Chapter 4 Where It Hurts Most

Nina tried-truly tried-to pretend everything was fine. That the shadows flickering past her vision were tricks of tired eyes. That the ache pulsing in her arm wasn't real. That the scent of pine in her sheets wasn't something wild..she'd scrubbed it off. Twice. Still, it lingered..

The crescent like shape thing and glass jar of ointment sat on her shelf like a question she couldn't answer. Half-used. Unlabeled. And hers. Someone had left it for her, and it had worked. That terrified her more than the pain ever had.

But the worst part? That feeling. Like eyes were always watching. Not just during the day. Not just outside. Inside. At night. When she turned off the lights and laid her head down. When the silence grew too deep. When her breath caught and something inside her whispered, Don't turn around.

It was the kind of fear you can't name out loud because the second you do, it becomes real.

So she tried to shake it off.

"Get over it, Nina," she told her reflection that morning. "You're okay. You survived."

But some things didn't stay buried.

That afternoon, she sat cross-legged on the couch, laptop warm in her lap, scrolling through endless pages of research. Her fingers hovered over the keys, trembling slightly.

She stared at the strange, crescent-shaped object still sitting on her desk-bone-colored, light as air, and yet... heavy with meaning. She'd searched "claw symbols," "crescent-shaped charms," "bone relics," and narrowed it down to "protective wolf talismans."

Every result led her deeper. Tribal folklore. Forest legends. Ancient guardians. Some claimed they were meant to protect the wearer from spirits. Some said they were gifts-warnings. Others called them bonds.

"Goit's a claw," she whispered, dragging an image of a gray wolf onto her desktop. "I know what I saw in the forest..."

She pulled up more images: wolves of all sizes, their claws, their markings, their eyes.

"Wolves can't creep into apartments," she mumbled, staring. "That's insane. There's no way."

And yet... someone had left that ointment. Someone had come into her home. Someone had placed that claw on her desk.

"Unless..." Her chest ached.

She reached out, touching the charm with trembling fingers. "Dad?" Tears pricked her eyes.

"You always loved wolves," she said quietly. "You said they were misunderstood. Loyal. Protective."

Was it his spirit? Watching over her? Leaving her gifts?

She kept rubbing the charm between her fingers, lost in thought, in grief, in hope that made no sense. Her screen still glowed with dozens of open tabs-photos of wolves, articles about spiritual bonds, drawings of protective marks that looked a lot like the scar on her arm.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

She didn't even realize how long she'd been staring until-BOOM. A blast of music and bass thundered from above her head.

She flinched hard, slamming the laptop shut. "Jesus!" she hissed, holding her chest.

She glanced up at the ceiling, already feeling the pressure build behind her temples.

The second-floor tenant. Again. They always did this on Sundays. Parties. Loudspeakers. Stomping.

She hated it.

When she complained, the landlord would just shrug and say, "He pays his rent on time, unlike you. Maybe be a little more patient."

She lived on the ground floor. The middle unit-the second-belonged to the party addict. And the top floor, the third one, had just been vacated.

Her mind circled back to the claw marks. Back to the feeling of being watched.

"Stop it," she whispered, rising. "You need air."

She grabbed her coat, shoved her feet into her boots, and stormed out.

The air slapped her cheeks. The streets buzzed with life. She walked fast, buying coffee she barely tasted, groceries she didn't need, anything to stay distracted.

And then she saw him.

Across the street. ..Travis..her ex Laughing.

And beside him, arm-in-arm like they belonged there-Brielle.

Her sister..the world tilted.

She froze in place, the paper bag in her hand crinkling beneath her grip. Her pulse thudded in her ears.

They hadn't seen her yet. But she saw them.

Travis's smug face. Brielle's easy smile. Their hands intertwined like none of it mattered.

Then his gaze lifted. Met hers.

His grin spread.

"Well, well," he said loudly, raising his cup. "Look who's still breathing."

Brielle turned. Tilted her head. Smirked. "Heyy You're looking... lonely."

Nina's lips trembled. "You're with him now? My own sister?"

Brielle shrugged. "He was always more my type. You just couldn't handle him. We all knew it."

Travis chuckled. "Still emotional, I see."

The rage burned behind her ribs. "You cried with me," she said to Brielle. "You begged me to leave him. You knew all he did to me."

Brielle rolled her eyes. "Don't be dramatic. No one believes your little victim story anymore."

Nina stepped back like she'd been slapped. Brielle reached out and tapped her shoulder.

"Don't touch me," Nina snapped. "Don't you dare."

Travis smirked. "Look at that. She's growing teeth."

She turned and walked away.

Travis voice followed her"Look at you,you look like a mess..told you didn't I? You are nothing..and then laughter from him and Brielle.

She Didn't run. Didn't cry. Just walked. Every step scalded her skin from the inside out.

When she got home, she didn't hear any music.

No pounding bass. No party sounds from the ceiling..Strange.

She closed the door and looked up..Three long finger marks like the mark on her shoulder. On the inside of the window.

"Are you kidding me?" she yelled, hands shaking. "What are you? A ghost? A wolf? An angel? My father?! Just stop hiding and-come out! Come out and comfort me! Please!. I'm done! I'm really alone now"

No answer...

She stormed into the kitchen, grabbed the whiskey bottle, and took a burning sip.

And everything came crashing back.

Travis grabbing her hair and slamming her into the wall for answering a call from a male co-worker.

Travis pouring hot coffee on her thighs and saying coldly, "I don't like that mug. Use the blue one next time."

Travis tearing her blouse down the front, yelling, "You look like a desperate whore in that outfit."

Her knees buckled. She slid to the floor, sobbing, her fingers clenched around the bottle.

Her breath shook. Her soul cracked.

And her mind flashed to Milo.

The night she left Travis, barefoot and bleeding, she found him. Curled behind a dumpster. Small, shaking, with one ear bent awkwardly.

He'd been her only companion since. Her one bright light.

Now he was gone too.

"I have no one," she whispered. "No one."

Her shoulders shook as she cried on the floor, alone in a three-story building. She lived below a monster who danced too loud and cared too little. The top apartment? Vacant.

Or maybe not.

But right now, all she could feel was the grief. The betrayal. The bone-deep ache of being completely, terrifyingly, heartbreakingly alone.