By the time Freya came back from her walk, the sun had already set. The sky had shifted from soft gold to dusky purple, shadows stretching long across the ground like fingers trying to pull her back into the woods.
She pushed open the front door and stepped inside.
And just like every other evening in their quiet household, life continued as if nothing had happened.
The faint sound of the television drifted from the living room. The smell of dinner lingered in the air something with garlic and rosemary. A pot on the stove still steamed gently.
Mia was curled up on the couch, a blanket tucked around her legs, a book resting forgotten in her lap. Her head turned the moment Freya entered, relief softening the tension in her face.
"There you are," she said, standing up. "I was about to call you."
"I just needed to clear my head," Freya replied softly, brushing off her coat and kicking off her boots.
"You've been gone for hours," Mia added, her voice gentler this time. "Are you okay?"
Freya hesitated.
She wanted to say no. To say she saw something. Felt something. That the voice had followed her, and the mark on her shoulder now thrummed with a warmth that wouldn't fade.
But what would be the point?
She gave a small nod. "Yeah. Just needed some air."
Mia studied her for a long moment, clearly wanting to press further, but finally let it go with a sigh. "Dinner's still warm. I saved you some."
"Thanks," Freya murmured, walking toward the kitchen. She wasn't hungry, not really but she needed normalcy.
She filled a plate, sat at the kitchen table, and tried to eat. Every bite tasted like paper. Her stomach twisted with unease. Her fingers itched to touch the mark again, but she resisted. Not in front of Mia.
"I think you should talk to someone," Mia said from the doorway.
Freya looked up. "Like a therapist?"
"Maybe. Or just… someone you trust."
Freya gave a dry laugh. "You mean besides you?"
Mia walked in slowly, pulled out the chair across from her, and sat down.
"I'm serious. You've been through a lot, Frey. More than most people could handle. I just don't want you to carry it alone."
"I'm not carrying it alone," Freya said, a little too fast. "I just… need time."
There was a pause. Heavy. Quiet.
Then Mia leaned forward. "You said it whispered your name."
Freya's fingers curled around her fork. "Yes."
"Has that… ever happened before? I mean, have you ever heard voices before now? And Freya, listen I know you joke around about things like this, even hallucinations sometimes but the look on your face this time makes me believe you. You can trust me."
Freya blinked at her. "No. Why?"
Mia looked down at her hands. Her fingers twisted together nervously.
"When we were kids… you used to say weird things in your sleep. Names. Places. Mom said it was just dreams, but… sometimes I wondered if it was something more."
Freya stared at her. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"Because you grew out of it," Mia whispered. "And I wanted to believe it was just dreams. But last night…" She looked up. "You said something in another language. I didn't recognize it."
Freya's blood ran cold. "What language?"
Mia shook her head. "I don't know. It didn't sound like anything I've ever heard."
Freya stood suddenly, her appetite gone. The walls felt too close. The light was too dim. Everything too… normal. Like a fragile illusion that could shatter at any moment.
"I'm tired," she said. "I think I'll just go to bed."
Mia didn't stop her, just watched with a worried gaze that Freya could still feel even after she'd shut her bedroom door behind her.
In the silence of her room, Freya stood in front of the mirror.
She pulled off her sweater and pushed down the strap of her tank top.
The mark was still there.
Only now, it glowed faintly. Not bright but unmistakable. Like something sleeping just beneath the skin.
Her fingers traced the edge.
Suddenly, her knees buckled.
Visions exploded behind her eyes flashes of wolves, of silver eyes, of hands bound in ritual. A fire. A voice. A promise.
"You are mine."
Freya gasped and clutched the edge of her dresser to keep from falling. Tears burned her eyes as the visions faded, leaving her breathless and trembling.
Something had been awakened.
Something ancient.
And it wasn't finished with her yet.
She turned away from the mirror.
All her life or at least, the life she remembered—had been one long stretch of ordinary. Boring, even. So she'd learned to keep herself occupied with daydreams and wild imagination.
But now it doesn't feel like imagination anymore.
It felt like a memory.
Freya had always known the forest.
Not the one from her nightmares twisted and unnatural but the one from home.
The one she had run through as a child, barefoot and wild, her sisters at her heels.
There were four of them.
Four girls, born of a mother with secrets in her blood and sorrow in her smile.
They were not just sisters.
They were a pack.
Liora, the eldest, sharp, fierce, and painfully beautiful.
She carried herself like a queen even as a child. Others followed her without question.
Liora was more than a sister, she was a shield. Her voice could command silence. Her hands knew how to comfort without softness.
Mira, the second sunlight and laughter wrapped in storm clouds.
She had a temper like lightning and a grin that could melt the worst days.
Mira never feared a fight, but never missed a chance to dance to music only she could hear.
If Liora was their protector, Mira was their fire. Untamed. Loud. Alive.
Kaelene, the third gentle, quiet, but never weak.
She spoke less, but saw more.
Kaelene read emotions like stories written on skin. She was the peacemaker, the one who kept them whole when everything threatened to pull them apart.
Her touch could calm a storm, and her silence held the depth of a winter lake.
And then there was Freya.
The youngest.
The smallest.
The one who didn't roar or command or soothe.
The one always trying to catch up.
Always left behind.
She remembered how they used to stand around her Liora's arms crossed, Mira's fingers tugging playfully at her braid, Kaelene kneeling to bandage a scraped knee with steady hands.
They had been a unit. A line no one could cross.
Until things started to fall apart.
Until their mother got sicker.
Until secrets began to unravel like loose threads.
Until the bond marks began to appear.
Freya's came first.
Too early.
Too strange.
Too… wrong.
Her sisters never said it aloud, but Freya saw it in their eyes.
The questions. The fear. The pity.
Especially in Liora.
It was the look a leader gives the weakest link. Not cruel. Not unloving. Just… resolved.
And Freya had hated that most of all.
Because even in a house full of love, there are wounds.
And silence can deepen them.