Chapter Eighteen
Lucas
The moment the meeting ended, and people began to scatter, I scanned the room for Annika. At first, I thought she might have just slipped out quietly, but as the minutes stretched on and she didn’t reappear, unease settled over me like a suffocating fog.
Where was she? She knew how dangerous it was out there.
My heart started to pound as a wave of panic swept through me. What if something had already happened?
I didn’t want to alert the others—not yet, at least. It would only cause more chaos. So I slipped out the door quietly, hoping that she hadn’t gone far. The night outside was damp and cold, with a thick mist crawling low to the ground. Every shadow seemed alive, every sound amplified in the silence.
“Annika,” I called out, keeping my voice low but firm. Nothing answered me, but the rustling of leaves in the wind.
I pushed further into the darkness, my eyes searching for any sign of her. The tension in my chest tightened with every step, and I couldn’t stop the thoughts racing through my head. Had she been taken? Was she hurt?
And why had she left without saying anything?
Then, just ahead, a small disturbance in the dirt caught my attention—a faint impression, almost like a footprint, leading toward the trees. I crouched down, inspecting it closely, and my stomach sank.
She’d gone this way.
I followed the trail, my senses sharpening as I moved through the fog. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of damp earth and something else—something faintly metallic. The further I went, the darker it became, the towering trees swallowing the moonlight.
“Annika,” I tried again, this time louder, my voice edged with worry. Still nothing.
Every step felt like an eternity, every moment a battle against the gnawing fear clawing at me. If anything had happened to her… I couldn’t even finish the thought.
I clenched my fists, trying to keep my composure. She had to be all right. She had to.
I kept moving, each step deliberate and soundless as I pushed deeper into the woods. The fog wrapped around me, clinging to my skin like a damp second layer, but I ignored it. All I could think about was finding her, making sure she was safe.
And then, I saw her.
In the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the canopy, Annika was crouched in a small clearing ahead. Relief rushed over me, but it was quickly overshadowed by confusion. She wasn’t alone.
I froze, half-hidden behind a tree. My instincts screamed to run to her, but something made me stop. She was whispering softly, her body hunched low, her hands outstretched. And then I saw it… a small figure across from her.
A child. A hurt child, with deep, bleeding cuts.
The tension in my chest doubled. The child’s frame was slight, their movements cautious. They were barefoot, their clothes torn and dirty. My first thought was that it was a trap, one set by the shifters. But the way the child looked at her… it didn’t seem like they were a threat.
I was trembling, every nerve in my body on edge. What if I was wrong? What if the child wasn’t what they seemed? The shifters were cunning. They could use anything… anyone… to get what they wanted.
But Annika didn’t seem afraid. She leaned in closer, her voice gentle, soothing. I strained to hear her, but her words were lost in the distance between us.
My mind raced. Should I intervene? Pull her away before it was too late? Or would that only make things worse?
I gripped the tree beside me, my fingers digging into the rough bark. Every instinct I had told me to protect her, but something about the scene before me made me hesitate.
The child reached out, their tiny hand brushing hers, and I tensed, ready to spring into action. But nothing happened. No sudden shift, no violence… just two figures in the stillness of the night.
I stared, frozen in place, as Annika reached out to the child again. My mind screamed at me to stop her, to pull her away before something happened, but my feet refused to move.
The child flinched, their body trembling as they leaned into her touch. That’s when I saw it.
A faint light. No, not light. It was... something else. It shimmered, tiny sparkles spilling from Annika’s fingers like fireflies breaking free from her skin. I blinked, certain my eyes were playing tricks on me, but it didn’t stop.
The sparkles danced in the space between them, clinging to the child’s frail form. For a moment, I thought the child would cry out, pull away in fear, but they didn’t. They held still, staring at Annika as if she were the only safe thing in the world.
Then it hit them both.
Annika jerked slightly, her body stiffening as if the sparkles had traveled back into her. The child gasped, their small chest heaving, and I thought they might collapse. But the trembling stopped.
The child straightened, their breathing steady.
I felt the air leave my lungs in a rush. The gashes and bruises marring the child’s skin were gone. No blood, no wounds… just smooth, unbroken skin.
What the hell had I just witnessed?
Annika sat back on her heels, her hands trembling as she pulled them away. She stared at the child like she couldn’t believe what she’d done.
And neither could I.
My grip on the tree tightened until I felt the bark bite into my palm. My mind raced, trying to make sense of what I’d just seen. It wasn’t natural—couldn’t be natural. But then, nothing about this place, about us, was normal anymore.
What was she? And how the hell was she doing this?
That was when the child’s head turned sharply, his wide eyes locking on me in the shadows. He noticed me.
For a split second, I saw nothing but terror flash across his face. Then, he bolted.
“Wait!” Annika’s voice rang out, echoing all around us.
She lunged forward, catching him by the wrist. The little one squirmed, but her touch was gentle and soothing.
“It’s okay,” she murmured in a soft tone. “He’s a friend. You’re safe, I promise.”
Her eyes flicked to mine, full of some unspoken plea.
I stepped forward slowly, keeping my hands visible, though my mind was anything but calm. Every instinct I had screamed to interrogate her, to demand answers about what I’d just witnessed. But the child mattered more… right now, at least.
“I won’t hurt you,” I said, my voice as steady as I could manage. “We just want to help.”
