ANWEN'S POV

Twenty years later.

Monsters rule the world now.

They don't hide in shadows or lurk beneath beds. They sit in councils. They wear crowns. They walk our roads in broad daylight as if the world belongs to them.

Because it does.

They call themselves the Scions-magic wielders, shifters, and chimeras-descendants of the Radiants who once walked the earth, and of humans.

I used to think they were just stories Mama told me when I was small. She said monsters roamed the woods-that they snatched little girls who wandered too far, that they carried women away to their lairs.

"Stay inside, Anwen," she would say, smoothing my hair back from my damp forehead. "The forest is not safe."

Papa would nod from the doorway and add that they had sharp teeth and furry hands.

I thought it was all just a way to keep me inside.

Because I was always sick as a child. And, truth be told, I'm not much better now. Even as an adult, the sickness lingers-breath that comes too short, bones that tire too quickly, the faint fever that never seems to leave my skin. No healer has ever been able to tell why.

And then, one night, they came for Mama.

They broke down our door, and Arlo dragged me to the cellar where the herbs and spices were kept, hoping their strong scent would hide me.

I didn't see what happened. I only heard Mama and Papa fighting back.

By dawn, Arlo and I were orphans.

Mama's stories were true after all. They take women-daughters, sisters, wives, mothers-any human female they believe can still bear children. Their own are barren, their bloodlines dying.

So they take ours.

Some sickness swept through them years ago-perhaps longer. Some say it was a curse for betraying the Radiants, for rising against them. No one knows for sure. It's forbidden to speak of it.

The sound of the key sliding into the lock pulls me from my thoughts. I jumped to my feet. I don't need to ask who's on the other side.

It's Arlo, coming home after trading for food and supplies in the village.

Every night he brings me something-a comb, a pair of shoes, pastries. I wonder what it will be tonight.

The handle was still turning when I rushed to the door and yanked it open. Cool evening air spilled inside as it swung wide.

I threw myself at him. "Arlo," I squealed, wrapping my arms around him.

He barely caught himself before stumbling over the threshold. For a split second, he went rigid, then stepped fully inside and pushed the door shut behind him.

The wooden bar slid into place with a dull thud.

Only then did his arms closed around me.

He hugged me tighter, holding me for a moment before pulling away. His hands settled on my shoulders, gently drawing me back so he could look down at my face.

"How many times do I have to tell you," he said, his voice sharp in that familiar older-brother way, "never get the door, Anwen?"

I crossed my arms at once. "I don't," I said stubbornly. "Unless I know for sure it's you."

Arlo exhaled slowly, the frustration on his face softening into worry. He lifted his hands and cupped my cheeks.

His eyes were warm brown, just like Mama's. Every time I looked at them, it felt like a piece of her was still here with us. The rest of him belonged to Papa-the strong jaw, the straight nose, even the way his brows pulled together when he was thinking too hard.

Sometimes I wondered why I didn't look like either of them.

My hair was too light. My eyes too blue. My skin was too pale, no matter how long I basked in the sunlight beside my window. When I was younger, I used to ask Mama about it, but she would only smile and kiss my forehead.

"You're my daughter," she would say. "That's all that matters."

Arlo was still staring at me now, worry etched into every line of his face.

"We've talked about this, Anwen," he said quietly, his thumbs brushing beneath my eyes. "We have already lost our parents." His voice dropped lower. "I don't want to lose you too."

Something tight twisted in my chest.

I forced a small smile. "You won't," I said softly. "We'll always have each other. Forever."

He studied my face in silence. His gaze held something fierce and tender all at once. "You and me," he murmured softly. "Forever."

He held me there for a heartbeat longer, then let go. The sack slid from his shoulder and hit the table with a dull, tired thump.

"Very well," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Who's ready to see what I brought home tonight?"

My curiosity sparked instantly. "What did you get?" I asked, stepping closer.

Arlo dug through the sack, pulling things out one by one-a small loaf of bread, two potatoes, a bundle of dried herbs tied with twine, strips of dried meat.

Then he reached deeper and pulled out something small wrapped in cloth.

He tossed it to me.

I caught it and carefully unfolded the fabric.

Inside were a few pieces of honey candy.

My eyes widened. "Arlo!" I gasped. "This must have cost you a fortune."

He shrugged like it was nothing, though a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Don't eat it all at once," he said. "You know what happens when you've had too much sweets."

I nodded and tucked the candies safely into my pocket.

I suddenly straightened, remembering. "I made dinner," I said quickly, almost proudly.

Arlo looked up from the sack he was unpacking. "You didn't have to."

His tone carried that familiar mix of gratitude and concern that always made me feel as though I'd done something wrong by trying to help.

"I didn't want you tiring yourself out again," he added. "You'll end up sick."

I pretended not to hear.

Instead, I turned toward the fireplace, where the pot had been warming near the coals. The room smelled faintly of oats and salt. It wasn't much, but it was warm-and it was ours.

"I'm fine," I said over my shoulder. "You're working hard for the two of us."

Then I added, "Like Papa. So I'll be like Mama. I'll cook and clean the house."

