Chapter 28 Reckoning
Chapter 28 Reckoning
The pack had returned to their territories. The forest slept again.
Anya stood alone in the old kitchen of her childhood home—what was left of it, anyway. Dust settled in the cracks of tile. A single mug sat on the counter. The same kind her mom used to drink tea from, back when things made sense.
She didn’t touch it.
Her muscles still ached from the fight. The obsidian blade rested in the bag at her feet. A small slash across her ribs itched beneath the gauze. But it wasn’t the pain that kept her from sitting down.
It was the knock at the door.
Three soft raps. Hesitant. Measured.
She didn’t need to check who it was.
She felt her scent before the sound.
Lana.
Anya took a long breath, pressed her palm against the counter to ground herself, then turned toward the door.
Lana stood in the threshold, her boots muddy, her hoodie pulled tight around her, as if she could hide the guilt stitched into her bones.
Her eyes flicked to Anya’s. Something unreadable passed between them. Grief. Anger. History.
“Hey,” Lana said softly.
Anya stared.
No wolf. No rage.
Just silence.
Lana cleared her throat. “Can I come in?”
Anya stepped back, granting her entry with a gesture more of exhaustion than grace.
Lana stepped inside like she was walking into a tomb.
She glanced around. “I remember when we used to steal cereal from that cupboard.”
Anya didn’t smile.
“Was that before or after you started lying to me?”
Lana’s face twitched.
“Before,” she said. “But also… after.”
Anya crossed her arms, her jaw tight.
“You knew something was wrong. Long before I figured it out.”
“I didn’t know it was that,” Lana said, voice cracking. “I thought it was just… nightmares. Anxiety. Leftover trauma.”
“You saw what it was doing to me. You saw the markings. You helped me hide it from the others.”
“I thought I was protecting you.”
“No,” Anya snapped. “You were protecting yourself.”
The words hung in the air, bitter and jagged.
Lana looked away.
“I didn’t know how to stop it,” she whispered. “And I didn’t want to lose you.”
Anya shook her head slowly. “You lost me the moment you stopped trusting me with the truth.”
Silence filled the kitchen again.
Lana finally looked up.
“I never wanted this. You think I liked watching you unravel? Watching you fight alone while I kept secrets? You think I didn’t hate myself every day?”
Anya’s voice was quieter now, but no less sharp.
“Then why did you keep doing it?”
Lana blinked hard. “Because I was scared of what you’d become.”
That hit like a punch.
Anya turned away, hands shaking.
“Say that again,” she muttered.
“You were changing, Anya,” Lana said, stepping forward. “Not just the dreams. Not just the shifting. You were darker. You started craving violence. You started—”
“I was being hunted.”
“I know.” Lana shouted now, fists clenched. “But you liked it. Part of you liked the power. The fear. You weren’t just reacting. You were becoming something.”
Anya turned back, eyes burning.
“I was becoming what I had to be.”
Lana’s voice broke. “I didn’t know how to love you through that.”
The kitchen creaked. The forest sighed outside.
And inside, two girls stood where girls used to laugh and steal cereal and whisper about boys. That time felt a lifetime ago.
Anya walked to the sink, turned on the faucet, and let it run.
She stared at the water like it might carry away the weight of what they’d both done.
“I needed you,” she said finally. “When everything inside me was screaming, when the dreams were fire and ash and teeth… I needed someone who knew me. Really knew me.”
“I did,” Lana said. “And it scared the hell out of me.”
Anya shut off the water. Slowly.
Then, without looking back: “So what now?”
Lana stepped closer, hesitant.
“I want to help. If there’s anything left to salvage.”
Anya turned. “Why now?”
“Because the skinwalker might be gone, but something else is coming. I can feel it.”
Anya narrowed her eyes. “What do you know?”
Lana hesitated, then pulled something from her coat.
A worn, leather-bound journal.
Anya’s breath caught.
Her mother’s.
“I found this in my dad’s storage unit,” Lana said quietly. “I didn’t know he kept it. I didn’t know your mom had written any of it down.”
Anya took it with trembling hands.
The leather was soft, warm—like skin that remembered.
She opened to the first page.
And read:
“The forest is older than blood. And blood remembers.”
Anya looked up slowly.
“There’s more out there,” Lana said. “More than skinwalkers. More than what we’ve seen. Your mom knew. And my dad helped bury it.”
“Why?”
“Because they made a deal. And that deal’s about to break.”
Anya sat down for the first time in hours.
Her legs finally gave out under the weight of this new truth.
Lana stood in front of her, no longer an enemy, but not yet forgiven.
“I can’t promise I’ll trust you again,” Anya said.
Lana nodded.
“But if you’re really here to help,” she added, “then start by telling me everything.”
Lana pulled up a chair.
And started talking.