Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Soft music played quietly in the background while I hunched over my desk, twirling a stylus between my fingers. The glow of my graphics tablet lit up the room, a steaming cup of coffee sitting beside it like my one loyal companion.

“That’s enough for today…” I muttered, leaning back in my chair with a stretch that popped half the bones in my spine. I reached for my meds, washed them down with coffee that was still way too hot, and stumbled toward the bed. Like always, I grabbed my phone, scrolled through a few news updates I didn’t really care about, and before I knew it—I was out cold.

On the tablet’s screen was a character—my alter ego:

Name: Luna
Surname: Fatterson
Age: 16
Race: Human

Powers: Transform into a wolf surrounded by chains that respond to her will

Appearance: Short, light brown hair with a few white streaks, slightly messy. Slim, athletic build. Heterochromatic eyes—one gold, one silver. A tattoo of a chain wraps around her arm. During transformation, a runic pattern comes alive—golden chains emerge from beneath the skin and float around the wolf form. The beast itself is sleeker than a normal wolf, with brown fur and white accents. Eyes identical to her human form.

Beneath Luna’s portrait was a note reading:
Background: …
and next to it, a drawing of the girl, the wolf, and the encircling chains.

Ding! My computer screen lit up with a new notification.
Subject: Job Interview Regarding…

The music faded, and the lights slowly dimmed.
Outside, dawn filtered through the curtains. Half-asleep, I dragged myself out of bed, went through my morning routine, and sat back down at the tablet.

“What should I add to the character’s story…” I sighed.

Then my attention was caught by a new email in my inbox. I frowned—I hadn’t sent my CV anywhere yet.

“Definitely a scam. Lately even marketers pretend to be job offers…” I thought, but I clicked on the email anyway.

Subject: Job Interview! We’re looking for a 2D Artist for a new game based on Wednesday!

Hello, Olivia!

We have reviewed your portfolio on Artistday.com. We liked your sketches and works. We would like to invite you for an interview at 11:00 AM at Skyline Plaza, Main Street, 9th floor.

Regards,
Mike Petterson

“What?! This is legit?!” I shouted, staring at the screen like it had just insulted me personally.

For a second, I thought it was some elaborate scam—one of those “Nigerian prince but make it corporate” emails. But no, the sender was real, the address was official. A quick search confirmed it: the offer was genuine.

My heart skipped. “No freaking way… this is actually happening.”

I snatched my phone off the desk and glanced at the clock. 9:50.

“Oh crap!” I yelped, nearly tripping over my own chair as I scrambled to my feet. “I need to hurry!”

I shoved random things into my bag, trying to remember where I’d left my jacket, my keys, my brain. Every second felt like it was mocking me, ticking louder and louder.

I rushed to get ready, stuffed my things into a bag, and ran out the door. By the time I entered the office building, I was slightly out of breath, tugging at my women’s tuxedo to make sure it didn’t look like I had just sprinted a marathon.

“Good morning, I’m here for the 11 AM interview. If I remember correctly, it’s the ninth floor,” I said at the reception desk.

“I’ll check… Ms. Olivia Martinez?” the receptionist asked.

“Yes.”

“Please go ahead. Elevator to the left. Mr. Mike is already waiting for you.”

I nodded, straightened my back, and stepped into the elevator. Of course, the moment I walked out, I collided with a tall guy carrying a stack of papers. They went everywhere. He gave me the kind of glare that could kill, hissed “tsk,” and stepped into the elevator without a word. Rude. I crouched, gathered the papers, muttered something under my breath, and finally entered the office.

Inside sat a man who looked like he’d been cut straight out of a glossy magazine—dark hair, sharp jawline, faint smile.

“Oh, Ms. Olivia?” he asked, rising to greet me.

“Yes,” I replied, brushing imaginary dust off my jacket.

He gestured toward the chair across from him. “I’ve seen your work. Extraordinary—full of soul. Tell me, what inspired you? Are you working on anything now?”

“I’ve been drawing since I was a kid. It always came naturally, so I pushed it further. Right now, I’m mostly focused on my own projects, not commercial work,” I admitted.

“Interesting. I’m curious what you’re sketching now. If you’d like to show me…” His hand reached toward a bottle. “Do you drink?”

I blinked. “Uh… sometimes, but…”

“Don’t be shy. It’s a special drink,” he insisted, sliding a glass toward me.

“Better not, thanks…” I muttered, but he just smiled wider.

“Relax. Opportunities like this don’t come often. Cheers!”

My instincts screamed bad idea. Naturally, I ignored them and took a cautious sip. The taste was bitter and sharp, and instantly, my stomach did not approve.

“So,” he leaned back, swirling his own glass, “tell me… what didn’t you like about Wednesday?”

I gave a short laugh, shaking my head. “Honestly? The show was fine. Entertaining, even. But some of it was so predictable. Like, I called half the twists before they even happened.”

“Predictable?” he echoed.

“Yeah. Certain relationships, betrayals… you could practically see the writers waving giant neon signs.” I swirled the drink in my glass, ignoring the warmth spreading in my chest. “Still fun, though.”

He tilted his head. “And Wednesday Addams herself? What did you think of her?”

A smirk tugged at my lips despite the dizziness already crawling in. “Wednesday? She’s hot. No question. But she’s also toxic as hell. The type of girl who’d burn your world down just to prove she could. Attractive? Absolutely. Healthy? Not in the slightest.”

His grin stretched too wide, teeth catching the light unnaturally. He set his glass aside with a sharp clink. “Interesting… very interesting.”

The room tilted slightly. “Probably… the alcohol,” I muttered, pressing a hand to my head.

He grimaced like a bad actor in a soap opera and pulled out his phone. “Take this away,” he ordered coldly, nudging my glass. “It only poisons decent people.”

Staff came in, removing the bottle, leaving behind a faint sting of alcohol in the air.

“Sorry,” he said, pretending regret. “I only wanted to seem friendly.”

I leaned back, arms crossed. “Yeah, because nothing screams ‘trust me’ like giving strangers mystery drinks.”

He chuckled, as if my sarcasm amused him. “You’re cautious. I like that.”

“Cautious? Try ‘survivor of dumb choices,’” I muttered under my breath, forcing a smile.

We talked more—about the series, about art, even about bad writing choices. For a moment, I thought maybe this was just an eccentric weirdo with expensive taste in liquor.

Then his smile shifted. “I want you to work with me. I’ll pay a million dollars. What do you say?”

My brain short-circuited for a second. “A million? For me?” I laughed nervously, shaking my head. “Who even hesitates at that? Of course I say yes.”

“Excellent.” His hand slipped under the desk. I expected papers, maybe a fancy pen.

Instead, he drew a gun.

The shot cracked through the room like thunder. Pain bloomed hot and fast—I collapsed, the world fading too quickly to scream.

“You start today,” he hissed, his form dissolving into black smoke. All that remained was a white, inhuman grin glowing beneath the hood.

And then—nothing.

I opened my eyes into nothingness—an endless black void.

“I… got shot? Did I die?” A million thoughts swirled through my head, colliding so fast I could barely breathe.

Then I saw it. A wolf. It stepped out of the darkness, its eyes locking with mine. And in that instant—I saw everything. Its whole life flashed before me. Trapped since it was a pup, forced to fight, its body a map of scars and pain. But then—freedom. Somehow, it had escaped, survived, endured.

And in return, it saw me. My own story. The toxic home I grew up in, the cruelty, the suffocating walls… and then my escape, clawing my way out through college, finally tasting freedom too.

Our eyes met again. No words were needed. We understood each other—reflections of the same suffering, the same defiance. Two sides of the same coin, just in different bodies.

Then it happened. Something extraordinary. I felt it deep in my soul as our essences intertwined, fusing into a single being. The fragile thread between us hardened, reshaping into an unbreakable chain.

Light exploded inside me. I gasped as my body shifted, transforming into exactly what I had drawn before. My mismatched eyes blazed—one gold, one silver. The wolf’s scars etched themselves into me, becoming white streaks in my fur.

We were no longer separate.
We were one.

Chapter Text

Olivia's POV

I woke up sprawled in the middle of a dense forest, my skull pounding like someone had decided to play drums on my brain.

“Ughhh… great, I always wanted to wake up in a discount version of Blair Witch,” I muttered, forcing myself onto my knees. Every movement made my head throb harder, like a hangover mixed with a concussion.

Tall trees loomed above me, their branches clawing at the fog. The silence was so thick it felt like it was pressing against my ears. No birds. No wind. Just… me. And my headache. Lucky me.

Then, out of nowhere, a piece of paper drifted down right in front of my face. No breeze. No explanation. Just—poof, paper.

“…Seriously? Are we doing the horror cliché thing now?” I grumbled, but picked it up anyway.

On the paper, neat letters stared back at me:

*"According to our agreement, you start working today.

Remember the character you created? I decided it would be perfect for this story. I added a little of my own touch…

On your right wrist is a bracelet. It’s bound to your blood—no one else can access it. It serves a bit like a backpack. Just like in games! Hahaha

I figured you’d be special. I couldn’t decide whether to go in the direction of a game or make things difficult for you, but you impressed me. Especially when you knew you had to escape. You were hard to stop… I’m impressed.

So every day you’ll complete missions. The bracelet will be your hub—you’ll find everything you need there.

Have Fun!!
Mike :p"*

I stared at the letter, blinking slowly, then let out the most tired laugh of my life. “What a bastard…”

I looked at my wrist. Sure enough, a black bracelet clung to my skin like it had always been there. As if reading my annoyance, it pulsed faintly, and suddenly a holographic screen popped up in front of me with three neat little buttons: Missions. Inventory. Shop.

“…Great. I’m officially trapped in some psycho’s RPG. What’s next, loot boxes?”

I jabbed Missions. The screen flickered, then text appeared:

*"Welcome, player!

Your mission: Escape the forest using your powers.
Recommendation: Find a city :)
Reward: Shop points and unlock the shop
Penalty: Headache increases every hour"*

“Oh, perfect! So either I play along or my brain explodes from migraines. Thanks, Mike, you absolute clown.”

I rubbed my temples, already feeling the headache intensify. “Yep, definitely exploding already…”

Switching tabs, I opened Inventory. Inside was: a million dollars (useful if a squirrel wants to sell me acorns), my ID, a phone, and a locked letter.

“Wow. A million bucks and no Wi-Fi. Truly living the dream.” I sighed, closing the hologram.

Anger bubbled in my chest—if Mike had been anywhere near me, I’d have strangled him with his own smug little “:p.” But rage wouldn’t get me out of here.

I exhaled sharply, staring into the misty forest. “Alright… focus. Survive first, kill Mike later. Priorities.”

My head throbbed again, reminding me the penalty was real.

“Fine, fine. Mission accepted. Let’s see what these so-called powers can do…”

I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stand despite the pounding pain. If this was a game, I’d play it—
But on my terms.

Wednesday’s POV

It wasn’t just irritation that burned in me—it was fury so cold it almost felt calm. My expression, as always, betrayed nothing. But behind my eyes, a quiet storm brewed.

Someone—he—had dared to pull me back in time. To strip me of my progress, my triumphs, my carefully crafted ending. I had graduated Nevermore. I had written my novel. I had carved my own place in the world with blood, wit, and merciless resolve.

And yet here I was. Reset. Rewritten. A puppet on someone else’s stage.

Worse still, this so-called Author had branded me a “side character.” The words themselves were an insult of the highest order. I was not background. I was not disposable. I was not meant to fill space so another could bask in the spotlight.

My jaw tightened, and I sat at my desk, pen scratching furiously across a page. The candlelight threw long shadows on the wall, flickering like mocking laughter.

I pinned a fresh sheet to the board in front of me. At the top, in dark, deliberate ink: AUTHOR.
Beneath it, only two words: Who is he?

I stared at the question as if I could pierce the answer straight from the paper. He had power, yes—but power always left traces. He meddled with time, fate, identity… but no one interferes without motive. My task was simple: find the cracks, trace the hand behind the curtain, and tear him apart thread by thread.

The thought of reliving Nevermore’s halls again filled me with a peculiar bitterness. Déjà vu, but tainted. I already knew the players, the secrets, the monsters. I already solved the mysteries. What was the point of repeating a play when you already knew the ending?

Unless, of course, the point was to change it.

A grim smile touched my lips, fleeting and sharp. If the Author believed he could trap me in his narrative, then I would use his own script against him. Every repeated moment was a weapon. Every predictable turn, an opportunity.

My fingers hovered above the typewriter keys before I began to record everything I remembered. Not for nostalgia. For strategy. Knowledge was ammunition, and I intended to stockpile it.

The room was silent, save for the steady tap of my typing and the low hiss of the candle flame. Inside me, anger sharpened into resolve.

“I am not your character,” I murmured into the emptiness. “I am your executioner.”

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV 

The world through a wolf’s eyes was gray, harsh, and smelled like someone had dumped a spice rack, a wet dog, and a hint of apocalypse into a blender. Wolves don’t see all the colors humans do, but their noses make up for it—and trust me, mine was doing all the sniffing. Instinct took over immediately. Follow the trail. Survive. Keep your headache from turning into a migraine from hell.

Yeah. Headache. Because apparently I didn’t have enough to deal with. Whoever decided I should wake up in a forest that looked like a horror game set for wolves? Thanks a lot, Mike.

The forest pulsed with life and menace. Rodents rustled in the underbrush. Twigs snapped under invisible feet. A faint metallic tang tickled my nose—landmines. Tripwires hummed softly beneath the leaves. Every sense screamed danger.

And then—snap!
My paw landed inches from a rusted jaw trap half-buried in moss. The metal clicked open with a hollow clang. Panic hit me like a bolt of lightning. Headache pounding, ears ringing, adrenaline spiking—I froze. My heart thundered in my chest. I wanted to bolt, to hurl myself blindly through the forest.

Slowly, I forced myself to breathe. Slow. Deep. Focus. Think like a wolf. Move like a wolf. Trust your instincts.

I shifted my weight, testing the ground with careful nudges of my paw. Chains around my limbs traced the terrain like extra senses. Step by step, I scanned the leaves, sniffed the soil, listened for the faintest hum of metal. Tripwire. Landmine. Snare. Jaw trap. The forest was a minefield. One misstep, and it would end badly.

I sprang sideways, narrowly avoiding a second jaw trap. A tripwire snapped under a low branch; I ducked and rolled, claws scraping the dirt. The metallic scent hit me again. Landmines, cleverly hidden under moss and leaves. I circled, pawed lightly to test each step. My pulse was deafening. My chest heaved. Panic threatened to paralyze me.

Then instinct sharpened me. Ghost in the forest. Step, pause, probe with chains; pivot, spring, roll under tripwires. Each trap dodged added confidence. Headache hammered, but adrenaline focused my every muscle.

A bear trap clamped shut behind me with a scream of metal. I didn’t flinch. Another mine detonated in the distance—concussion rattling the earth beneath my paws. Branches snapped. Leaves flew. I tracked vibrations, smells, subtle shifts in the air. Every move was instinct, reaction honed by sheer necessity.

Hours—or minutes? Time blurred. Every pawfall measured. I twisted, ducked, leapt, rolled. Mines, snares, spikes, tripwires—all narrowly avoided. Every heartbeat was survival. Every breath a small victory.

By the time the forest thinned, the road shimmered through the fog like a promise. My fur matted with dirt and leaves, muscles trembling, I paused. I’d survived. Headache still roared, but instinct, adrenaline, and focus had carried me through alive.

I glanced back. The traps waited, teeth half-buried in the soil. Whoever Mike was, he wanted to see me break. But I hadn’t. Not yet.

Shifting back into human form, exhausted but alive, the chains slackened around my limbs, humming faintly in response to my focus. Civilization lay ahead. The forest had tested me. I had passed.

No bustling pedestrians, no comforting city sounds—just asphalt, road signs, and the distant hum of cars. Perfect. Exactly the “civilization” I needed after nearly dying among poison ivy, spikes, and landmines.

I slowed to a trot, ears flicking back at passing cars. My head throbbed like a tiny, angry drummer refusing to quit. Great. Fantastic teamwork, brain.

Chains shifted around my neck, forming collars that somehow made me faster. I slunk into bushes, shifted into human form, and checked my inventory. Phone locked. Birthdate guess failed. Side mission popped up:

Side mission: Guess the phone code ;p
Reward: Unlocked phone
Penalty: Hand pain for a week
Time: 24 hours

Really? After surviving a forest that smelled like death, damp leaves, and metal, I had to play digital lock-picking? Sure. Why not.

A car slowed. An older man leaned out. “Hello! What are you doing here alone?”
“I’m hitchhiking. Nearest town?” I replied, glaring like my headache hadn’t already tried to kill me.
“Black Hollow’s closest, small clinic there too,” he said.