I grabbed the handle of the pot and started lifting it away from the fire.

Before I'd taken more than two steps, Arlo was at my side. His hand closed around mine-tight, lingering-before he took the pot.

His eyes darkened, and I wasn't sure if I'd upset him.

So I let him have it. I crossed to the wooden rack instead, pulled down two bowls, and set them carefully on the table.

Arlo set the pot down and took up the ladle. Steam rose in soft curls as he stirred the porridge, filling my bowl first, then his own.

He asked about everything as we ate-my day, my thoughts, even the smallest details. There wasn't much to say, not when I was kept inside from morning to night, but I told him anyway.

He listened closely, watching me a little too intently, as if every small thing I said mattered more than it should.

Something in the way he looked at me had changed. It wasn't the easy mischief of when we were children anymore. This was steadier, heavier. He watched me as though I might slip away if he looked anywhere else.

I couldn't tell when it began.

Maybe it was just growing up. He'd started saying it more often-that I wasn't a child anymore, that I was a woman now. That he had to be more careful with me.

When we finished eating, I pushed my chair back and reached for the bowls out of habit. But before my fingers touched the first one, Arlo's voice stopped me.

"Leave them," he said. "Wash up and go to bed."

I didn't argue.

He pushed his chair back and stood. "It's my turn tonight to do patrol," he said, already reaching for the thick coat hanging near the door.

Patrol.

Out in the deep forest, a handful of us were hiding from the world-families who had fled when the Scions began sweeping through the villages, taking women and burning the homes that resisted.

The able-bodied men took turns walking the perimeter at night.

Watching. Listening. Making sure monsters weren't creeping through the trees toward us.

"I'll see you in the morning," Arlo said as he fastened the worn leather strap that held his knife in place.

"Alright," I replied softly.

He paused, one hand on the door latch, and looked back at me. "Don't get the door for anyone."

"I know."

Arlo tilted his head slightly, studying me. "If something goes wrong," he said slowly, "what would you do?"

I answered immediately. "Go down to the cellar. Hide and don't make a sound."

His shoulders relaxed just a little. "Good."

Satisfied, he opened the door. Cold night air slipped inside, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine. For a moment he stood in the doorway, the darkness beyond him thick and quiet.

"Be careful out there," I said.

Arlo glanced back and gave me the small, reassuring smile he always wore before leaving.

Then he stepped outside.

The door closed behind him with a soft click, and the night swallowed the sound of his footsteps as he disappeared into the forest.

-----

I must have been asleep for a while, long enough that the world had dissolved into a warm, heavy blur. I didn't know how long I'd been out, only that sleep had pulled me somewhere far away.

Then a frantic shake jolted my shoulder, snapping the dream in half.

"Anwen, wake up," Arlo hissed, his voice tight with panic.

My eyes flew open, disoriented. The shapes around me swam for a moment before settling into the dim outline of my room.

My throat felt dry when I spoke. "Arlo?" I rasped, rubbing my eyes. "What time is it?"

He didn't answer. His face was pale in the moonlight, his jaw clenched, breath coming fast.

"The monsters," he said in a strained whisper. "They found us."

"We have to move. Now."

ANWEN'S POV

Arlo was already moving around the room, grabbing things-my thick scarf, the small pouch of medicinal herbs for my fever and cough, an extra pair of socks. He stuffed them into a rough sack with hurried hands.

"Where are we going?" I asked, pushing the blankets aside and climbing to my feet.

He stopped and stepped closer.

"I have to take you to the sanctuary," he said. "They can't reach you there."

My breath caught. My eyes widened before I could stop them.

The sanctuary.

Everyone in the forest knew about it-a hidden place the monsters couldn't cross into. It had once been sacred to the Radiants, and their magic still lingered there, humming in the stones and soil. When danger crept too close, the women and girls were sent there to hide.

"But..." I began, my voice cracking, "that means we'll be separated."

Arlo shook his head immediately. "This is only temporary," he said, cupping my face.

"The Resistance is planning something," he added quickly, lowering his voice even though we were alone. "The villages... the survivors... we're organizing. Soon we'll be able to fight back. And when that happens... we'll be together again."

I wanted to believe him. I clung to the certainty in his voice like a rope thrown to someone already sinking.

So I forced a smile.

He pulled away, turned, and grabbed a bundle from the chair.

Clothes. His clothes.

He tossed them to me.

"Wear these," he said. "Hurry."

I didn't argue. I pulled them on, the fabric rough and smelling faintly of pine, smoke, and him. I tied my hair up, tucking every loose strand away.

Then he handed me a cloak-also his, heavy and worn. "Put this on."

I knew why. He wanted me to look like a boy. Smell like one, too.

I pulled the hood over my head before we stepped outside into the cold, sharp night air. A covered wagon waited nearby, the same one he used when he bartered what he gathered or hunted.

I moved to climb up, but he caught my arm.

"Wait."

Before I could ask why, he scooped a handful of damp earth from the ground and smeared it across my cheek, my forehead, even the bridge of my nose. It was cold and gritty, and I flinched, but he didn't apologize.

