The Were Chronicles: Silver and Shadows

Wren's POV

I wasn't supposed to be here after dark.

Technically, I wasn't supposed to be here at all, but the lock on the side door practically begged me to pick it, and the west wing's security camera has been blinking red since orientation. Abandoned science labs are kind of my thing cause they're quiet, dusty, and forgotten, just like me, on a good day.

The third-floor corridor creaks underfoot as I slip in, flashlight beam darting over rusted cabinet doors and shattered tiles. Cobwebs dangle from cracked ceiling panels like tattered lace. The air smells faintly of iron, and something older, like wet bark.

I move past a row of overturned desks to the main lab chamber, the one with the broken skylight and the enormous two-way glass that used to separate students from dangerous projects. Now it just reflects my face, which is narrow, and pale, with a tiredness under my eyes I never seem to shake.

That's when I hear it.

A soft, deliberate scratch, and I automatically go still.

At first, I think it's my boot scuffing the floor, but no, there it is again. A scrape and scratch, and a wet exhale, low and strange, like something sniffing the air.

I don't breathe, and my flashlight clicks off, pulling the room into silence.

Then a click, click, click, sound starts with the feeling of claws on tile penetrating the quiet.

And my spine goes rigid.

Behind the thick glass, a shape stirs in the shadows, so I manage to squint, and my heart jackhammers.

It's tall.

Definitely not human. Neither is it any kind of animal that should be upright and in a school environment.

The creature moves slowly into view, its shoulders hunched like a predator unused to standing. Fur, if you could call it that, shimmers like polished obsidian, refracting the moonlight in a way that almost hurts to look at. And its eyes...

Silver, burning, and intelligent, see me.

I don't move.

Because if I move, I'll scream, and that could worsen the situation.

The thing tilts its head, and I swear, it's curious, not angry or even aggressive, but just... curious about something.

Then a noise comes from behind me.

Footsteps that are too heavy to be mine.

I whirl and nearly swing the flashlight at a tall figure emerging from the dark hallway.

"Whoa." A male voice, sharp and dry. "Easy. Are you planning to concuss me with that?"

The light catches his face, strong jaw, dark brows drawn tight over sharp eyes, calm and composed, but not surprised.

I blink. "Who-"

He steps into the room, not even glancing at the wolf-thing behind the glass. "You're not supposed to be here."

"No kidding."

"You're new," he adds, brushing dust off his jacket. "Wren Alden, right? You weren't on the west-wing access list."

"Should I be?"

"You tell me."

That's when the glass cracks. And both our heads snap toward it, but it's too late.

The creature's massive body crashes straight through the window, sending a shockwave of glass and cold air bursting into the room. I hit the ground hard, arms over my head, teeth clenched as shards fell on us.

"Move!" the guy yells, yanking me behind a desk just before something huge slams into the floor where I was standing.

I scramble upright and see it now.

The wolf.

No, it's more than a wolf.

Its limbs are wrong, too long. Its face is half-bared bone, jaw set in a permanent grimace, and those silver eyes are locked on me.

The guy, whoever he is, steps forward, hand raised, palm glowing faintly.

"Back," he says, like you'd talk to a wild dog.

The creature hesitates, then it vanishes the next second without a second thought.

I don't mean it runs, I mean it literally dissolves or melts into black smoke that dissipates into the cracks of the tile.

Gone, just like that.

My knees give out after a few more seconds, and I hit the ground with a graceless thud and stay there, panting.

"What..." I croak. "What was that?"

He looks at me then, his eyes dark and unreadable. "Something you shouldn't have seen."

I turn away to stare at the broken glass. The claw marks gouged into the floor, and I notice that my hands are shaking.

"Too late," I whisper.

Later, after I've convinced myself I didn't hallucinate all of that, I sit cross-legged on my bed with the envelope in my lap. The same one I found shoved into the heating vent above my bunk three months ago, unopened.

I meant to throw it away, but I didn't.

Instead, I kept it buried under my mattress through three different towns. It could have been a joke or a mystery I didn't have to figure out.

Except now it's glowing.

A faint, pulsing silver light seeps from the edges, like moonlight leaking through. But I don't open it yet, instead I just stare.

And for the first time in years, I feel something strange in my chest, and it's not fear.

It's hunger.

Curiosity.

Recognition.

Flashback – Three weeks ago

I'd been crashing in a halfway house, eating leftover pizza, and working night shifts at a gas station with no plans and no future. Just enough smarts to stay out of trouble and enough sarcasm to keep people at arm's length.

The letter arrived in the middle of a thunderstorm. Under no postage or name.

Just the seal, a silver wax with a crescent moon and some kind of symbol like a tree with veins.

I opened it slowly, half-expecting glitter bombs or cult scriptures.

But instead, it read:

To Wren Alden,

You are invited to Silvergrove Academy.

A sanctuary for those of rare lineage and uncommon potential.

Full tuition and board have already been arranged.

Should you accept, follow the forest's twin bend and cross where the stream runs silver, you will be met.

There was no sender, just a handwritten "L." at the bottom of it.

I reread it a dozen times, thought "nope" the next minute, and tucked it away, thinking it was nothing important.

Until I arrived here out of curiosity, and until the wolf in the glass.

That strange boy, tall, expressionless, never told me his name. But I remember how calm he was when the thing broke through the window, not shocked, not scared, just ready.

Whoever he may be, he's definitely tied to this place. And if he's real, then so is the thing that tried to kill us.

And so is the content of the letter, which I fold again, but slower this time.

Silvergrove Academy isn't just a school. It's a door, and I think I've already stepped through it.