I climbed in, muttering something about my life choices.

When we passed the “Black Hollow” sign, my headache finally eased slightly. I breathed a tiny sigh of relief. Thank you, random older guy with a car. Bless your soul.

Mission: Escape the forest – COMPLETED Reward: 5 shop points, shop unlocked

New mission: Read the letter and get accustomed to your new location! Reward: None

Penalty: None

I opened the letter in my inventory:

"Welcome back! ;p

You did it! Congrats! The phone code will be whatever you want. You have money, I booked you a hotel room, and you have a week until school. Time to study, my teen! Hahaha

You’ll also have daily exercise missions. The main character should be strong, not as weak as you!

Good luck! Mike :p"

Keys to the hotel appeared in my inventory, with the floor information.

I opened the hotel door. A rat scurried under the wardrobe. The hotel looked like a ruin, but I was too tired—I collapsed to sleep.

The next day, the rat woke me, apparently checking if I was alive and edible. I snarled at it, showing my teeth. It immediately ran back under the dresser.

I got up slowly, but the first thing I felt was pain in my hand—quite strong, right in my right hand. I looked at the bracelet—the missions were glowing yellow again. The first thing displayed was:

Side mission: Unlock the phone Incomplete

Penalty: Hand pain for a week

Seriously, sleeping that long… no wonder even the rat thought You were dead. Good luck with your new missions…

Then another mission appeared:

Daily mission: Training

Run 10 km. Do 500 push-ups. 500 squats. Time: Until the end of the day

Reward: Each exercise builds your physique
Penalty: Death

As I said—you have a weak body, and I don’t want to interfere with the story if you die at the first opponent :p

Better hurry…

I checked my phone—20:07. Great. I had slept longer than I thought. Almost missed an entire day. And what does it even mean that failing a mission could kill me?! Seriously? Was this Mike guy secretly auditioning me for Gladiator: Teen Edition?

No time to dwell on existential dread. I bolted outside, my legs screaming in protest, my lungs burning like I’d been smuggling firecrackers in them. Every step felt like I was auditioning for some sadistic Olympic trial. The world blurred past me, streetlights smearing into streaks like bad watercolor.

“Only two hours left before my time runs out and I die…” I muttered between ragged breaths, mostly just to feel dramatic.

By the time I reached the nearby park, my chest felt like someone had lit a bonfire inside it. I collapsed onto the ground and started push-ups. Arms shaking so badly I looked like a newborn deer trying yoga for the first time. The pain in my hand was relentless, stabbing with every push as if to remind me: Yes, Olivia, you are definitely being punished for something you didn’t even do yet.

An hour passed—or maybe three; who keeps track when your brain is practically liquefied? Spots danced before my eyes, birds chirped like mocking hecklers, and every muscle screamed for mercy. I pressed on anyway, muttering encouragements like a lunatic coach: C’mon, Olivia, you wanted to be strong… didn’t you?

Finally, only minutes left. I staggered upright. Ten squats. Ten. Simple, right? Yeah, in a perfect world. My legs betrayed me immediately. “Ten… nine… eight…” I counted, each number feeling like a personal attack. “…seven… six… five…” My knees buckled halfway through five. My body refused to obey. My vision wavered, the sky spinning like a badly-rendered video game.

With monumental effort—or maybe sheer panic—I completed the final squat. My legs gave out completely. Face-first into the grass, arms sprawled like spaghetti, I felt the bracelet pulse violently against my wrist. A fraction of relief hit me… and then everything went black.

Somewhere deep in my mind, a tiny voice whispered: Congratulations, Olivia. You’ve officially earned every single sarcastic complaint you’ve ever made about exercise.

I woke up in the hospital in the morning, my head still throbbing like a drumline on caffeine. A nurse approached, clipboard in hand, radiating calm efficiency.

“Good morning. You were brought to the hospital,” she said. “You lost consciousness, probably from exhaustion. We administered fluids, but we need to know your identity.”

“Sure… my name is Ol…” I started, then remembered my ID. “Wait, I have my ID here; it’ll be faster…”

I handed her the card like it was a magic ticket to not dying in public.

“Luna, correct?” she asked, raising an eyebrow slightly.

“Yeees…” I muttered, blinking at her. Apparently, my name in this reality matched the character I had created. Because of course it did.

“I’ll check if you’re insured. But please stay in the hospital for the entire day,” she announced, walking away with all the authority of someone who clearly had never tried running ten kilometers and doing 500 push-ups right before breakfast.

I glanced at the bracelet. Daily mission: completed. Reward: Body enhancements. Wow. Well done, me, I thought, giving myself a mental high five. Another mission glared at me from the screen: more push-ups and squats. Same distance. Same penalties. Fantastic. Because nothing says “recovery” like voluntary torture.

The nurse returned, clipboard still clutched like a shield.

“Everything’s in order, you’re insured. Today we’ll only provide some fluids, please do not do any strenuous exercises,” she said, giving me a polite smile and walking off again.

I leaned back against the pillow with a long, exaggerated sigh. “If only I could…” I whispered softly to the ceiling. Yeah, because apparently my “rest day” was going to consist entirely of staring at my ceiling, fantasizing about murder and push-ups

Chapter Text

Wednesday's POV

The morning unfolded in its usual rhythm—or at least as usual as it could. I cradled a cup of coffee in my hands, letting the dark, bitter liquid warm me. A small comfort in an otherwise irritating day.

Morticia glided into the kitchen, serene and composed, completely unaware of the storm brewing in my mind.

“Wednesday, today we’re going into town to shop,” she said smoothly, as if nothing could ever disturb her perfect morning.

“Shopping?” I raised an eyebrow. “Do we really need to inflict suffering on the store mannequins and their soulless shelves?” My thoughts churned. Some days felt like a loop of tedium and predictability, and today was trying its best to prove it.

“It’s for your education, my dear. The new year at Nevermore demands new… accessories.”

“Accessories,” I echoed, letting the word taste bitter on my tongue. “Black silk shirts, gothic robes, perhaps a hat designed to terrify the neighbors—or a notebook to document the banality of it all.”

“All of that and more,” she said smoothly, “but above all, you’ll need school supplies—pens, notebooks, tools… and something worthy of carrying your exceptional power.”

I tilted my head, curiosity flickering despite my irritation. “Something for my power? Fascinating. Let’s hope it isn’t packaged in a cheerful rainbow set labeled ‘Beginner’s Power Kit.’”

Morticia’s eyes glimmered. “Don’t worry, darling. We’ll find something as rare as the genius you’ve inherited.”

Her gaze drifted to the cup in my hands. “And this? It looks… new.”

“Coffee,” I said flatly, “I thought I’d better wake up before the day forces me to endure any further trivialities.”

“Curious that you’ve taken to it so young,” she mused. “Your mother always preferred something more… dramatic.”

I smirked faintly. “Coffee can be dramatic too—if made properly.” My mind, however, wandered over the absurdity of the day, counting the minor annoyances like a chess player plotting every move in advance.

She smiled, faintly amused. “My little black pearl… we leave at nine. Make a list. And remember—shopping can be deadly exciting.”

“Deadly,” I echoed, savoring the word. Perfect. Nothing like retail-induced danger to brighten a day already promising enough irritation.

I took another slow sip, ignoring lists entirely. I didn’t need them. Every step into the day itself promised amusement—and sufficient opportunities to practice patience, endurance, and occasional mischief.

Olivia’s POV

Walking through the short, antiseptic corridors of the small hospital, I felt every step weigh on me—partly from exhaustion, partly from the lingering ache in my hand, courtesy of yesterday’s “friendly” mission. Finally, I pushed open the door and stepped outside.

A nurse was leaning casually against the wall, cigarette in hand, blowing smoke lazily toward the morning sky. Her eyes flicked toward me, sharp and knowing.

“Luna, why aren’t you resting in bed?” she asked, a hint of exasperation in her tone.

I lowered my head, trying to look like a fragile patient rather than a borderline death-defying wolf-human hybrid. “I needed fresh air… it helps me relax,” I murmured, voice soft, almost childlike. Inside, though, my brain screamed, Relax? Ha. Only way I’ll relax is when I survive this week.

“All right, but then back to bed,” she said, flicking the cigarette onto the pavement with an effortless toss.

I exhaled sharply, letting a hint of humor escape. “Yes, nurse… I’ll be back in bed… once I manage not to spontaneously combust during my training,” I muttered under my breath, eyes scanning the empty courtyard for a good spot.

Looking for a decent spot to train, I headed straight to the park and started on push-ups and squats. People were staring at me like I was some kind of street performance gone wrong—probably because it was barely past 8 a.m. and here I was, sweating like an Olympic reject.

After a while, I switched to running. “Might as well explore the city while I die slowly,” I muttered, jogging through the quiet streets. The town was small, but at least it gave me enough to look at.

Mid-run, my eyes caught a shop window. My brain immediately screamed: omg. I glanced down at my clothes—dirty, torn, and honestly insulting. Luckily, I had a million gold burning a hole in my pocket. I darted inside and came out with black cargo pants, brown Nike-style sneakers, and a black hoodie. Finally—I looked like myself again. Oh, and I couldn’t resist grabbing a wolf necklace. Because subtlety is overrated.

I slipped into my new outfit, pulled the hood over my head, and took off running again, grinning like an idiot. My watch read 9 a.m. Five kilometers to go. Fueled by my stupidly good mood, I started daydreaming about what else I could buy, which is probably why I didn’t notice until—bam—I crashed straight into someone.

“Oh fuck—sorry! My bad!” I yelped, stumbling back. My eyes landed on the girl I’d hit. Not so “poor victim” after all. She was stunning. Black hair, black eyes, twin braids. My mouth moved before my brain caught up: “Wednesday…”

Her head snapped toward me, those deep, black eyes narrowing like blades. Her expression didn’t change, but the air around her suddenly felt heavier.

“You know my name?” she asked, voice calm but cutting.

I raised my hands slightly, trying to play it off. “I—uh—heard someone mention it earlier. Or maybe I just guessed? You’ve got that… Wednesday energy.”

Her brow arched. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is now,” I said with a weak grin.

She didn’t laugh. Didn’t even blink. Just stared. And for a moment, I swore the temperature dropped a few degrees.

Then her eyes flicked upward—straight into mine. She froze mid-breath.

“…Your eyes,” she said quietly.

I blinked. “What about them?”

“One silver. One gold.”

“Oh. Yeah.” I shrugged, forcing a smile. “Got them on sale. Two for one deal.”

That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth—like she was deciding whether to smirk or strangle me.

“Unusual,” she murmured. “Not human-usual.”

“Depends who you ask,” I said, meeting her gaze. “You look like someone who’s asked weirder questions.”

Her expression didn’t shift, but something changed in her eyes—curiosity, maybe. Or recognition.

“You’re… different,” she said finally.

“Different good or different ‘I should call exorcists’?”

“I don’t believe in good,” she replied. “And exorcists bore me.”

I couldn’t help but snort. “You sound like a fun dinner guest.”

“Only when there’s poison involved,” she said, deadpan.

Okay, fair. She had me there.

We stood in silence for a moment—two strangers in a too-quiet street, the wind tugging at her braids. Then, softly, like she wasn’t even speaking to me, she said:

“It’s you.”

My smile faltered. “...What?”

Her gaze sharpened. “Never mind.”

“No, hold on, what’s that supposed to mean?”

She turned slightly, already walking away. “You’ll find out.”

“That’s cryptic as hell,” I called after her.

Without turning, she said in that same calm, dark tone,
“Then you’re exactly where you should be.”

I stared after her, my heart hammering way too fast for a random street encounter.

Wednesday's POV

I stared at my board, inked notes sprawling across it like a crime scene of thoughts and theories. Thing trotted over, blinking insistently, nagging me with his frantic tapping: twenty minutes until departure. I ignored him. Entirely. He could blink himself into exhaustion for all I cared.

Then it came—the vision. The sterile walls of my room dissolved into shadow. Mist coiled thick around a dark forest, chains clattering in the distance. A wolf burst into the clearing, small, alive with defiance, its eyes burning—one gold, one silver. The sight constricted my chest with an unfamiliar tightness.

The wolf tore past me, chains rattling, and I felt its presence pressing into my mind, raw and unrelenting. My pulse spiked, sharp and unwelcome.

And then—

“What do you want me to do…?”

The voice. Low. Intimate. Threading into me like a whisper of fire against cold skin. I froze. My breath caught. A betrayal of heat rose to my ears, foreign and infuriating. I didn’t turn. I didn’t dare.

The Hydes came, shrieking into the clearing, teeth bared. Reflex took over. “Kill,” I hissed, a blade of command in the chaos. But even as they fell, even as the vision shattered into a blur of red and rattling chains, the echo of that voice clung stubbornly, unwanted.

I clenched my fists. Focus. Ignore distractions. Yet an irrational part of me wanted to hear it again. Dangerous. Maddening. Unacceptable.

And then reality returned.

The Addams car rattled into Black Hollow like a coffin on wheels. Morticia floated out first, Gomez at her side like a shadow tethered to flame. Pugsley clattered away with Thing, plotting his usual borderline crimes.

I walked slower, deliberate, my mind gnawed by the vision. The wolf’s mismatched eyes wouldn’t leave me. They lingered even as I wandered the market, each stall just another backdrop to the puzzle gnawing at me.

Then—impact.

Someone slammed into me hard enough to jolt me back to the present. Instinct surged—I snapped my eyes toward the offender, ready to slice them apart with nothing but a glare.

It wasn’t a stranger. It was her.

A girl, breathless from running, flushed cheeks, messy hoodie and cargo pants. And those eyes—gold and silver. My heart stuttered, traitorous, too quick. Recognition struck like lightning.

She muttered something hurried—“Oh fuck… sorry… my bad”—and then her gaze lifted to mine. My name slipped past her lips, soft, startled:

“Wednesday…”

My blood turned to ice. The voice. Hers. The same one from the forest. The whisper that had burned against my skin.

I should have spoken, demanded answers, dissected her on the spot. But my thoughts twisted, tangled between suspicion and something else I refused to name. My mind cataloged her clothes, her posture, the way she looked at me like she already knew me. Like she’d seen me before.

How?

Instead of retreating, I found myself rooted. Watching her. Measuring her. My body tensed, ready, but my thoughts… chaotic.

Her mismatched eyes locked with mine. For a fleeting, infuriating instant, I wondered what it would be like if that wolf in my vision wasn’t just some cryptic warning. What if it was her?

The girl’s crooked smile flickered, nervous and sarcastic all at once. A mask, perhaps. Or deflection. My mind, trained to dissect, wanted to rip it away.

It’s her.

I knew it before I understood it. She was the key. To the vision. To the wolf. To the voice that refused to leave me alone.

And worse… to the way my pulse betrayed me when she spoke my name.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

( https://open.spotify.com/track/0boS4e6uXwp3zAvz1mLxZS?si=82a3a975e92e4ab0 )

Oliwia POV

“Shit, shit, shit…” My fingers fumbled at my phone, pretending to check the mission timer, though my brain was too fried to even read the numbers.
Wednesday was right there, staring holes straight through me. My mouth went dry.

She wasn’t just looking at me. She was dissecting me. Every inch of her expressionless face felt like a scalpel cutting through my skin.
And the worst part? I knew her. Not personally—but from the show. Wednesday Addams. Dark eyes, razor-sharp wit, zero tolerance for weakness. In this world, though, she wasn’t a character. She was real. Unpredictable. Dangerous. And I could feel it—she wanted something from me. Answers. Information. Maybe even the truth about who I was.

The air felt colder. My stomach knotted so tight it was hard to breathe. All my instincts screamed: Get out. Now.

“I—uh… I need to keep running. Mission thing. Sorry!” The words tumbled out too fast, shaky, my voice cracking. Before she could blink, I bolted.

Her footsteps followed. Sharp. Unrelenting.

My heart plummeted. Wait—what?! She’s chasing me? Oh hell no, that wasn’t part of the plan!

I darted left, squeezing between a parked car and a lamppost. For half a second I thought I’d bought myself some distance—until I heard her boots smack against the pavement, closing in. My nerves spiked.
She wasn’t just chasing me. She was hunting me. My brain replayed her in the series—the way she got confessions, how she cornered suspects, how relentless she was. This wasn’t an accident. She wanted something, and I wasn’t going to let her take it.

“Why?! Why are you so fast?!” I muttered between ragged breaths, my lungs already clawing for oxygen.

