon split above me—half green, half blue—a reflection of the two worlds I balanced between. I reached for both boys, both wolves, my heart aching with longing.

 

"Kai, Kane, I miss you! Where are you? I'm coming! Wait there!" Despite my desperate call, I never touched them.

 

And suddenly, I woke.

 

 

It happened every year.

 

On my thirteenth birthday, I dreamed of the woods. 

On my fourteenth, the moon split again. 

On my fifteenth, Kai turned away. 

On my sixteenth, Kane bled. 

On my seventeenth, I screamed. 

On my eighteenth, I almost gave in to the mark. 

On my nineteenth, the mark burned. 

On my twentieth, the forest caught fire. 

On my twenty-first, I ran toward them.

 

And now—

 

 

I woke with the taste of moonlight lingering in my mouth, sweet yet bitter, like memories half-formed.

 

The wolves were gone. 

The room was the same, yet something felt different. My body was taller, my voice lower, and the mark on my neck pulsed as if it remembered something I couldn't quite access.

 

I was twenty-two.

 

Outside, the wind howled like it knew my name, a haunting echo of a past I dared not confront.