Only when he was satisfied did he nod for me to climb aboard.

But instead of settling against the back like I usually did, I waited.

Arlo climbed up beside me and knelt, prying loose several wooden planks from the wagon floor. A narrow compartment opened beneath them-just big enough for someone small.

Our contingency plan.

The one I'd always prayed we'd never need.

He gestured.

I nodded. But before I slipped into that tight space, I threw my arms around him. He stiffened for a heartbeat before his own arms wrapped around me.

"I'm scared," I whispered.

"Me too, Anwen," he admitted.

His embrace tightened before he eased back, his hands lingering to cup my mud-streaked face as he searched my eyes. His mouth twitched, as if he were on the verge of saying something he couldn't hold back much longer. But the words never came.

He exhaled softly. "I'll see you when I can."

I blinked back the tears. "Promise?"

"Promise."

His hands lingered a heartbeat longer before he finally let me go. I swallowed and lowered myself into the compartment, my shoulders grazing the wood on either side as I drew my knees tight to my chest.

Once I was inside, he replaced the planks carefully, sealing me in darkness.

A moment later, something heavy thumped above me-a barrel.

The smell hit instantly. Fish. Strong, oily, suffocating.

I nearly gagged.

But it would hide my scent. That was the point.

Through the wood, I heard Arlo's footsteps as he climbed down from the wagon. Then the creak of the driver's seat.

Not long after, the wagon lurched forward. The wheels began to turn over the dirt path. And hidden beneath planks and fish and darkness, I lay perfectly still while my brother drove us into the night.

I didn't even realize I'd fallen asleep until the wagon jolted to a stop and my eyes flew open.

For a heartbeat, I didn't know where I was. There was only darkness, the press of wood around me, and the suffocating stench of fish.

Then memory slammed back into place.

Hiding. The wagon. The sanctuary.

My heart began to pound as I strained to hear what was happening outside. I heard Arlo climb down from the driver's seat, his boots hitting the ground with a soft thud.

"Morning, good sirs," he called out, his voice light-almost cheerful. "What can I do for you?"

A deep voice answered, low and rumbling. "Inspection."

The single word made the blood drain from my face. It was the same word I had heard before those monsters tried to take Mama away.

"Of course," Arlo said, still sounding impossibly calm. "Please, go ahead."

Then something heavy-too heavy to be human-thudded onto the back of the wagon. The wood groaned under the weight. I held my breath, terrified the floorboards would splinter and give me away.

I froze as the inspection dragged on. Every creak of the wagon tightened my muscles. The barrel above me shifted just enough to make my heart stop. I didn't dare breathe.

Only when the footsteps finally moved away and the crushing weight lifted did I let out a slow, silent sigh.

"There's nothing inside," a deep voice announced.

But another voice spoke up-gruff, with a rasp that scraped like gravel. "Where are you going with these items?"

"I'm off to trade my catch," Arlo replied.

"But this isn't the way to the village market, boy," the deep voice said.

Arlo didn't miss a beat. "The village market isn't my destination today."

A long, heavy pause followed.

Then the gruff voice asked, "What was in that sack over there?"

The air left my lungs. My things are in that sack.

Arlo's voice cracked-just slightly. "Those are just my personal belongings," he said. "You won't find anything of interest."

"Then there would not be a problem if I took a look," the gruff one said.

My breathing turned ragged. I tried to quiet it, but my heartbeat thundered in my ears.

I heard fabric tear, then the rough sound of rummaging-before the deep voice snapped. "You lied. These aren't yours," he growled. "These are a girl's things."

Arlo answered quickly. "I wasn't lying. They're mine. They were my mama's. I meant to barter them."

The gruff one scoffed. "These rags?"

Then the deep voice cut in again. "Wait." A sharp sniff followed. "Do you smell that?"

"That would be the fish, sir," Arlo said evenly-but I caught the slight tremor in his voice.

The voice dropped into a low rumble. "There's something else... a faint scent."

I didn't hear what the other one said. Because the next thing I knew, something slammed into the wagon. Hard.

The wagon tipped violently to one side, barrels crashing as liquid spilled and wood splintered above me. My body slammed against the compartment wall as the floor twisted beneath me.

My shoulder hit wood, pain shooting down my arm. I wanted to yelp, not just from the shock but from the crushing pressure of the boards around me.

But I bit it back, clamping a hand over my mouth.

For one second, everything went still.

Then...

CRACK!

The wood above me splintered-shattered like dry twigs. Light burst in, and cold air rushed over me.

Before I could move, enormous hands seized me and dragged me from the compartment. The sudden brightness made my eyes sting.

By the time my vision cleared, I was face to face with him-the tallest man I had ever seen.

Broad shoulders. Short dark hair. A steady, silver-grey gaze. But what stood out most were the scars cutting across his left eye.

He was beautiful in the way all Scions were. And I couldn't look away-until the rising sun caught the flash of retracting fangs. A Lycan.

The scream rose in my chest but never made it past my lips.

His mouth curved into a wolfish grin. He crouched slightly, studying me with a predator's patience.

"Well, well," he drawled, "what do we have hiding in here?"