Two guys carried a heavy mirror out of a store. Perfect. I skidded, then leapt over it like an Olympic athlete who had no business being at the Olympics. Arms flailing, I nearly face-planted on the other side.
“Sorry! Promise I’m not shoplifting your Home Depot starter pack!” I shouted, half-panicked, half-sarcastic, before sprinting again.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her. Wednesday hadn’t even slowed down—just slipped past like a shadow, her dark eyes locked on me with unnerving precision. A shiver ran down my spine.

Okay, brain, time to pull your weight. Think. Obstacles. Distractions. Anything to keep her busy.

I veered sharply into an alley, shoving a trash can into her path. The crash echoed like thunder. I grinned for exactly 0.5 seconds—until she vaulted it, clean and precise, as if she’d been expecting it.
“You’ve got to be kidding me…” I groaned.

Sweat poured down my back, my legs ached, but my head kept firing off images—routes, hiding spots, possible tricks—like some survival slideshow on steroids. Left, park entrance—no, too open. Right, traffic’s too heavy. Straight ahead—forest. Trees. Cover. That’s it.

I burst past the last row of houses, the scent of pine slapping me in the face. The forest swallowed me whole, shadows closing in. My chest burned, every breath tearing through me, but I pushed harder.

Now. One second. That’s all I need.

Golden light erupted around me, swirling like molten fire. My body melted away into fur and muscle, chains rattling as they floated in my aura. Paws slammed against the dirt, my vision sharpened into crystal clarity. The air smelled electric, alive.

I didn’t look back. I didn’t have to. I could feel her.

Her voice sliced through the trees, calm but edged with something dangerous:
“Running won’t save you.”

A growl rumbled in my chest as I surged forward. For the first time, the fear twisted into something else—exhilaration. The advantage was finally mine.

Wednesday POV

Her words were rushed, stumbling out of her mouth like poorly rehearsed lines in a play.

“I—uh… I need to keep running. Mission thing. Sorry!”

Mission thing. The phrase snagged in my mind immediately. My pulse quickened—not with fear, but with recognition. That tone. That nervousness. She wasn’t lying to save herself; she was deflecting. Hiding something.

I didn’t think. My body moved before logic had the chance to intervene. My boots struck the pavement, pursuing her with deliberate precision.

She zigzagged, desperate, ducking behind cars, shoving obstacles into my path like a cornered animal. Each movement screamed survival instinct. But to me? It was a puzzle. A test of endurance. A desperate game she had no chance of winning.

A trash can clattered into my path. I vaulted it without hesitation, eyes never leaving her. Her sarcasm reached me through the chaos: “Sorry! Promise I’m not shoplifting your Home Depot starter pack!”

I almost smiled. Almost. Even mid-panic, she relied on humor like a shield.

But what caught me wasn’t her clumsy wit. It was her eyes. Every time she glanced back, the mismatched gleam of gold and silver cut into me like the vision replaying itself in real time. Each step forward was another confirmation: she wasn’t just a stranger. She was the wolf.

She sprinted into the forest, her desperation sharpening into focus. And then—light. Gold, violent and alive, tore around her like the sun condensed into flesh. I stopped, boots digging into the soil, my breath catching against my will.

Chains. Eyes. Fur. The wolf.

The same one that haunted my vision.

Her body moved with purpose now, no longer clumsy, no longer human. She vanished into the trees like she belonged to them.

I whispered, almost against my will:
“So it’s you.”

My chest tightened, unfamiliar, unwelcome. Not fear. Not anger. Something heavier. She wasn’t prey. She wasn’t quarry.

She was the answer.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV 

I carefully made my way back to the hospital, scanning the corridors for the black-haired girl. My head still throbbed from yesterday’s chaos, and every step made me wince. Suddenly, a sharp, commanding voice cut through the sterile air:

“MISS LUNA!”

I jumped so hard I nearly collided with the wall, letting out a tiny, undignified squeak. My heart raced as I spun around, expecting… well, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was expecting, but definitely not someone ready to lecture me.

“What are you doing out here?! And why the hell did you skip your IV fluids?!”

I opened my mouth, tried to summon a clever excuse, but all that came out was:

“I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Sorry doesn’t fix anything. Do you think I enjoy chasing after kids who can’t follow simple orders?” — she snapped, already striding toward my room with the confidence of a general leading a doomed army.

I swallowed and muttered, almost to myself, “Actually… I’d like to check out. I feel fine now.”

She stopped mid-step, turning her gaze on me like I’d just suggested replacing her coffee with decaf.

“Fine? You fainted like a sack of potatoes. That’s not ‘fine.’”

I tried again, my voice almost pleading: “I understand, but I still want to check out. Thank you for your help.”

Her lips twitched in what I could have sworn was the faintest hint of… amusement? “Teenagers. Always think they know better. Whatever. Just don’t collapse outside— I’m not filling out the paperwork.”

And just like that, she was gone, leaving me blinking into the empty corridor.

“So… does that mean I can check out?” I asked weakly, my voice echoing off the walls. Silence. She was already gone. Figures.

I sighed, heavily, letting my shoulders slump. “Yep, freedom… sort of.” I shuffled toward the exit, careful not to trip over anything—or anyone.

Back in my room, the familiar sight of my rat offered a small, ridiculous comfort. It leapt off the bed, scurrying under the wardrobe as if it had places to be and grudges to hold. I didn’t even have the energy to scold it. I plopped down on the bed, my mind a mess of instructions, warnings, and flashing golden energy from my bracelet.

“Step by step, Olivia. Don’t explode your brain before breakfast,” I muttered, eyes flicking to the bracelet. The mission was complete—finally—and a new item had appeared in my inventory: a letter.

I tore it open, bracing myself for whatever chaotic nonsense Mike had cooked up this time.

**“HAHAH! Wonderful! Beautiful! The plot hasn’t even started yet, and you’re already meeting the second protagonist, and in style! You’re the best decision! A girl full of surprises ;p

This will be my last letter to you, golden heroine. After all, every game has its tutorial. I think you’ve explored your new world enough. Oh, and by the way! I was thinking about what you said, that the plot is simple… I thought nobody would guess the real villain. Although you didn’t guess the first villain: Tyler the Hyde, hahah. Anyway, you know the beginning. I’ve added a thing or two. Good luck!”**

I blinked at the screen, then leaned back dramatically. “Great… fantastic… just what I needed… more cryptic instructions from a maniacal puppet master.” My head throbbed in rhythm with my eye twitch.

I flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling like a heroic teenager in a survival video game, exhausted and slightly offended by the universe.

“A girl full of surprises… yeah, Mike, wait until I surprise you by not dying today.”

I rubbed my temples, and then, because misery loves company, my rat popped its head out from under the wardrobe, twitching its whiskers like it was silently judging me. I grumbled, “Yes, yes, I survived yesterday. Thanks for the vote of confidence, you tiny furball.”

A weak, crooked smile tugged at my lips. Somehow, despite everything, I felt ready. Or as ready as someone could feel when literally everything around you screamed “you might die today”.

The next few days were spent shopping and preparing for school. I found a bus that would take me there, which was convenient because my legs were still sore from yesterday’s “fun” side mission. My arm ached from the last exercise session, but nothing a little ice and my stubborn determination couldn’t fix. Eventually, I cracked the code on my phone and gained access to media and current updates—finally, some semblance of normal life in this absurd world.

Of course, my training continued relentlessly. More exercises, more reps, more running, and my body started responding. I grew slightly taller, my stomach muscles tightened into the beginnings of a six-pack, and even my posture looked more confident—though I couldn’t help smirking whenever I caught a glimpse of my reflection.

Shopping became a kind of therapy. I wandered through the stores, my eyes immediately gravitating toward black. Black cargo pants for practicality, sturdy and loose enough for running, climbing, or disappearing into shadows. Black hoodies, jackets, shirts—layers of darkness that somehow made me feel like myself. I even found a few leather boots that fit perfectly, dark as midnight and as comfortable as a dream.

Then, in one of the music shops, I spotted it: a sleek black electric guitar. My fingers itched as I ran my hands over it, testing the strings. I didn’t need a reason; it just felt right. I had to have it. A perfect weapon of chaos for someone like me.

My eyes—one gold, one silver—shimmered with intensity, like molten metal caught in motion. My teeth flashed white, and the subtle hint of elongated canines gave me a predatory edge without stealing the elegance of my smile. My face was sharp but harmonious, every angle balanced, as if sculpted by someone obsessively meticulous.

The chain tattoo on my left arm slithered from shoulder to wrist, catching the light with a subtle shimmer. It looked alive, like it could coil and move if it wanted to. Combined with the toned lines of my body and the way my posture naturally carried confidence, I looked less like a girl checking herself in the mirror and more like a model caught mid-shoot—untouchable, deliberate, almost unreal.

For a second, I smirked at my own reflection. Dangerous. Beautiful. Something in between.

I flexed slightly, watching my muscles shift, the six-pack starting to define itself, and couldn’t help a small, almost mischievous smile. I looked like I could take on a dozen enemies—or a world full of impossible missions.

“Not bad,” I whispered to myself, running a finger along the chain tattoo. “Not bad at all.”

Everything was coming together: my body, my wardrobe, my weapon, my presence. Even if the missions tried to kill me, at least I’d look damn good while surviving.

Finally, the day of my wonderful school arrived. I slipped into my black hoodie, hood pulled up just enough to cast a shadow over my face, adding that perfect touch of mysterious “I don’t care” energy. I grabbed a backpack just for show—mostly because people expect someone going to school to carry one. I didn’t actually need it. Every weapon, tool, and probably half my future survival kit was already stashed safely in my bracelet. The backpack was purely for appearances… and maybe for dramatic effect when someone asked me what I had inside.

A new mission pinged in the morning: “Develop your chains.” Classic Mike, always explaining just enough to make you question your sanity. At least this one wasn’t immediately life-threatening… unless I failed spectacularly, which was always a possibility.

The bus stopped, hissing and groaning like it had a personality disorder. I stepped off and walked toward Nevermore Academy, adjusting my backpack slightly even though it weighed nothing. Students milled about, chattering as if the world wasn’t on the verge of chaos—or as if I wasn’t about to be.

A young boy on the courtyard glanced at me, curiosity painted across his face. I realized how much I stood out: no family, no friends waving, just… me. Perfect for mysterious new student vibes.

“Um, hey. What’s your name?” he started.

“Luna. Luna Fatterson. And you?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral but polite.

“Mike Ashford,” he smiled. “But you can call me Mike… From what I remember, I was asked to find you. Come on, I’ll take you to your room.”

Wait… who was looking for me, and how did they even know I existed? My brain started firing questions like a machine gun, but he interrupted before I could start spiraling.

“The headmistress. She said there’d be one student without a family who isn’t sure where to go.”

“Oh. Interesting… I guess it wasn’t hard to find me,” I said, falling into step behind him.

“Not really,” he said casually, like tracking down a student was a fun weekend hobby. “But… damn, life hasn’t been kind. Alone, no family. Sad. You know, if you want, you can always come to me. I’ll help, and we can talk if you want.”

“No, thank you,” I replied, forcing a polite smile. I mean, adorable and well-meaning, but also slightly overwhelming. He returned the smile without comment, and we went up the stairs.

“Alright, here you go. One of the most lavish rooms in the academy. Make yourself at home. I have to run,” Mike said, already halfway down the hall, leaving me standing in front of… the door to my dorm.

I opened it and froze for half a second. The room looked familiar—Wednesday and Enid’s room. My stomach did a little tumble.

Damn… does that mean I’m rooming with Wednesday or Enid? I muttered under my breath, pacing slightly. Hopefully, Sinclair isn’t here yet… she should be my roommate. Fingers crossed.

I dropped my backpack dramatically on the bed—even though it had nothing inside—and flopped onto it. The black hoodie followed, sliding off my shoulders as the heat finally got to me, leaving me in just a simple top underneath. Staring at the walls, I thought about how perfectly absurd this situation was. Here I was: new student, supposedly “special,” about to room with… potentially a chaotic witch or a colorful rainbow explosion.

“Welcome to my new life, Olivia,” I muttered sarcastically. “Good luck surviving the roommate lottery.”

The thought of encountering Wednesday made my pulse quicken slightly. Not fear exactly… more like a curious tension, like stepping on the edge of a cliff and not knowing if you’ll fall or fly. Meanwhile, the little part of me that loved chaos couldn’t help but grin.

“Let’s see what kind of trouble I can accidentally cause on my first day,” I whispered, eyes glinting. “And maybe… just maybe… impress the roommate without getting dismembered.”

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

I approached the spiderweb-shaped window, colored glass reflecting shards of pale light across the room. Then the door opened.

I froze. My heart skipped a beat, pounding in my chest, and instinct screamed at me to run—because there she was. Wednesday.

“You’ll have a roommate. Luna Fatterson, she’s calm. You’ll get along—” the headmistress began, but I quickly stepped forward, panic slipping into my voice.

“Wait—Headmistress, um… could I maybe… get a different room?” I blurted out, forcing a nervous laugh. “It’s not that I don’t like the idea, I just—feel like she might prefer her space.”

The headmistress arched a brow, clearly unimpressed. “You’ll be fine, Miss Fatterson. Wednesday can be… intense, but she values order.”

I wanted to argue, to say ‘intense’ didn’t begin to cover what I was feeling under that gaze—but before I could, the woman continued.

“Alright, I’ll leave you two here and go with your mother. We have things to discuss. Later, Enid will bring your uniforms,” she said briskly.

“Wait, please—maybe just—” I started, but the door was already closing.

The click of the latch echoed like a sentence being sealed.

Wednesday didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Her black eyes—deep, cold, and so utterly focused—pinned me in place like I was something fragile and curious all at once.

After a long, unbearable silence, she spoke. Her tone was soft, precise, but somehow heavier than any shout.
“Welcome… to your new home,” she said slowly, tilting her head. A faint, unreadable smirk touched her lips. “Try not to make it messy.”

A shiver crawled up my spine. “I—I’m Luna,” I said finally, voice small but steady enough to not sound completely terrified.

Her eyes flicked over me once, deliberate, analytical. “Luna,” she repeated, testing the name on her tongue like a note in a melody she hadn’t decided she liked yet. “Interesting name.”

I swallowed hard. “Thanks… I guess?”

Her lips curved the slightest bit more. “We’ll see if it suits you.”

There it was again—that strange pull. Equal parts danger and fascination.

I tried to smile, but it came out awkward, uncertain. “So… roommates, huh?”

Wednesday’s gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before she turned toward her desk, her voice barely above a whisper as she said,
“You’ll do.”

Wednesday’s POV

I stepped into what should have been Enid’s room, expecting her familiar chaos—her messy desk, her rainbow-colored clutter, the loud energy that usually hit me like a sugar-fueled hurricane. That’s what I anticipated.

But she wasn’t there.

Instead… she was standing by the window.

Panic radiated off her in waves. Short light-brown hair with white streaks, one gold eye and one silver, black fitted top, black cargo pants, and a chain tattoo wrapping her entire left arm like a living serpent. Every detail—the same as the wolf from my vision. My pulse skipped.

I froze. This isn’t possible. She was the girl I had been hunting in the forest—wolf-like, fast, clever, almost impossible to catch. I had thought I’d need to track her, anticipate her, maybe even corner her after days of planning. And now… here she was, right in my dorm room, standing like some tense, wild animal that knew the world better than I did.

Her eyes snapped to me, wide and panicked, and I realized something strange: she knew my name. Wednesday. How did she know it? We had never met.

Instinctively, I slowed my approach, studying her stance. Her fear was raw, immediate, but beneath it was the same calculated control I had glimpsed in my vision. She was exactly as the wolf had been: aware, reactive, a predator in her own right—but terrified.

I didn’t need to chase her. I didn’t need to plan anything. I had expected a hunt, but the hunt had already ended before it began. She was my roommate. My… unexpected ally—or enemy.

A slow, deliberate thought crossed my mind: This will be… interesting.

I tilted my head, letting my gaze linger. “Welcome,” I said softly, my voice steady, almost curious. “To your new home… and to me.”

Her panic didn’t fade, but I could see her sizing me up, calculating. The tables had turned. The prey I had been tracking was now under my roof. And yet, for the first time, I had no idea what she would do next.

Olivia’s POV 

I nervously stepped back, eyes darting to the window, the door, anywhere but her. My heart hammered in my chest, thumping so loudly I was sure she could hear it.

“Uhh… so… nice room, huh?” I said, voice shaky, plastering on the fakest smile I’d ever managed. “I mean, I haven’t even toured the school yet. Maybe I should do that right now… y’know, get a lay of the land…”

Wednesday’s dark eyes narrowed. She took a slow, deliberate step toward me.

“Don’t move,” she said softly, but her tone was a blade sliding from its sheath.