The child hesitated, his small body trembling with indecision. He looked back at Annika, who nodded softly. Whatever connection she’d forged with him was enough. The child stopped resisting, though he didn’t let go of her hand.
I crouched slightly as I approached, my gaze snapping briefly to Annika. “What’s going on?” I asked under my breath.
She bit her lip, glancing at the child. “I... I found him here,” she said quietly. “He was hurt—so badly. I—I just felt like I could do something.” Her voice faltered, and I could tell she was as baffled as I was. “And somehow... I did.”
Her eyes darted to her hands, as if they belonged to someone else.
I wanted to demand more, how, why, what the hell she’d done, but I swallowed the words. This wasn’t the time or place.
“We can’t stay out here,” I said instead, my voice firm. “It’s not safe. We need to get back. Now.”
Annika nodded, the fear in her eyes mingling with something else, something raw and uncertain. She pulled the child closer, protectively, and together we made our way back.
I kept my eyes scanning the forest, my body tense. Annika clutched the child tightly, her steps careful as if she feared breaking him.
I couldn’t shake the memory of what I’d seen. The sparkles. The healing. The power.
About half an hour later, we were back at the headquarters. The boy was sitting at the edge of the table, with a bowl of food in his small hands. I could see dirt and grime underneath his fingernails. His hair was short, it almost looked as if someone buzzed it off with an electric razor. His eyes were a deep shade of blue, not leaving his surroundings even for a second, even while he ate.
He was shoveling the food into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in days. The sound of his slurping and gulping filled the otherwise quiet room. Annika and I stood a few steps away, watching in silence.
Her expression was soft, full of something I couldn’t place. Compassion? Concern? Guilt, maybe.
“Have you seen him before?” I asked, breaking the silence.
She shook her head slowly, her arms wrapped around herself. “No. I just… I found him.”
I frowned, glancing at the boy. He was small—frail, even—but his wide eyes darted around the room between bites, as if he didn’t trust any of us. His presence set every one of my instincts on edge. We didn’t know what he was: shifter, vampire, human. And out here, unknowns could be fatal.
“Annika,” I said, keeping my voice low but firm, “we don’t even know what he is. It’s dangerous to keep him here. For all we know, he could be a trap.”
Her head snapped toward me, her eyes narrowing. “You’re suggesting we just throw him out? He’s a child, Lucas.”
“And we’re a group of rebels hiding from shifters,” I countered. “Do you think they’ll care that he’s a child if they find him here? If he’s shifter-born, they’ll rip this place apart to get him back—or punish us for keeping him. And if he’s not…”
She crossed her arms, her jaw tight. “I don’t care. He needs help, and I’m not abandoning him.”
Her words hit harder than I expected, but I wasn’t ready to back down. “Annika, this isn’t just about you wanting to help. There are lives at stake—yours, mine, everyone here.”
“And what about his life?!” Her voice rose, then softened as she glanced at the boy. “He didn’t ask to be left out there, alone and hurt. I’m not turning my back on him, Lucas. I won’t.”
We locked eyes for a long moment, her stubbornness crashing against my caution. Part of me wanted to dig in, to demand she see reason. But another part of me—one I hated acknowledging—knew she was right. If we turn our back on someone who needed our help, then we were no better than them.
I exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Fine,” I muttered. “He can stay. But only until we figure out what to do next.”
Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she gave me a small nod. “Thank you.”
I turned back to the boy, who was now licking the bowl clean. Whatever he was, he didn’t look like much of a threat right now.
We brought the boy to one of the spare rooms. It was a simple space with a cot against the wall and barely enough room to move around. He was quiet the entire way, his small frame stiff with exhaustion and unease.
As soon as we set him down, he clutched the thin blanket I handed him but didn’t lie down. Instead, he looked up at Annika with wide, searching eyes, his lips trembling as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.
“Go on,” I said to her, leaning against the doorway. “Try to get him to sleep.”
Annika knelt beside the cot, her voice soft. “It’s okay now. You’re safe. You can rest.”
The boy didn’t move. His gaze flicked toward me briefly before snapping back to her. Then, slowly, he raised a small, shaking hand and motioned for her to come closer.
Annika glanced back at me, uncertain. I shrugged. “If it helps him sleep…”
She hesitated for a moment, then climbed onto the narrow cot beside him, moving carefully so as not to startle him. As soon as she settled, he reached out and took her hand, clutching it tightly like it was the only thing tethering him to safety.
The tension in his small body eased almost instantly. His eyelids fluttered closed, and within moments, his breathing slowed into the even rhythm of sleep.
I stayed where I was, leaning against the frame, watching the two of them. The sight stirred something unfamiliar in me, something I didn’t want to name.
Annika lay still, her free hand resting on the edge of the cot. She looked over at me, her expression soft but weary. “He wouldn’t let go,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
I nodded, my arms crossed. “He’s afraid. Can’t blame him after whatever he’s been through to get those wounds.”
She turned her attention back to the boy, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from his face. There was a gentleness in her that I hadn’t fully understood until now, a willingness to comfort even in the face of her own exhaustion and uncertainty.
I watched them for a long moment, something heavy settling in my chest.
“You should try to rest too,” I said finally.
She didn’t answer, but the way her head dipped slightly told me she’d heard.
I stayed there in the doorway, keeping watch over them both.