I laughed nervously, inching sideways toward the door. “Move? Me? Nooo, I’m just… stretching my legs… cardio’s important, right?”

Her eyebrow twitched. I bolted.

For half a glorious second, I actually thought I had a chance. I darted past her, slipped around the bed, almost made it to the door—then she was there. Like a shadow teleporting.

“Whoa! Okay! Fast!” I yelped, spinning, ducking under her arm. “I should really see the cafeteria now!”

We circled each other like predators in a tiny cage. My sneakers squeaked against the polished floor as I zigzagged around chairs, the desk, the wardrobe—anything to slow her down. My brain fired off frantic plans like fireworks: Hide behind the bed! Jump on the chair! Throw the pillow! Pretend to faint!

She kept coming. Calm. Unstoppable. A tiny smirk flickered across her face—she was enjoying this.

“Come on,” I puffed, hopping over the rug. “First day, first roommate, and I’m already in a horror chase scene! At least give me a head start!”

No reply. Just the sound of her boots on the floor.

I made one last desperate dash for the window. She lunged. In one clean, terrifying motion, she caught me by the wrist, spun me around, and pushed me down onto the bed. The mattress dipped under us as she pinned me with an almost inhuman precision.

“Heh, heh… bed is only for, like, after the first date!” I muttered nervously, my voice cracking as I squirmed. My face burned red—not just from exertion but from the insane intimacy of the situation.

“Talk,” she said firmly, her dark eyes boring into mine.

“Uh… talk… yeah, nice weather today… and, uh, those beautiful black eyes that are about to drill a hole in my head…” I rambled, my voice rising in pitch as I tried desperately to use humor as a shield.

Her grip shifted suddenly. I felt cold steel press against my neck.

“If you have time to spout nonsense, you have time to tell me everything. Talk! Who are you?! Who is the Author?!” she demanded, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.

I swallowed hard, trying not to gag on my own adrenaline. “My name is Luna, obviously…” I started, then immediately realized that was the worst possible thing to say while a knife hovered at my throat.

“Your real name,” she hissed, the blade grazing my skin ever so slightly.

“Fine, fine! I’ll tell you everything. Just… don’t kill me yet. My name is Olivia Martinez… The Author? I… I don’t know him. I don’t even know what he looks like. I’m new here… interesting story, right? Oh, and I already died once. Shot in the head by my employer—who might be a god-level lunatic, because somehow, here I am. And judging by your reaction, he might just be your Author too.”

She froze, her black eyes widening just slightly. The knife loosened, disappearing, and I sagged back against the bed, adrenaline still buzzing like a thousand angry bees in my chest. My cheeks were flaming red now, my breath coming fast, my heart pounding so hard it almost hurt.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

“You… died?” she asked incredulously, her voice almost a whisper, a flicker of disbelief breaking her otherwise stoic expression.

“Yes… I had my life. I draw, I work on games… I paint for them. I had a strange job interview once. Didn’t send any CV, and instead of a contract, I got a bullet. Then suddenly, I appeared in the forest with new powers I… kind of created myself. Looks like Mr. ‘Chaos Organizer’ decided my character needed a dramatic entrance. So, here I am, alive-ish. Do you believe me?” I said, shrugging and throwing up my hands like it was all totally casual.

Wednesday turned away, then looked back.

“Yes,” Wednesday said flatly.

I blinked, surprised at the plainness of it. “Wow… okay. That’s one of the least impressed ‘yeses’ I’ve ever gotten. Congratulations, you win at understatement.”

“Now your turn,” I continued, stepping forward, eyes locked on hers. “What did he do to you?”

No answer. Her silence was sharp, slicing through the air like a well-honed knife. Teen hormones and adrenaline surged in me like a caffeinated storm.

“Oh no, no, no. You don’t get to do the whole silent-mysterious-girl thing on me now, Wednesday!” I said, gesturing dramatically. I stepped closer, closing the distance, and gently pinned her against the desk—not too hard, just enough to say, Hey, I’m serious.

Her gaze sharpened, scanning me like I was a puzzle she wasn’t sure she wanted to solve. For a second, I thought I saw a tiny twitch at the corner of her lips—maybe amusement, maybe disbelief that someone my size dared to pin her.

She hesitated, jaw tight. “He sent me back in time.”

“Oh… a literal time traveler. Cool. I can barely manage to be on time to class,” I muttered, smirking.

“And secondly… if you get that close to me—” she started, but I cut her off.

“Yeah, yeah, personal space. Got it. But hey, you lunged at me first… and on the bed, no less. I think we’ve already crossed the ‘first-contact’ threshold,” I said with a cheeky wink.

A quiet, annoyed “stupid dog” escaped her lips, and I snorted.

She regarded me with an icy glare, dark eyes practically crackling with tension.

“You know a lot about me…” she hissed, leaning in slightly. “Care to share the rest?”

Ehh… how to phrase this without sounding creepy… — I twiddled a finger nervously. “In my world, there’s a TV show about you. Kind of like… a biography, but with more explosions and sarcastic narration. So yeah… I know quite a bit. Not everything… yet. And no, I haven’t made a fan club. Not that I’ve seen… yet.”

Wednesday rolled her eyes, sharp and cutting. “Of course. Because obviously, my televised life is a perfectly accurate source. Fascinating.”

“Seems legit enough,” I replied with a grin. “Like your sharp tongue, which, if ambitious, could probably incinerate an entire forest. Or at least scold it severely.”

Her expression twitched—a tiny, almost imperceptible flicker of something I couldn’t name. Amusement? Annoyance? Challenge? I didn’t dare guess.

“And you,” she said slowly, voice dropping, “are far too casual for someone who has already survived… everything you claim.”

“Eh, casual is my brand,” I said, tilting my head. “But don’t worry, I’m also incredibly dangerous. Ask my… future self. She’s terrifying. Right now, she’s giving me major sass points for surviving your knife lesson.”

Her lips twitched. Just barely. A smirk, maybe. Dangerous, yes. Intriguing, even. And I realized: this first day, this first interaction… it was only the beginning.

Wednesday’s POV

I watched her. Every twitch, every anxious glance, the way her words stumbled out in a frantic, oddly charming jumble. She was nervous, yes, but not helpless. Not really. There was a fire there—chaotic, unpolished, but real. My pulse didn’t quicken, not exactly, but I felt the shift in the room, the energy that seemed to vibrate around her like some wild, untamed animal.

She stepped back, eyes darting toward the door, toward the window, anywhere but me. Her attempts at humor were… clumsy, yes, but revealing. Every joke, every nervous laugh, was a calculated shield, a way to distract me while she sized me up.

Interesting, I thought. She isn’t running just because she’s afraid. She’s testing me. Gauging my reactions. Calculating her own advantage.

Her words tumbled out, spilling over themselves: "Uhh… so… nice room, huh? I mean, I haven’t even toured the school yet. Maybe I should do that right now… get a lay of the land…" She flinched slightly as my gaze tightened on her.

She knows me. Knows my name. Already. And yet… she isn’t intimidated. Bold. Impertinent. Dangerous in her own small, unpredictable way.

When she bolted, I didn’t need to chase. My feet moved before I even fully registered her motion. Smooth, efficient. I blocked her path with almost casual precision, and yet I noticed the way her body reacted—the panic, the nervous attempts at humor, the flicker of red in her cheeks.

Bed is only for, like, after the first date! she muttered. And for a moment, I almost wanted to laugh. Almost.

Her voice, rising in pitch, stumbling over jokes about my eyes and the weather… It was bizarre, and yet oddly endearing. A defense mechanism, clearly. I shifted my grip slightly, the knife sliding against her neck—a warning, not a threat. She flinched, swallowed hard, and launched into what I assume was her “truth-telling” mode.

Olivia Martinez, she said. And her words tumbled out in a chaotic, fast-paced story that made little sense logically, but… the energy behind it was real. She had survived. Died. Returned. Somehow, she existed in ways that made no sense, and yet the raw force of her presence was undeniable.

I stared, analyzing, parsing. Flatly, I said, “Yes.” A single word. Simple. Factual. It didn’t convey approval, nor disbelief, nor fear. But inside, I recognized the faint echo of… kinship? No. Not quite. Curiosity. Intrigue.

Her smirk, the cheeky wink, the constant flailing for control… It was ridiculous. And yet, every step, every word, every twitch was part of her strategy. She wanted me to underestimate her. I would not.

When she pinned me lightly against the desk—too small to be a threat, yet assertive enough to matter—I noticed the tiny flicker at the corner of my lips, the faintest twitch. Maybe amusement. Maybe surprise. She dared to touch me, dared to invade my space, dared to play the first move.

She is dangerous, I thought, voice low and deliberate as I finally spoke again. And entirely unpredictable.

Her casual tone, the way she joked about time travel, personal space, and surviving knife lessons—it grated on me, slightly, but I allowed it. Let her play her little games. For now.

Her words tumbled on: “Like your sharp tongue, which, if ambitious, could probably incinerate an entire forest. Or at least scold it severely.” She grinned. Bold. Foolish. Perfect.

Sharp tongue? Yes. Dangerous? Definitely. Annoying? Undeniably. And yet… fascinating.

When she tilted her head, smug, confident, utterly unaware of how close she skirted danger and charm at the same time, I felt… something. Curiosity, sharp as a blade. She was not just surviving. She was testing boundaries, probing weaknesses, creating openings… intentionally or not.

Her final quip about her “future self” and sass points made my lips twitch. A smirk. That was all I allowed myself. That, and the cold calculation that this first encounter was not an ending. It was the beginning.

This girl… she is chaos. She is fire. And she will either be my greatest asset—or my most infuriating adversary.

And somewhere beneath it all, in that cold, dark corner of my mind, I made a silent note: Watch her. Learn her. And if she survives this… we’ll see what she’s really capable of.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV 

I heard a knock and the door swung open.

“Oh, hii! The headmistress sent me to give you your uniforms. I’m Enid!” She smiled brightly, stepping closer and immediately hugging me.

“Hey hey, I’m Luna, and this is Wednesday on my left,” I said with a smile. Enid turned toward Wednesday, trying to hug her as well. It was obvious Wednesday was confused, her expression frozen, one eyebrow raised, as if weighing whether I—or Enid—were a threat or just annoying.

“She doesn’t like hugs,” I said softly, my voice gentle, full of sympathy. My eyes lingered on hers. I caught the faintest shadow behind her dark gaze—a tiny flicker of sadness, the kind that only appears when someone has lost parts of their past. Empathically, I could sense it. She’d been sent back in time… some things might hurt more than others, and I understood, even if she didn’t say a word.

I stepped a little closer, tone serious, no joking. “You’ll find a way to reconnect. Somehow. Even if it feels impossible right now.”

Wednesday blinked once, sharply, her lips pressing into a thin line. Her gaze stayed locked on mine for a moment, as if she were assessing whether I truly meant it or just saying empty words.

“I… suppose,” she said quietly, voice even, controlled—but there was a tiny tremor in her tone, barely noticeable.

I nodded gently. “I know it’s hard. Things can hurt—especially when you’ve been taken out of your own time—but you’re stronger than you think. I can feel it.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, dark and unreadable, but there was a subtle shift in her posture. She let out a faint sigh, almost imperceptible. “Hm. Noted.”

I gave her a soft, encouraging smile. “That’s all anyone can do at first. Just try. Step by step.”

Enid, standing awkwardly in the doorway, frowned in confusion. “Are you two… talking about something serious? Should I… come back later?”

“No, it’s fine,” I said, voice calm. “Just… give us a moment.”

Wednesday’s dark eyes flicked toward Enid briefly, then back to me. “You talk too much,” she muttered under her breath, though the edge was softer than usual, almost… teasing?

I smiled, letting the humor hang lightly in the air. “And you talk too little. Balance, Wednesday. It’s all about balance.”

She rolled her eyes, a small, annoyed gesture that somehow felt like progress. Then, almost imperceptibly, she turned and walked toward where Enid had gone, her movements careful, deliberate. I followed silently, keeping a steady pace, my chest tight—not from fear, but from the strange weight of seeing the small vulnerability she tried so hard to hide.

Enid peeked back around the corner, waving energetically. “Do you two want me to leave the uniforms here, or…?”

I shook my head. “We’ll handle it. Thanks, Enid.”

Wednesday gave a short, almost imperceptible nod—not a smile, but a recognition of my presence. The faint trace of sadness remained in her eyes, but now it was tempered with curiosity, maybe even the slightest hint of trust.

Wednesday’s POV

The hug was the first insult to my personal space. Enid, all sunshine and glitter, wrapped her arms around Olivia as if contact was her native language. Then, as expected, she aimed for me.

I didn’t move, didn’t flinch, but my muscles tensed. One eyebrow arched, the smallest armor I allowed myself. Did she really think I was open to such frivolous affection? I don’t like hugs. I don’t like being touched. And yet—before I could cut her down with words—Olivia spoke for me.

“She doesn’t like hugs.”

Her tone caught me off guard. Not mocking. Not judgmental. Sympathetic. That was unusual.

Our eyes met, and for a split second I hated how much she seemed to see. She already knew my name. She shouldn’t know more. And yet she looked at me as though she did—like she could read pages I hadn’t even written yet. I’ve mastered masks, walls, weapons. People see what I allow them to see. But her gaze slipped through the cracks.

Then she said it: “You’ll find a way to reconnect. Somehow. Even if it feels impossible right now.”

The words pierced deeper than I wanted. Reconnect. Yes, the word stung. As if she knew the truth—that time had betrayed me, dragged me backward, leaving fractures that could not be repaired. Enid smiled at me like she had never known me. Because, in this timeline, she hadn’t. That wound was fresh. I hated how easily Olivia named it.

I pressed my lips into a thin line. My instinct was to dismiss her with silence, but I measured the weight in her tone. She wasn’t speaking to fill space. She believed what she said. That made her dangerous in a different way.

“I… suppose,” I answered at last. Quiet. Too quiet. I hated how thin my voice felt, so I reinforced it with control.

Her nod was calm, unyielding. “I know it’s hard. Things can hurt—especially when you’ve been taken out of your own time—but you’re stronger than you think. I can feel it.”

Taken out of time. She spoke like she knew. That unsettled me. Few people could wield empathy without suffocating me. She didn’t press, didn’t pry. She simply placed the truth between us like a chess piece.

“Hm. Noted.”

That was all I gave her. Not agreement. Not denial. Just acknowledgment.

Enid’s voice cut through the tension, nervous and bright, a balloon in a storm. “Are you two… talking about something serious? Should I… come back later?”

I wanted to say yes. But Olivia beat me to it: “No, it’s fine. Just… give us a moment.”

I let the silence stretch, then allowed myself a faint sigh. “You talk too much,” I murmured.

Her response was immediate, annoyingly quick: “And you talk too little. Balance, Wednesday. It’s all about balance.”

Balance. Hah. She had no idea what kind of scale she was trying to stand on.

Still, I rolled my eyes. Dismissive on the surface. But underneath… I hated to admit it, even to myself… there was the faintest spark of amusement. A rare, dangerous thing.

As I walked past her toward Enid, I kept my movements deliberate, controlled. But the truth lingered, gnawing in the back of my mind:
She had seen something I didn’t want revealed.
And worse—she had spoken to it.

I should’ve cut her down. Instead, I found myself… curious.

That was unacceptable.

Olivia’s POV 

I followed behind Enid and Wednesday, my eyes darting around as I tried to take everything in. Students were casually throwing sparks of magic into the air, levitating books, or whispering spells as they passed by. It was like walking through a living painting—utterly fascinating.

Enid glanced over her shoulder, smiling brightly. “So, what’s your name?”

“Luna,” I replied smoothly, not even hesitating. No way was I giving my real one yet.

“Luna, huh?” Enid chuckled. “You look like a tourist. Totally wide-eyed. You’re even staring at the ceiling like it’s a theme park ride.”

I snorted. “Well, excuse me for being impressed by floating textbooks. My school back home had… lockers.”

Wednesday made a small, amused noise under her breath but didn’t turn her head. “Lockers sound terrifying,” she muttered dryly.

We finally reached a room stacked neatly with folded school uniforms. Enid clapped her hands together. “Here we are! New school year, new you!”

I stared at my assigned outfit: a standard purple uniform. My shoulders sagged, and a dramatic groan escaped me. “Oh nooo… no. This is not my color.”

Then my eyes landed on the skirt. My soul left my body. “Nope. Nope. Nope. I’d sooner die than wear a skirt or a dress. This is a human rights violation.”

Enid giggled, holding a uniform up to herself. “Oh, come on! You’d look cute!”

I looked at her deadpan. “Yeah, and so would a potato sack. Doesn’t mean I’m wearing one.”

Wednesday raised an eyebrow, her voice cool and razor-sharp. “It’s a uniform, not an invitation to a masquerade. Put it on.”

I crossed my arms, smirking. “You sound like the headmistress already. Scary.”

Her gaze sharpened slightly. “You asked to be here. This is the price.”

I sighed dramatically, lifting the skirt like it was radioactive. “Right. Suffering builds character. Fantastic.”

Then I looked between Enid and Wednesday. “Speaking of suffering, which way is it to the headmistress? I feel like complaining in person before this fabric kills me.”

Enid laughed again, pointing toward a hallway. “Down the hall, left at the big gargoyle statue. Can’t miss it!”

Wednesday’s lips twitched faintly, almost—almost—a smirk. “Do send her my regards when you complain. I’d like to see how long you last.”

I mock-bowed. “Oh, don’t worry. I plan on going down in flames.”

Enid gasped theatrically. “You two are gonna be so much fun together!”

I headed toward the headmistress, trying to act confident but getting slightly lost in the winding corridors. Enid trailed behind me, cheerfully directing my every turn.

“Left here, Luna! Nope, wait… the second left. Ah, yes—third left. Don’t worry, you’re doing great!” she chirped, practically bouncing along as she guided me.

Wednesday followed silently, her dark eyes scanning every hallway, every shadow. She didn’t say a word, but her gaze felt like a constant evaluation, like she was mentally cataloging every detail of my awkward marching.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

I took a deep breath when we finally reached the headmistress’s door. My chest tightened, adrenaline and anticipation mixing into a buzzing storm. I squared my shoulders, steeling all my defiance and determination. Today, I would stand my ground. Today, I would win the war with Weems—or at least try.

I glanced back at my companions.

Enid grinned, giving me an encouraging thumbs-up. “You got this, Luna! Just… maybe don’t start with, ‘Your skirt is evil.’ Start polite.”

I shot her a quick, sarcastic grin. “Polite is overrated. But thanks for the tip.”

Wednesday’s voice cut through the air, low and deliberate. “Remember, subtlety is a weapon. You might need it.”

I blinked at her, slightly stunned that she was actually offering advice. “Subtlety? From you? Interesting. Noted.”

She tilted her head ever so slightly, expression unreadable. “I said it. Use it… or don’t. Your choice.”

I inhaled one last time, readying myself. “Alright, here goes nothing.”

With that, I pushed the door open and stepped inside, my defiance bundled tightly in every step, ready for the battle ahead.

Sitting across from Weems, I studied her carefully. There was something about her—her precise movements, the sharp tilt of her head—that reminded me of a professor I’d had in university. My brain switched gears instinctively; I adopted the kind of measured, strategic language I’d used in academic debates. Every sentence I spoke became a calculated move, every argument a piece on an invisible chessboard.

“Luna, your uniform choice is… unconventional,” Weems said, her voice smooth but tinged with a subtle warning.

“Unconventional is one word for it,” I replied evenly, keeping my tone calm, almost clinical. “Practical is another. I simply cannot function properly in skirts or dresses. It’s a matter of efficiency, really.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, like a chess player examining my next move. “Efficiency is… noted. But uniforms are designed for conformity and discipline, not personal preference.”

“Exactly,” I countered, leaning forward subtly. “But discipline does not require discomfort. Comfort enables focus, and focus improves results. Surely, the school’s ultimate goal is excellence, not aesthetic misery.”

Weems raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “You argue persuasively. Yet, the tradition of the uniform is longstanding. Deviating from it sets a precedent.”

“Isn’t tradition meant to serve a purpose, not restrict it?” I pressed. “And as for precedent—allowing black pants instead of skirts could be a minor adjustment with no negative consequence. Color could remain uniform—professional, serious, and perhaps even more effective in cultivating the right mindset for students.”

She paused, fingers steepled on her desk. The air between us thickened. My pulse quickened, but not with fear—something else, a strange, unfamiliar energy was rising in me. It was not anger, not aggression, but a determination I hadn’t fully recognized before. My mind sharpened, my tongue carefully weighing each word, yet each argument carried the weight of conviction.

“I see… you are insistent,” Weems said finally, her tone slightly softer, more measured than before. “You make a logical case. I cannot argue with… logic.”

I allowed myself a small, victorious smile. “Then we are agreed. Black pants. Functional, professional, and fully in line with your standards of excellence.”

She leaned back, the tiniest flicker of amusement touching her otherwise stoic expression. “I did not expect such tenacity. Very well, Luna. Consider your proposal accepted—though I will be monitoring its implementation closely.”

“Yes, of course,” I said smoothly, keeping my face neutral, though inside, a small thrill of victory surged. The longer I spoke with her, the more this strange, new drive swelled inside me—a desire to challenge, to assert, but not through violence. It was something… raw, instinctive, yet exhilarating.

Weems gave a curt nod, signaling the end of the discussion. “See that the changes are implemented. And Luna… well-argued.”

“Thank you, Weems,” I replied, standing gracefully. “I’ll make sure the pants meet your standards.”

As I walked out, the weight of that unspoken energy lingered in me, humming with possibility. I had won this small battle, but more importantly, I had discovered a part of myself I hadn’t fully known before—a part that thrived on strategy, challenge, and controlled defiance.

I closed the door behind me, and for a moment, I felt the tension drain from my shoulders. Then, like a caged animal finally released, I bolted forward. My legs carried me as fast as they could, and for dramatic effect, I leapt into the air, crossing my legs mid-jump and throwing my arms wide.

“Hahahahhah! I did it!” I shouted, my voice echoing through the corridor.

Enid’s eyes went wide, a mixture of surprise and pure delight. “Whoa! You… you really did it?!” she exclaimed, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet.

Wednesday, however, simply raised an eyebrow, her dark eyes scanning me with that usual mix of curiosity and detached calculation. “You make quite a spectacle of success,” she remarked dryly, her tone flat but not unkind.

I landed with a dramatic flourish, grinning ear to ear. “Spectacle? Absolutely. Victory deserves flair!”

Enid clapped her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. “That was amazing, Luna! I wish I could celebrate like that every time I win!”

Wednesday’s smirk was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there. “You’re loud for someone who just argued her way through the headmaster’s office,” she said, a note of grudging respect in her voice.

I turned toward them, puffing my chest out a little. “Loud, proud, and victorious. Never underestimate the power of a well-timed argument—and a dramatic jump.”

Enid laughed, covering her mouth with her hands. “You’re insane! But I love it.”

Wednesday’s eyes glimmered with something I couldn’t quite place—amusement? approval?—and she folded her arms, tilting her head. “Insane, yes. Effective… also yes,” she said simply.

I threw my hands in the air again, soaking in the moment. “Victory tastes even better when you can show off a little, don’t you think?”

I moonwalked into the room like Michael Jackson, shuffling across the floor with dramatic flair before leaving Wednesday and Enid outside. Without another word, I closed the door behind me.

The uniform lay neatly folded on the bed. I frowned, pulling it up into my hands. It wasn’t the purple one I had seen earlier—it was black, sharp, and sleek… with pants.

“Huh… weird,” I muttered to myself. “Like this victory… wasn’t mine. Like it was planned.”

I shrugged it off, sliding into the new outfit. It fit perfectly, hugging me in all the right places. I caught my reflection in the mirror and froze. Damn. I looked hot.

Grinning, I struck a pose, tilting my head flirtatiously and giving myself a cheeky wink before strolling back out.

Enid’s jaw dropped the second she saw me. “Oh. My. God. Luna—you look AMAZING! Like, seriously, runway ready. That uniform was made for you.” She practically squealed, bouncing on her toes.

Wednesday’s dark eyes traveled slowly from my head to my shoes and back up again, her expression unreadable. After a long pause, she raised an eyebrow. “You preen like a peacock.”

I smirked, striking another mock-flirty pose. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it.”

Enid giggled, clapping her hands together. “You guys are gonna be the most stylish roommates ever! Wednesday, you’re the broody-chic vibe, and Luna—total dangerous flirt energy.”

Wednesday’s gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before she muttered, almost under her breath, “Dangerous, yes. Flirt… debatable.”

I grinned wider, catching the faintest twitch at the corner of her lips. “Oh, debatable? Challenge accepted.”

Enid squealed again. “Okay, okay, this is gonna be the best room ever!”

I walked ahead of them, leading the way back toward our room. My eyes drifted down to the black uniform again. For a moment, my grin faltered, twisting into a faint grimace.

Yeah… no way this was pure victory, I thought. That had to be arranged from the start. If I’d really won, I wouldn’t have had the uniform ready immediately… I would’ve had to wait for it.

Enid, bouncing along at my side, tilted her head. “Luna? What’s with the face? You were literally doing a happy-dance two minutes ago.”

I forced a laugh, waving it off. “Oh, nothing. Just… thinking. Maybe my grand battle with Weems wasn’t as epic as I thought.”

Wednesday’s voice cut in, low and precise. “Congratulations. You’ve finally realized the obvious.”

I shot her a look, half-annoyed, half-amused. “Ouch. You don’t even sugarcoat it, do you?”

Her lips twitched—almost a smirk. “Why waste time with illusions?”

Enid, ever the cheerleader, shook her head rapidly. “Hey! Don’t listen to her, Luna. You totally won! Pants and black uniform on day one? That’s, like, impossible. Nobody does that!”

I exhaled slowly, my grin coming back in pieces. “Yeah, maybe. But it still feels like… someone moved the chess pieces for me.”

Wednesday glanced at me sideways, her dark eyes sharp. “Then perhaps you should stop worrying about who moved them… and start planning your next move.”

I blinked, caught off guard by how serious she sounded. “…Wow. That was almost inspirational. I’d clap, but I’m afraid you’d stab me for it.”

Enid giggled, looping her arm through mine. “Don’t overthink it, Luna. Just rock the look. If it was fate, then fate’s got good fashion sense.”

I laughed softly at Enid’s words about fate, though in my head the thought twisted differently. Fate? No… that’s Mike. Or as Wednesday put it… the Author. But how do you plan your next moves when the opponent is basically a god?

My gaze dropped to my hands. They trembled slightly. “Too weak to even defend myself…” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head before I forced myself to look up again.

“You know what? I think I’ll take a walk. Just… wander around the school a bit,” I said, my voice firmer this time.

Enid’s face lit up instantly. “Ooh! Perfect idea, I’ll totally come with—”

“No,” I cut her off, sharper than I meant. “Alone. I want to go alone.” I didn’t wait for her reaction. I just turned and started walking, my eyes fixed forward.

Behind me, Enid’s cheerful tone faltered. “Oh… okay. If that’s what you want.”

Wednesday’s voice followed, cool and even. “She’s not running from you, Enid. She’s running from herself.”

I didn’t stop. My steps carried me further down the hall, not daring to look back.

Enid whispered, almost to herself, “But… I just wanted to help.”

Wednesday watched me disappear around the corner, her expression unreadable. “She won’t accept help. Not yet.”

Wednesday’s POV

Enid was skipping at our side, practically glowing with excitement, while Olivia—Luna—was strutting like she’d just conquered a battlefield. In her mind, she probably had.

I observed quietly, cataloging the details. The way she argued with Weems—bold, reckless, too loud—yet somehow she’d managed to tilt the board in her favor. Pants instead of a skirt. Day one, and already bending rules. Most would call it luck. I call it calculation. Even if she doesn’t see it yet.

When she jumped in the hallway, shouting her victory, I should have felt annoyance. And I did, partially. But beneath that… a thin ribbon of intrigue. Most people’s triumphs are hollow noise. Hers felt heavier, sharper—like it came from a deeper wound.

Later, when the black uniform fit her like it had been waiting all along, she didn’t smile the same way. Her mask cracked for just a second. She thought she’d won, but she realized the board was already set. Someone—something—had moved pieces before she could touch them. Her grin faltered, and I saw it: the fear. The truth she tried to bury beneath performance.

When she asked to walk alone, Enid’s hurt was obvious. Her face crumpled like a disappointed child. But Olivia wasn’t running from Enid. She was running from the reflection she caught in her own thoughts. From weakness she refused to show.

I said it out loud. Not for her—she wouldn’t listen yet—but for Enid, who deserved the truth. “She’s not running from you, Enid. She’s running from herself.”

The words felt heavier than I intended. Accurate, but heavier.

Watching her disappear down the corridor, I felt something strange in my chest. Not pity. Not sympathy. More like recognition. I know what it is to run. I know what it is to sharpen defiance into a shield. She hides behind noise, while I hide behind silence. Two sides of the same blade.

She’ll realize eventually: spectacle is just another mask. And masks always crack.

The question is… when hers does, will she shatter? Or will she cut?

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV 

That was how the first day of this new, strange chapter passed. I plugged in my phone and glanced at Wednesday, who was typing on her typewriter with her usual intensity. Not a word passed between us the entire day. I sighed deeply, shoulders sagging, and walked over to the window.

I peered out at the balcony. A little fresh air couldn’t hurt. I pushed it open, stepping out carefully… and promptly tripped, flailing like a newborn deer learning to walk. My arms windmilled for balance, my heart skipped a beat, and I landed in a graceless heap.

Wednesday’s head snapped up. Her black eyes fixed on me, icy and sharp. I could almost hear her thoughts slicing through the silence: stupid dog. She didn’t move, just watched as if deciding whether I was worth the effort—or if I was already entertaining enough as a disaster. Then, as if bored with my clumsiness, she returned to her typing.

I groaned, brushing myself off, cheeks burning. “Graceful as ever,” I muttered to myself, and for a fleeting moment, I allowed a small, bitter smile. Humor, even tiny, helped me survive this chaos.

I stepped back, scanning the horizon. The sun was dipping behind the trees, painting the sky in muted reds and oranges. A wave of melancholy hit me. I searched for a safe spot to sit, somewhere secluded—away from prying eyes, and most importantly, those black, unblinking ones. I climbed onto the roof, sliding slightly over the tiles, finally finding a small ledge to perch on.

I watched the sun disappear, the laughter of students drifting faintly on the wind. And me… I had lost everything. Friends, home… the world I knew. Here, I knew nothing. My missions offered scraps of guidance, but mostly, they mocked me—like invisible fingers nudging me toward chaos. Tears slid down my cheeks as I stared at the horizon.

Being a teenager again didn’t help the ache in my chest. No meds, no comfort, just the awkward, fragile body of someone trying to survive all over again. I stayed there for about an hour, letting the chill creep into my bones. Eventually, darkness enveloped the campus, and I decided it was time to retreat.

Sliding clumsily down, I jumped onto the balcony. Wednesday’s typewriter had stopped clicking. Her dark eyes flicked toward me briefly, sharp and unreadable, before returning to the board she’d set up. A faint tilt of her head—I couldn’t tell if it was curiosity or judgment—but she remained silent.

I entered the room and collapsed onto my bed, sighing.

“You know more about your employer?” came the question, flat and probing.

I turned toward her, fatigue weighing on me, and shook my head. “Does it matter? Whoever they are, they have power over this world… over our lives.” I turned away, letting the weight of truth settle between us.

“You’re going to sleep in your clothes?” Another unexpected question. I froze, puzzled. Then, recalling her stupid dog comment, a flare of determination—and maybe mild irritation—rose in me. I narrowed my eyes and headed to the bathroom.

Why had those words hurt so much? Was it the mockery? Or the way she could cut so precisely with a single thought? I washed up, changed into pajamas, and returned. Our eyes met briefly again, a silent acknowledgment of understanding—or maybe truce. I climbed back into bed.

“Goodnight, Wednesday. Don’t dwell on it too long…” I said softly, my voice almost swallowed by the quiet of the room. For the first time that day, I allowed myself a hint of humor, whispering under my breath: “Tomorrow, maybe I’ll trip even more spectacularly.”

Wednesday’s gaze lingered on me for a fraction of a second longer, unblinking, unreadable, and then she returned to her board. I smiled faintly to myself, a small, private rebellion. Humor wouldn’t erase everything, but it helped me keep going.

I closed my eyes, letting the darkness take me, aware that tomorrow would bring more challenges, more missions… and perhaps more unspoken battles with my enigmatic, terrifying roommate.

Wednesday’s POV

Her clumsiness was unbearable. She tripped over the balcony as though her limbs belonged to someone else, collapsing in a heap of graceless humanity. My fingers paused on the typewriter keys. For a moment, I considered whether she might be useful—if only as comic relief. A stupid dog, I thought. Not worth saving, but always entertaining to watch as it stumbles.

And yet… I did not look away immediately. I let my gaze linger, studying the frantic flailing, the crimson flush of her cheeks, the small, bitter smile she forced afterward as if mocking herself was enough to keep the cracks sealed.

When she climbed to the roof, I didn’t follow. I listened. The silence carried her weight above me—the faint scrape of tiles, the stillness that followed. She stayed there for far too long, alone. I did not need to see her face to know what she was doing. Mourning. I have seen it before, in mirrors and in graves.

Part of me wondered if she would jump. Not from despair, but from sheer incompetence. A dog that cannot walk should not try to fly.

When she returned, her body sagged with exhaustion, but her eyes held something heavier. She collapsed on her bed, and I broke the silence. Not out of care—never that—but out of curiosity. “You know more about your employer?”

Her answer was evasive. Weak. She spoke of power as if it were something distant, untouchable. She fears it. She does not know how to bend it.

And then, the second question slipped from my mouth before I could decide whether it was worth saying. “You’re going to sleep in your clothes?” I don’t know why I asked. It was irrelevant. Perhaps I wanted to see if she would react, if my words still had the power to sting. They did. She stiffened, bristled like an insulted animal, and stormed into the bathroom.

When she returned, her eyes brushed mine for a moment. Something unspoken passed between us. Not trust. Not understanding. Just… recognition. Two people, both displaced, both carrying burdens they can’t share.

She whispered a “Goodnight” with an edge of humor, threatening to trip more spectacularly tomorrow. Foolish. But beneath the foolishness, there is defiance. A refusal to surrender, even when she is weak. That, I recognize too.

I turned back to my board, pretending indifference. Yet I found myself listening for the sound of her breathing settling into sleep. She survived her first day—barely. Tomorrow will be worse. Tomorrow always is.

But she smiled before sleep claimed her. A small, private rebellion. And I wondered—briefly—if perhaps she is not as stupid a dog as I first thought.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV 

The alarm started ringing. Then another. And another. By the fifth one, it wasn’t just noise—it was a symphony of judgment. A pillow soared through the air and smacked me squarely in the face. I sat up slowly, rubbing my cheek, feeling the kind of gaze that could kill a million people boring into me from across the room.

I chuckled nervously, turning off the last alarm. Today was the first day of school, and I was officially back in the chaos of teenage life… only this time with a side of missions, powers, and the constant knowledge that someone—or something—was watching my every move.

After a quick breakfast that I barely touched, I grabbed my bag, mostly for appearances, and made my way to the first class. The corridors were already buzzing with students, some chattering nervously, some casually flaunting whatever supernatural ability or rare fashion choice they had. I blended in just enough to avoid too many questions but not so much that I became invisible—perfect.

The first classes were introductory, mostly lectures about history, magic systems, and other “basics” that might as well have been labeled Guide to Surviving a World That Wants You Dead, Volume 1. Surprisingly, the subject matter immediately caught my attention. The similarities between this world’s history and my own made my brain tingle with curiosity, and I found myself connecting dots almost too fast for comfort.

During the lectures, my hand drifted to my notebook. I began sketching—carefully, obsessively, almost compulsively. Diagrams, symbols, intricate details of spells, and even scenes from my own imagination flowed onto the pages. Drawing was second nature, effortless, almost like magic itself. Teachers noticed. Some gave me a raised eyebrow; Wednesday’s black eyes followed my pen with unreadable intent. They didn’t realize the truth: I had an enormous talent for drawing, a skill that let me capture the world with almost frightening precision.

To test whether I was paying attention, a teacher asked me a question. I answered immediately, my voice calm but precise. Then, emboldened, I asked a few questions of my own, trying to better understand the rules that governed this place. Each time, I could feel the curious stares of some students, the wary glances of others, and Wednesday’s silent assessment from the corner of the room.

Humor didn’t feel quite right in the lectures—this world, its magic, and its politics demanded seriousness. But I made a mental note: if Wednesday ever cracked even a half-smile, I’d probably collapse from surprise. And maybe I’d sketch it too.

By the end of the morning, I realized that even in a world so unfamiliar, some things remained constant: curiosity, the thrill of learning, and the tiny, secret smirk I reserved for moments when I understood something no one else did… and when my drawings perfectly captured the world around me.

Wednesday’s POV

I watched her from across the classroom, silent and precise, my black eyes tracing every movement. The girl—Olivia, if I remembered correctly—was different. She moved with purpose, her pen flying across the page as if the world were nothing more than a canvas for her own design. I couldn’t decide if I should be annoyed, impressed, or slightly unsettled.

Her sketches were meticulous, almost unnervingly perfect, capturing details that even I might overlook. I frowned. How could someone so new, so untested in this world, already possess such… control? Such talent? It was irritating. It felt like cheating, the kind of effortless skill that demanded attention without asking permission.

She answered questions with a calm precision that made me want to challenge her—just to see if the perfection would crack. And yet, she asked questions of her own, probing the rules, poking at the edges of my world with that same unnerving ease.

I studied her closely. There was humor tucked behind her eyes sometimes, but never forced. It was quiet, subtle—like a hidden dagger. I couldn’t quite read her, couldn’t predict her. And yet, I found myself… curious. Curious about how she thought, how she planned, and how she somehow, impossibly, fit into this place without standing out the way most would.

I didn’t smile. I didn’t have to. But a part of me, the part I rarely acknowledged, wondered if this Olivia might be worth my attention. Worth testing. Worth observing.

And yes, I admitted it to myself, the part I would never say aloud: I was intrigued.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

Lunch break. Finally.
I grabbed a sandwich and coffee, scanning the cafeteria like a predator — well, more like a caffeine‑starved raccoon. Enid was already in her usual corner, laughing with her friends, gossip flying like confetti.

A few tables away sat the black‑haired girl, alone. Her glare was practically a quarantine sign.
Naturally, I went straight to her.

I slid into the seat opposite without asking.
Her eyes snapped to mine immediately — black, sharp, the kind of stare that could cut glass.

“If looks could kill,” I said, light as air, “you’d have already nuked a few galaxies.”

No reaction. She stabbed at her food like I wasn’t there.

“Nice coffee,” I added, nodding at the cup by her tray. “Didn’t peg you as the caffeine type. Even the dark and broody fall eventually?”

Her eyes flicked up, cold. “Are you going to keep running your mouth, or actually eat?”

I smirked, taking a slow sip of my own coffee. “Multitasking’s a skill.”

I opened my notebook, letting her see the sketches — my Earth, this world, all the messy notes between. Tech versus magic, drones versus spells.

“So,” I asked, pen poised, “what really causes the transformations here? Not just the moon — what’s under it all?”

“The full moon,” she said flatly. But her gaze lingered on my notes.

“That’s the trigger.” I leaned in, careful but insistent. “But what’s the engine? You, for example — you see things. Past. Future. Threads of it all.”

Her eyebrow twitched. “The present?”

“Everyone sees the present,” I said quickly, a nervous laugh slipping out. “I’m talking about the energy. Everything here is magical but it’s not chaos. Feels like one system. One source. Maybe even…” my voice dropped, “…the author.”

That landed like a stone. Her expression darkened. My stomach knotted. Maybe I’d stepped over a line.

“You don’t have to answer,” I muttered, looking away. “It’s probably just me overthinking.”

She said nothing. Just watched me, heavy gaze like a weight. I stared at my food, chewing slowly, trying to look calm while my pulse hammered.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her glance at the notebook again. Annoyed? Curious? Both?

I forced a smile. “If you were going to kill me for talking too much, you’d have done it already.”

Her fork paused. “Don’t tempt me,” she said without looking up.

For half a second I froze. Then grinned anyway. “Fair enough.”

By the time lunch ended, I’d learned two things: she was listening — even if she’d never admit it — and in this world, curiosity could be just as sharp as a knife.

Wednesday POV

She plopped down across from me without asking. Bold. Confident. Rule-breaking on her first day — already testing the boundaries.

Black blazer, trousers instead of the skirt. Chain tattoo curling under her sleeve. Not rebellion for attention — a quiet declaration: I am not like the rest of you. I don’t follow.

Her words hit like sparks. Casual jokes. Galaxy nuking. Coffee addiction. Flippant, light, but deliberate. She’s trying to gauge me. Seeing if I flinch. Measuring my reactions.

I watched her move, her hand hovering over her notebook, revealing sketches and notes — Earth, this world, comparisons, questions. Not idle doodles. Research. Observation. She’s mapping, dissecting, preparing. She isn’t here just to survive; she’s here to understand, maybe even dominate.

Her questions came next. Transformations. Energy. “The author.” That word pricked at me, deep and unexpected. She spoke it as though it were nothing — casual, curious. Dangerous. She’s poking at the edges of things no one touches aloud.

For a second, I wanted to shut her down, but something in her posture — leaning in slightly, eyes bright with curiosity — told me she was unafraid. Calculating, yes, but unafraid. Bold. Foolish. Intriguing.

Her voice softened when she muttered about overthinking, and yet her gaze stayed sharp, assessing. I could see the nervous energy hiding behind the flippant jokes. She’s skilled at masking it, but the tiniest cracks show through. She wants to see me, to know me, and maybe to challenge me — to test what I will allow.

Then she smiled, that stupid grin of hers. “If you were going to kill me, you’d have done it already.”

I paused, fork midair. Dangerous little idiot. And yet… I didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. The corners of my lips twitched just slightly — amusement? Respect? A warning. Don’t underestimate her. But don’t make a mistake either.

By the end of lunch, she had already claimed a corner of my attention. Not just because of her questions, but because of her fire, her nerve, the way she moves and speaks without fear. She is chaos, and chaos always leaves a mark.

I’d be watching her. Always. And I would learn what she could do — and what she could never see coming.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV 

The rest of the day passed in a blur of classes, whispers in the hallways, and the occasional curious glance thrown my way. I remembered something Wednesday had mentioned earlier: her first fencing class.

“I wonder if she’ll manage to beat Bianca this time,” I murmured under my breath, smirking. Knowing her, it wouldn’t be about victory—it would be about precision, humiliation, and maybe drawing a drop of blood just for fun.

Since I hadn’t signed up for any extracurriculars yet (commitment issues, sue me), I decided to head into the nearby forest for my own training session. Muscles burned, lungs ached, but it was the only way to keep both my body and my mind from collapsing under the weight of… well, everything.

When I finally dragged myself back into the room, sweat-drenched and sore, I froze. A familiar silhouette stood at the board, chalk moving in clean, surgical strokes. And then—Thing, scrambling to hide like a guilty toddler caught red-handed.

Suppressing a laugh, I went straight to the bathroom, peeling off my clothes and sinking into hot water until my bones felt slightly less cursed. By the time I came out in fresh pajamas, I was almost relaxed. Almost.

“You know, Thing, you don’t need to hide from me,” I said casually, toweling my hair. “Let’s just say I’ve been briefed on certain things.”

Wednesday turned, eyes locking onto me like twin blades of obsidian. Her voice cut through the silence:
“Let me guess… your next piece of ‘knowledge’ also comes from that little TV show of mine? How utterly predictable.”

I smirked, raising my hands in mock surrender. “You’ve got me again. So… is this a repeat of the bed scene?”

Her eyes narrowed just slightly. “Dream on.” Flat, sharp, merciless.

“Touché.” I gave her a half-bow, then flopped onto my bed like a martyr after battle.

She turned back to the board, writing with that unnerving precision, each movement deliberate, as if carving reality into stone. Then, under the bed, a small twitch of movement caught my eye. Thing. He crawled out slowly, glancing at Wednesday for permission. She gave him the tiniest of nods, and with all the grace of a nervous cat, he scuttled toward me.

The sight made something warm stir in my chest. He reminded me of Sirius, my cat back home—always cautious, always judging if I was worth his time. I extended my hand instinctively, but then paused. Not a cat. A literal hand. Okay. Adjustment needed. I switched mid-motion into a handshake.

“My name’s Luna. Nice to meet you,” I said gently.

“Martinez,” Wednesday muttered behind me, her tone clipped.

“Actually, it’s Olivia Martinez. But here, I go by Luna. It’s… complicated.”

Thing tapped politely against my palm, letting me know it was fine, that he understood, even that he was glad to meet me. Somehow, a disembodied hand had better social skills than half the people I’d met here so far.

Exhaustion finally won. I collapsed onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before my gaze drifted to the board again. My stomach twisted. Notes. Diagrams. Strings of deductions. And a shocking amount of it… was about me.

I swallowed hard. “At this rate, you’re going to end up obsessed with me,” I whispered, half-joking, half-dead serious.

Wednesday didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Her eyes tracked me, unrelenting, the way a hawk might watch a mouse that had the audacity to speak.

I sat up, grabbed a scrap of paper, and scribbled a note of my own—adding a few extra details she had missed about me, then slapped on a label that simply read magic. Her gaze followed the motion, sharp as a scalpel. Still, no comment.

“This might come in handy,” I said finally, forcing lightness back into my tone. “Besides… you’re not the only one in a strange situation.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but not entirely hostile. For a moment, I could’ve sworn I saw the corner of her mouth twitch. Just slightly. Then it was gone, replaced by her usual impenetrable mask.

I leaned back on my bed, smirking into the dim light. Progress.

Wednesday’s POV

The evening returned with the familiar rhythm of my own routine: investigation, deduction, and the sharpening of focus through silence. When Olivia re-entered the room, her presence disrupted that rhythm. I observed the way she masked exhaustion with casual remarks. Humor as armor—predictable, though not ineffective.

Her reference to the “bed scene” was transparent bait. I did not rise to it; to indulge in such triviality would serve her rather than me. My response was deliberately concise. Distance is an effective tool.

Thing’s decision to approach her was notable. He is selective with trust, more than most humans. Her willingness to greet him without recoiling suggested adaptability. The handshake was… unconventional, but genuine. She anthropomorphized him in her thoughts, that much was evident. Attachment forms easily for her.

When she noticed the board, I did not conceal its contents. Let her see. Information is not only for gathering—it is a mirror. Her discomfort was expected; few tolerate being analyzed. Her remark about “obsession” was dismissed outwardly, but I recorded it internally. The human tendency to project fears as humor is a weakness.

The moment she added her own note to the board, however, was unexpected. Most would retreat, not contribute. The fact that she dared to alter my work implied either boldness or recklessness. Both can be useful. Both can also be dangerous.

I maintained silence deliberately, allowing her to interpret it however she wished. To speak would have reduced the weight of the moment. Still, a small flicker of something—perhaps amusement, perhaps recognition—passed through me. Brief, uninvited.

Conclusion: Olivia Martinez is not easily dismissed. She observes, records, theorizes. She treats danger as curiosity, and isolation as a puzzle to solve. This makes her tolerable—for now. Whether she becomes an ally or a liability remains to be determined.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV 

The day began like any other at Nevermore. Classes blurred together into monotone rhythms of lectures and notes, each teacher droning on as if they were competing for who could drain the most joy out of knowledge. By the time lunch rolled around, the cafeteria was buzzing with chatter, laughter, and the clattering of trays. Everyone seemed to move in their own rhythm, a chaotic orchestra of teenage noise.

I chose a corner table—far enough to avoid attention, close enough to observe. My tray sat untouched as my sketchbook became my real meal. Pencil in hand, I drew like I always did when the noise of the world became too much. The graphite moved almost of its own accord, birthing shapes both grotesque and beautiful: a skeletal raven, wings branching like jagged knives, too many to belong to nature. In its ribcage, an eye stared outward, unblinking, as though it saw more than I ever could.

It was part nightmare, part truth. My truth. My silence.

Around me, laughter swelled and broke like waves against stone, but I remained unmoved, locked in my own current. Each line was therapy, confession, and a secret code no one else could read.

And then I felt it—that weight. That awareness.

Across the hall, black eyes met mine. Wednesday Addams.

She didn’t stare long—just long enough. Her gaze was a scalpel: sharp, deliberate, dissecting me in silence. Three seconds, maybe less. But in that time, I knew she had already broken down the anatomy of my drawing, catalogued the intent, maybe even weighed the shadow it carried against the kind of darkness she knew herself.

Then, just as quickly, she looked away. Knife to plate. Slice of food with surgical precision, as though she were back in a morgue.

Still, her glance lingered. On my skin, in my chest, in the quiet space between one heartbeat and the next. Like static. Like she had left behind an invisible mark, proof that I hadn’t gone unnoticed—even by someone who prided herself on noticing nothing that didn’t matter.

For the first time that day, I set the pencil down. My hand hovered over the page, uncertain. Because maybe… just maybe… that fleeting look meant I had been catalogued. Measured. Judged. And not dismissed entirely.

When lunch ended, I drifted to the library.

The place smelled of dust, ink, and something almost electric—like the air before a storm. My fingers skimmed along the spines until they stopped on one thick, battered tome: Bestiary of the Unnatural. Just as I reached for it, another pale hand landed on the cover.

Deliberate. Steady. Wednesday Addams.

I met her eyes and let a faint grin curl my lips.
“Go ahead. You take it. I’ll wait. Besides, I have this strange suspicion you’ll actually read the words instead of just gawking at the illustrations.”

Her eyes narrowed, unimpressed, but she said nothing. With surgical precision, she slid the book free and walked to one of the long oak tables without so much as a glance back.

Naturally, I followed and dropped into the chair across from her.
“Don’t worry,” I said lightly, tugging my sketchbook out of my bag. “I’m not here to contaminate your study time. Consider me… background noise with a pencil.”

She opened the bestiary the way a surgeon opens a chest—precise, methodical, purposeful. I leaned forward, resting my chin on my palm.
“So… is it true you’re allergic to colors?”

Her gaze lifted, cold and unblinking.
“Yes. I’m allergic. The hives are real. But don’t mistake that for weakness—it’s simply my body’s natural defense against bad taste”

I smirked. “Right. But if you ever went blind, would you still feel that instinct? Or would rainbows finally leave you in peace?”

For a heartbeat, the corners of her lips twitched—almost a smile, but not quite.
“Color pollutes. Blindness would only force me to imagine it. Which might be worse.”

I chuckled under my breath, scribbling in my sketchbook. “Eternal rainbow damnation. Got it.”

Her eyes lingered on me longer than expected before returning to the page.

I tilted my head. “Alright then. Out of all the nightmares in that book—what’s the most dangerous?”

Wednesday turned a page with deliberate slowness, savoring the sound of paper against paper.
“The most dangerous creature isn’t the loudest or the largest. It’s the one patient enough to let you believe you’re safe. Intelligent enough to wait until you drop your guard. Then—when you least expect it—it strikes.”

My grin widened. “Sounds suspiciously like you’re describing yourself.”

This time, she didn’t even bother denying it.

“And which one’s your favorite?” I pressed. “Come on, everyone has a favorite monster.”

Her eyes glimmered faintly.
“The Basilisk. One look, and everything ends. Efficient. Elegant. Merciful, in its own way.”

I whistled low. “Note to self: avoid direct eye contact with you.”

Silence followed, but her lips curved by a fraction—just a whisper of amusement.

While she buried herself in the bestiary, I let my pencil dance. A few strokes, some shading, and soon a black cat sprawled across the page, paw lazily swatting at a ball of yarn. I slid the sketch across the desk.
“Here. This is you.”

One dark brow arched.

“The cat,” I clarified, tapping the page. “And the yarn? That’s the rest of us—tangled, confused, running in circles… while you bat us around for your own entertainment.”

For once, she didn’t speak right away. Her gaze lingered on the drawing, then flicked back to me.
Finally, she murmured, “Amusing… and disturbingly accurate.”

I grinned. “See? You’re already predictable.”

Her eyes sharpened, and my heart spiked. Yeah, that was probably the line I’d regret—but the thrill was worth it.

I leaned back, pencil twirling absently between my fingers. My voice dropped without me meaning to, words spilling like thoughts I hadn’t meant to share.
“The Basilisk hunts with a glance. Predictable. You can prepare if you know the signs. But a creature with no rhythm, no tracks, pure chaos? That would be something else entirely. A beast no one could outsmart.”

My pencil scratched again, this time tracing scales, wings stretching wide. “Though the ones I love most are dragons. Untamed. Dangerous. But beautiful.”

I glanced sideways at her, lips tugging into a half-smile. “Tell me… do dragons actually exist here?”

Wednesday lifted an eyebrow, eyes glinting with mild exasperation.
“Do you really need me to answer that? Yes, dragons exist. No, you won’t find one in the hallway. And yes, most would eat you before you could say your precious little name.”

She leaned back, arms crossed, studying me. “But if you’re careful… clever… you might see one without becoming lunch. Assuming you survive the lesser beasts first.”

I chuckled softly. “Noted. Draw them before they notice me. Classic survival tactic.”

A faint smirk ghosted across her face—rare, but there.
“You’re strangely persistent. Mildly irritating. But… entertaining.”

The humor drained from me for a moment, replaced by something rawer. Words slipped out before I could stop them:
“I’ve always wanted to be somewhere where magic was real. Always felt like… I was made for this.”

Her gaze sharpened, her mask cracking just enough for curiosity to peek through. “Made for this, huh?” she murmured, almost to herself. Then the smirk returned. “We’ll see if you survive the reality of it.”

I leaned back, grinning despite the weight in my chest. “Oh, I plan to. And I want to see everything. Every creature, every spell… every secret this world hides.”

Wednesday’s POV

She was a contradiction in motion.

Most people who sat across from me did so with hesitation, as if my presence required permission. But Olivia? She claimed the space without flinching, as though daring me to object. Her uniform—black instead of purple, trousers instead of a skirt—was a quiet rebellion, yet sanctioned by Weems after some argument Olivia had clearly won. That alone made her dangerous.

When she spoke, her tone was careless, light. Background noise with a pencil, she’d called herself. But I heard the edge under it, the weight in her words. She wielded humor like a knife—blunt at first glance, sharp once you let it cut too close.

The sketchbook fascinated me more than I cared to admit. Most students filled theirs with doodles, clutter, or narcissistic self-portraits. Hers carried weight: skeletal birds, grotesque shapes that blurred nightmare with truth. She wasn’t drawing for fun. She was confessing. Documenting. Preparing. And when she slid the black cat across the table—a portrait of me, pawing at tangled yarn—I should have dismissed it. Instead, I found myself staring at it longer than intended. It was accurate. Too accurate.

Her questions came like blades wrapped in velvet. Which monster is most dangerous? Which is my favorite? She expected answers, and I gave them. Basilisk, of course. Elegant, efficient, merciful. Her response—a whistle, a grin, an unguarded spark—should have been irritating. Instead, it left me… intrigued.

And then she slipped. Her voice lowered, words spilling like secrets not meant for ears. Dragons. Untamed, dangerous, beautiful. The way she said it wasn’t childish fantasy—it was hunger. The kind of hunger that devours.

Something inside me shifted. Against my better judgment, I answered her honestly. Yes, dragons exist. Yes, they’d eat her alive. And yet, even as I warned her, I caught myself imagining her staring one down—not with fear, but with that same grin she threw at me. Persistent. Irritating. Entertaining.

That was the problem. She amused me. She shouldn’t. Amusement is weakness. Attachment is worse. And yet, as she leaned back with that grin of hers, declaring she wanted to see everything this world had to offer, I found myself thinking:

Perhaps she just might.

And if she didn’t survive? Well, at least it would be interesting to watch her try.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV 

The day had passed uneventfully. Classes, lessons, lunch, then training. Everything seemed normal, and yet in my mind, a storm of thoughts churned, refusing to settle.

When I returned to my room, I didn’t collapse onto the bed. Instead, I felt a pull—a silent insistence. The roof. A place where the quiet felt more real than any four walls.

I climbed up and sat on the edge. The night was cool, the stars pale, and the moon watched indifferently. Inside me, that familiar emptiness clawed at my chest. Dark thoughts pressed in like wolves: you don’t belong here, this isn’t your place, you’ll never find a home.

I closed my eyes, hands trembling lightly. Then my gaze fell on the bracelet. Click. In an instant, a guitar unfolded in my hands.

I brushed the strings, and golden energy shimmered faintly along the fretboard, as if the instrument itself breathed with me. I didn’t search for a melody—I just let my heart spill out. Soft, sorrowful notes spread across the rooftop, mingling with the wind. They carried all my fears, my loneliness, and that tiny spark of hope I didn’t dare name.

Only when the last note faded did I notice her.

Wednesday.

She lingered a little apart, half-hidden in shadow, as though watching me without meaning to. Her face remained its usual mask of composure, but her eyes… her eyes gave her away.

“Interesting instrument,” she said at last, her voice calm, almost indifferent. Yet her gaze stayed on my hands. “It suits you.”

I set the guitar gently beside me, lips twisting into a faint, bitter smile. “Not sure if that’s a compliment or a prelude to the guillotine.”

The corners of her mouth shifted—a flicker of something close to a smile.

We sat in silence. I stared at the sky; she stared at me. And though she didn’t move closer or offer comfort, she stayed. She stayed. And that meant more than I could admit.

The golden glow of my chains stirred faintly at my wrists, my wolf form humming just beneath my skin. Wednesday shifted slightly, arms folded, one eyebrow raised. Her eyes studied me the way a scientist might study an unpredictable specimen.

“You… handle energy differently than anyone here,” she said eventually, voice low, almost contemplative. “Precise. Controlled. Yet wild.”

I tilted my head at her, unsure if that was curiosity, admiration, or just another layer of mockery. “That’s… my way of coping,” I answered carefully. “Music, chains, wolf. It all comes from the same place.”

Her lips twitched again, the faintest trace of approval. “That explains why you draw like that. You put pieces of yourself into it.”

A flicker of warmth caught me off guard. I tried to mask it with a shrug. “Yeah. Guess I do.”

She leaned back slightly, her shadow stretching long across the roof. “If you’re going to stay here, you’ll need to understand—your wildness doesn’t frighten me. But it does make me want to see how far it goes.”

I blinked, caught between intrigue and amusement. “See how far it goes?”

“Yes. How far your energy can bend. How far your wolf form can push limits. Not that I’ll interfere. I’ll just… observe.”

A smirk tugged at my lips, golden sparks flickering faintly in my eyes. “Observation, huh? Dangerous hobby.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Dangerous, yes. But enlightening.”

For a moment, the night wrapped around us, thick with unspoken understanding. She wasn’t just watching. She was measuring. Calculating. Intrigued.

I leaned back on my hands, the chains humming softly. “Guess I’ll have to be careful… or maybe I won’t.”

Her half-smile sharpened just a little. “I’ll be the judge of that, Olivia.”

And for the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel entirely alone in this strange, magical world.

Wednesday’s POV

She didn’t see me at first. That much was obvious.

The rooftop had always been a sanctuary of sorts—quiet, elevated, detached. Mine. Yet when I climbed up tonight, I found Olivia already there, perched on the edge as though daring gravity to claim her. For a moment, I considered leaving. Silence is best kept pure. But then—

The bracelet. A click. A guitar unfolding like some alchemist’s trick. I had not expected that. And when she played—when those notes threaded into the night air—it was different from the noise of students below. Different from anything here. Each chord was a wound laid bare, bleeding into sound. Her fingers trembled, but the music didn’t falter. It was sorrow. It was defiance. It was survival.

I stayed in the shadows longer than I intended. Watching. Listening. Dissecting. I told myself it was analysis, nothing more. Yet when she finally noticed me and looked up, I found myself speaking before I could stop. Interesting instrument. It suits you. The words sounded detached, clinical. But they weren’t. Not entirely.

She smirked at me, bitter and playful at once, and I felt the familiar spark—equal parts irritation and… intrigue.

Silence stretched between us, heavy but not uncomfortable. She filled it by existing, by being. The golden glow of those chains at her wrists caught my eye—alive, pulsing, restless. Her wolf lingered just beneath the surface, restrained yet eager. She thought she was fragile, drowning in chaos. But I saw it differently. Her control wasn’t weakness. It was the kind of restraint that could break into something devastatingly powerful.

I told her so, in my way. That her energy was both precise and wild. A paradox. She looked surprised, almost relieved, as though no one had ever named it before. The warmth in her eyes when I acknowledged her art unsettled me. Recognition mattered to her. And the fact that I gave it—when I rarely gave anyone anything—unsettled me even more.

I leaned back, folded my arms, masked myself again. But the truth had already slipped out. She fascinated me. Not because she was extraordinary yet. But because she might become so.

Observation. That’s what I told her. A safer word than fascination. A colder one. She teased me for it, of course—called it dangerous. She wasn’t wrong.

But danger has always been the most worthwhile pursuit.

As the night folded around us, I realized something I would never say aloud: she made this place less tedious. And perhaps, in her chaos, I saw a reflection of something I could almost respect.

Almost.

Chapter Text

Wednesday’s POV

The sunlight slanted through the tall, narrow windows of the dining hall, cutting across the long tables and highlighting the muted chatter of students. I slid into a seat near the window, my tray already set, scanning the room as usual.

And then I saw her, Olivia. Calmly sketching in her notebook, completely absorbed in her own world. Golden energy faintly shimmering at her wrists, though subtle. She didn’t notice me at first, but I couldn’t look away. There was something in the way she moved—focused, contained, yet… wild underneath it all.

She glanced up, catching my eyes, and for a fraction of a second, that small, teasing smirk crossed her face.

"Mind if I join?" she said, voice light, almost playful.

I raised an eyebrow, hiding my own flicker of amusement. "I suppose not."

She settled beside me, notebook open, quietly drawing as she munched on a piece of toast. I watched her hands move, the way she added detail with careful strokes. There was a rhythm to it, almost hypnotic, and I realized I was… intrigued.

"You always eat and draw at the same time?" I asked, voice clipped but not unkind.

She shrugged, not looking up. "Multitasking. It’s a skill. Unlike some people, I can focus on more than one thing at a time."

I felt the corner of my lips twitch. "Hmph. Bold claim."

She glanced at me briefly, eyebrow arched. "Careful, Wednesday. Bold claims come with consequences."

I smirked despite myself. There was something infectious about her confidence.

For a while, we ate in silence, the world around us fading just enough that it felt like it was only the two of us. Even her quiet observations—little notes in the margins of her sketchbook, the subtle tilt of her head—made me want to see more, to understand her better.

And I knew, even then, that this strange, chaotic energy she carried—her golden chains, her wolf form, her mind—was going to pull me in further than I expected.

A week passed, and I kept watching her. She moved through the halls like a living enigma—quiet, deliberate, always observing. She laughed sometimes, sharp and playful, teasing without cruelty. Those moments were brief, but they left a trace, a brightness in the shadow she carried.

Her curiosity was relentless. She sketched constantly, pen flying across pages, capturing details no one else noticed—the flicker of a candle, the curl of a shadow, the way a student’s hair fell across their eyes. I often caught her staring at magical artifacts as if trying to memorize every curve, every rune, every hidden possibility. She absorbed it all, never asking for help, never commenting aloud. Just watching, learning, storing.

I noticed her during fechtung practice as well. She had no instruction, yet she mimicked the movements perfectly—stance, footwork, grip—her form precise and fluid. She fell only rarely, each mistake met with quiet self-correction, no frustration, no words. She learned by observing, by internalizing.

And then there were the nights. Always the nights. She climbed to the rooftop, guitar in hand, golden chains glimmering faintly around her wrists. The music she played wasn’t structured; it wasn’t melodic in a conventional sense. It was raw, a direct conduit of emotion—grief, longing, loneliness, hope. I watched from the shadows, fascinated. The city lights below reflected faintly on her chains, giving her the look of a spirit suspended between worlds.

Even after a week, I still didn’t know what to make of her. She was dangerous, chaotic in her energy, yet she moved with focus, intelligence, and a strange kind of elegance. Her curiosity, her quiet absorption of the world, her laughter, her music—they all left a mark. And for reasons I didn’t yet understand, I found myself compelled to watch, to see what she would do next, to measure the depth of her mind and the scope of her power.

Every day with her was an exercise in observation. And every night, I wondered if she ever realized how much of herself she was revealing—through her hands, her laughter, her eyes, her music.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV 

The next day

The room was buzzing with voices, trays clattering, and Enid’s laugh carrying from across the hall like a neon sign of pure chaos. I balanced my plate in one hand, scanning the tables. Most people were already seated in their little cliques—packs, covens, brooding loners. My eyes, of course, landed on the only person who could make silence louder than all the noise combined.

Wednesday Addams. Eating with the precision of a surgeon dissecting her meal.

Perfect target.

I slid into the seat beside her, wearing the brightest smile I could muster, the kind that could probably blind a vampire.
“By the way, if you’re ignoring me, that must mean you’ve already taken a liking to me, right?”

She didn’t even bother looking up. Her fork stabbed into a piece of food with deadly elegance.
“No. It means the execution has been postponed.”

I placed a hand dramatically over my chest, gasping loud enough that a few students at the next table turned their heads.
“So… a suspended sentence? I always knew you were a romantic at heart.”

Nothing. Not even a twitch. She just chewed, unmoved, as though I were an especially persistent fly buzzing in her ear.

I leaned back in my chair, smirk tugging at my lips. Her stoicism was like a wall, but instead of discouraging me, it was a dare. A challenge. And I had never been good at walking away from challenges.

She finally glanced up, dark eyes pinning me. “Where do you keep that guitar you play at night?” Her voice was calm, but the question landed like a scalpel, sharp and deliberate.

I arched a brow, fighting back a grin. “Curious, are we? I’d tell you… but then I’d have to kill you. And you’d probably consider that plagiarism.”

Her lips twitched. Just barely. “So it’s a secret.”

“Exactly,” I whispered, leaning closer as if sharing state-level classified intel. “Every magician has a trick. Mine just happens to involve rooftops and midnight concerts.”

Her knife scraped quietly against the plate. If silence could be weaponized, hers would have been a guillotine.

But me? I just sipped my coffee with the grace of someone who had nothing left to lose.

And for a split second—I swear—I saw the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth. Almost a smile. Almost.

Which, of course, meant I was winning.

Wednesday’s POV

I slid into the dining hall as usual, tray in hand, eyes scanning the room with practiced detachment. Most students moved in predictable patterns—cliques, packs, lone wolves masquerading as brooding enigmas. I spotted her immediately. Olivia. Bright, bold, impossible to ignore, even from a distance. She carried herself with a confidence that radiated louder than any noise in this hall.

She sat beside me. Smiling. Bright. Too bright. Irritatingly so.

"By the way, if you’re ignoring me, that must mean you’ve already taken a liking to me, right?" she said.

I didn’t look up. My fork moved precisely, slicing through food with the efficiency of a scalpel. Silence was my weapon; she clearly hadn’t learned that yet.

"No. It means the execution has been postponed," I said, calm, measured.

Execution. The word hung between us like a blade. I watched her theatrics—the hand over the chest, the gasps—but I didn’t react beyond a minimal tilt of my head. This girl… she wasn’t afraid. She thought she was teasing me, and yet, the audacity was almost entertaining. Almost.

I studied her, noting the tilt of her brow, the way she leaned just slightly forward, teasing, daring. Dangerous. She had no idea how little I tolerated theatrics, and yet she persisted.

Finally, I glanced up at her. Dark eyes meeting hers, cold but curious. "Where do you keep that guitar you play at night?" My voice was steady, deliberate, scanning for reaction.

“Curious, are we? I’d tell you… but then I’d have to kill you. And you’d probably call that plagiarism.”

A flicker — not a smile, but something smaller — tugged at the corner of my mouth before I could stop it. A twitch. Nothing more. Barely there.

She was enjoying herself. Predictable. And predictable could be measured.

“So it’s a secret,” I said flatly, letting the words hang between us.

“Exactly,” she whispered, leaning closer. “Every magician has a trick. Mine just happens to involve rooftops and midnight concerts.”

I let the knife scrape against the plate. My silence was a guillotine. The subtle tilt of my head, the unblinking stare — all tools of measurement.

And yet… I lingered. Intrigued by her audacity, her raw, chaotic energy that somehow moved in rhythm with the world she was deciphering.

Another flicker at the edge of my lips — again, almost a smile, almost. Not given, but surfacing like an uninvited thought. Calculated? Perhaps. But enough to confirm she was playing her own game.

She was bold. Dangerous. Annoying. Intriguing.
And, for reasons I refused to name, I wanted to see what she would do next.

Chapter Text

Chapter 19

Olivia’s POV 

A week later – lunch in the cafeteria.

The dining hall buzzed the same as always, voices clashing like a badly tuned orchestra. I sat across from Wednesday, tray in front of me, pencil in hand. Half my attention was on my sketchbook—half-scribbled anatomy of a dragon head—while the other half nibbled absentmindedly at food that tasted vaguely like cardboard with seasoning.

“How’s your friendship with Enid going?” I asked, lifting my eyes to her, curious.

“In progress,” Wednesday replied curtly, not bothering to look up.

“You haven’t actually talked to her yet?”

“No.”

I blinked. A whole week, and nothing? That had to be fixed. Immediately.

Just then, as fate would have it, Enid bounced into the cafeteria with Ajax and her usual rainbow-colored entourage. Before my brain could warn me otherwise, my mouth betrayed me:

“Hey, Enid! Come join us!”

The reaction was instant.
“What are you doing?!” Wednesday hissed, eyes flashing with something I had never seen on her before—panic.

“Talking,” I answered innocently, like butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth.

“Hi, girls!” Enid beamed, jogging over with her usual sunshine energy. “Of course I can join you!” She whispered something to her group, who drifted off to another table, leaving her perched beside Wednesday like a pink explosion in a black-and-white movie.

I could practically feel Wednesday’s murderous glare burning holes into the side of my face.

“So, how are you two doing?” Enid asked brightly.

“School,” I said with a shrug. “Some classes are boring, but coffee keeps me alive. Without it, I’d be a tragic cautionary tale.”

Wednesday didn’t answer. She was still staring at me, eyes sharp enough to slice through my skull. Enid shifted awkwardly, clearly sensing the storm brewing, so I did what I do best—improvise.

“So, any cute guys caught your eye?” I asked, leaning in with a grin.

Kick. A sharp pain shot up my shin. Wednesday. Classic.

Enid lit up instantly, rambling happily about Ajax and a few others. Then she turned the spotlight back on me.

“What about you, Luna? Who do you like best?”

“Um…” I hesitated for half a second before going for honesty—with a twist. “Not men. Tried looking at them that way once, and it was like staring at soggy bread. No thanks.”

Kick. Again. I clenched my jaw and this time caught Wednesday’s leg between mine, trapping it.

Enid blinked. “So… you like…”

“Yes,” I cut in smoothly, smirking. “Women.”

Wednesday yanked her leg free, knocking the table in the process. Water sloshed over the rim of her glass.

“Ohhh…” Enid’s eyes went wide. “So which girl do you like?”

I leaned back in my chair, let a slow grin spread across my face, and locked eyes with the one person I knew this would bother most.

“My type? The ones who can throw me onto a bed and kick my ass.”

For the first time since I’d met her, Wednesday looked… flustered. Just a flicker, but enough to make my grin sharpen.

“Interesting taste,” Enid mumbled, clearly more uncomfortable now than she’d been in her entire life. “Well, I’ll, um… leave you two to it. My friends are waiting. Bye!” She practically bolted from the table.

“Well done,” Wednesday muttered coldly.

“It would’ve been easier if you’d stopped kicking me every five seconds,” I said, rolling my eyes and going back to my sketchbook.

There was silence for a moment, then her voice cut in abruptly:

“So. You’re attracted to women.”

I felt a blush creep up, but I smirked through it. “Congratulations, detective. Case closed. Men just don’t do it for me—too many sharp elbows, not enough mystery.”

Wednesday tilted her head, expression unreadable. “I don’t like talking about… intergender interactions,” she said flatly, and calmly resumed her meal as if I hadn’t just detonated a rainbow-colored bomb in the middle of her table.

I leaned back in my chair, smirking faintly, letting my pencil hover over the sketchbook as if I were still drawing, though my thoughts were focused entirely on Wednesday. “You know,” I murmured, more to myself than her, “it’s funny how you just… asked me. You didn’t even flinch, didn’t act shocked, didn’t call me out in front of the cafeteria. You just… stated it. Like a true detective.”

Her dark eyes lifted from her plate, sharp and assessing. “Observation. Deduction. Minimal theatrics. Efficient,” she said flatly, voice calm but precise. “I don’t waste energy on emotional theatrics. You, however, seem to thrive on them.”

I chuckled softly, tilting my head. “Guilty. But only when it’s fun. And, let’s be honest, some reactions are worth the effort.”

Her gaze lingered, unblinking, like she was measuring exactly how much of me she could tolerate before something snapped. I held her stare, half-teasing, half-challenging. “So, let me get this straight… You already knew, or were just confirming your brilliant deduction skills?”

Wednesday’s lips quirked at the corner, almost imperceptibly. “Neither,” she said slowly. “I was observing. Testing the waters. Ensuring that your… preferences are consistent with your behavior.”

I raised an eyebrow, smiling. “Consistent, you say? Wow, congratulations, detective. I do strive for perfection in all things—even chaos.”

A silence fell between us, broken only by the occasional clatter of trays from nearby tables. I noticed her dark eyes flicking to my sketchbook, then back to me, calculating. “And what about… limits?” she asked finally, voice low, almost curious. “Are your interests… flexible?”

I leaned forward slightly, pencil tapping the page, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Limits? That’s a funny word. I mean… I like what I like. Let’s just say, it takes a lot to surprise me—and even more to change my mind.”

Her eyes narrowed, though I caught the tiniest glint of something unspoken—interest? amusement? both? “Noted,” she murmured. “I’ll keep that in mind. Dangerous to underestimate a person’s… inclinations.”

I chuckled softly, leaning back again. “Dangerous, yes. But also enlightening.” I paused, letting the words settle. “And for the record, don’t take this as an invitation to probe further. I give very selective access to my… preferences.”

Wednesday tilted her head, one eyebrow raised, her usual mask of calm composure slipping just enough to betray mild curiosity. “Selective access… I understand. But some tests are… unavoidable.”

I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “I have a feeling I’m going to regret every lunch I spend with you.”

She said nothing—just a faint, deliberate twitch at the corner of her lips, a silent acknowledgment. And in that small, imperceptible gesture, I realized that lunch wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Wednesday’s POV

I sat across from her, eyes narrowing slightly as I watched her movements. Olivia. Loud, bold, impossible to ignore, even in a room filled with chaos. Her gestures, her smirk, the way she slid into the seat beside me—it was calculated, performative, and yet… she seemed oblivious to the precision of my attention.

Her question about Enid barely registered. My focus remained on her, measuring the subtle shifts in posture, tone, expression. She had a way of drawing attention not through words alone, but through the small manipulations of her presence. Dangerous, in a way I didn’t entirely trust… but curiosity had a grip on me.

Then Enid appeared. Bright, chaotic, an eruption of color and sound. Olivia’s invitation—direct, audacious—provoked something in me I hadn’t anticipated. My reflexive glare burned at her side, yet my mind catalogued every detail: her tone, her smile, the ease with which she disrupted order. She thrived on attention, she cultivated chaos. Fascinating.

As Olivia answered, laughed, and teased, my mind measured the pattern. Her legs. Subtle, repeated nudges. Instinctive, intentional, or both? I moved precisely, intercepting one kick, feeling the table wobble, calculating how her energy interacted with mine.

Her honesty about attraction landed in the air. I paused, eyes flicking to her, expression controlled, yet internally I catalogued the data: the way her face changed, the brief flare of color, the confidence behind her words. Interesting. Dangerous. Bold. Predictable in her unpredictability.

I observed the dynamics shift as Enid bolted. My glare softened slightly, but my attention remained sharp. She was testing boundaries, seeing reactions, learning, adjusting. I was measuring limits—her reactions, her control, her willingness to provoke.

When she leaned back, smirking, teasing, I felt the faintest twitch at the corner of my lips—almost imperceptible, a concession to the amusement she had earned. Efficient. She thrived on theatrics, yet there was precision in it. Discipline hidden behind chaos.

Her pencil hovered, eyes sparkling with mischief. I catalogued the detail, noting the intentionality behind her gestures. She was careful yet daring. Dangerous yet… intriguing.

"Limits," I murmured, almost to myself, more curious than anything. Observing her revealed as much about her as it did about me. Tests were unavoidable, and she was testing me as much as I tested her.

That faint, deliberate twitch at my lips—her laughter, her defiance, her boldness—reminded me that this was far from over. I would continue observing. Measuring. Testing. And perhaps, in the process, I would see just how far her dangerous inclinations could go—and what that might mean for me.

Lunch wasn’t over. And neither was the game.

Chapter Text

Chapter 20

Olivia’s POV 

Another week had passed since I’d revealed my orientation to Wednesday. Somehow, I had the impression that she was a little curious about me—though, honestly, who could say for sure?

After my usual physical training, I decided it was time to work on my chains. As always, they erupted from my skin, coiling and thrashing like liquid steel. I could feel that my control still wasn’t perfect, and yes… annoyed was written all over my face. I took a few deep breaths and tried to calm myself.

Closing my eyes, I maneuvered the chains around myself, weaving them between my legs, swinging them in fluid arcs. It almost felt like I was dancing, though a very sharp, slightly deadly kind of dance. Then I felt something strange… a gaze.

I opened my eyes toward the feeling—nothing. Weird.

Shifting into my wolf form, I sniffed the air. That’s when I picked up her scent. Wednesday. Hidden, but present.

“Huh?” I muttered, tilting my head.

Memories of hunting as a wolf flooded me, instincts kicking in. I mirrored every movement—silent, deliberate, a predator stalking its prey. Every step was calculated, every motion precise. Almost like hunting a rabbit.

As I neared the tree she was hiding behind, I transformed back into my human form, intending to ask what she was doing. Instead… my body spun a full 360, letting out a loud, “Woooo!” all the way through the spin. Classic Olivia, apparently.

I collapsed onto the ground, looking up—and froze. Beautiful black eyes stared straight back at me. I mean, really black eyes. Deadly, unreadable, and entirely Wednesday.

“Interesting,” she murmured, her voice flat, almost bored—but not entirely. “Your control… is chaotic. I should have expected nothing less.”

I grinned sheepishly, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. “Hey, I call it ‘chaotic elegance.’ Works every time.”

Her lips twitched faintly, just the slightest acknowledgment of my humor. “You’re… noisy,” she said. “Even when you think you’re quiet, you make… a spectacle.”

“Spectacle, huh? I prefer ‘artistic display,’” I replied, rolling onto my side with mock flourish. “Though I guess spinning and yelling ‘wooo’ doesn’t exactly scream subtle.”

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed, tracking the chains still hovering near me. “And yet… I watched. Patiently. Calculating. You’re… fascinating, Olivia.”

I blinked, grinning despite myself. “Fascinating? That’s either a compliment or a threat. Hard to tell with you.”

A pause. Then she said, quietly: “Perhaps both.”

I flopped back with a laugh, letting the chains settle. “Well, I’m full of surprises. You’ll get used to it… eventually.”

Wednesday tilted her head, the corner of her mouth twitching again, just slightly. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I will simply endure… your theatrics.”

I rolled my eyes dramatically. “Endure? I prefer ‘enjoy from a safe distance.’”

Her gaze didn’t waver, but I swear I saw the faintest hint of amusement—or maybe that was just my imagination. Either way, it was enough to make me grin like an idiot.

My gaze locked on Wednesday’s impossibly black eyes. They were still fixed on me, unblinking, and somehow… calculating.

“Alright,” I said, raising an eyebrow, my voice teasing but cautious. “I have to ask—are you stalking me?”

Her head tilted slightly, like a predator assessing its prey—or maybe just a girl mildly annoyed by a question she didn’t find particularly interesting. “Stalking… is such a dramatic word,” she said flatly. “I prefer… observing.”

“Observing, huh?” I echoed, letting my grin spread. “So basically… you’re creeping on me, but with manners.” I tapped the chain lazily, letting it flick against the ground. “Got it. Noted.”

She didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Just continued watching, the corner of her mouth twitching almost imperceptibly. “You move… unpredictably. I need to understand you. Your… patterns. Your energy.”

I leaned back, feigning shock. “Patterns? You’re tracking my chaos, my ‘artistic display’? That’s… slightly flattering, in a terrifying sort of way.”

Her gaze sharpened, piercing me like a blade. “Flattery isn’t my concern. Information is.”

I rolled my eyes, mock exasperated. “Right. Information. Totally normal. Nothing creepy about standing in the shadows like a dark, broody statue.”

She didn’t answer, but the faint twitch of her lips made me think she almost… wanted to smile. Almost. Dangerous.

“Well,” I said, straightening up and rolling my shoulders as if to warm up, spinning a chain in a lazy arc around my wrist, “if observation is your hobby, I hope you enjoy the show. I promise I’m a very… dramatic performer.”

Her eyes followed every movement, calm, deliberate, unyielding. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she murmured, voice low and precise, like she was issuing a quiet warning.

I let out a little sigh, flopping back onto the rooftop. “This is going to be fun… isn’t it?”

She said nothing. She didn’t have to. The weight of her stare told me everything I needed to know: she was hooked. Not that she’d admit it aloud, of course.

Wednesday’s POV

Every day after classes, she disappears.
No dorms, no clubs, no mindless socializing. Straight into the woods. The pattern was too sharp to ignore.

And I don’t ignore patterns.

So I followed. Quietly.
Not because I’m “curious.” Curiosity is a frivolous word. This is investigation. Olivia is new, volatile, wrapped in chaos that leaks out of her like smoke from a burning house. That makes her a variable. And I don’t leave variables unchecked.

From behind the tree, I watched. The chains tore from her skin like molten steel, thrashing without discipline. Chaotic. Unstable. Dangerous.
But also… deliberate. She wasn’t just flailing. She was practicing. Every flick of the chain, every shift of her stance—it was raw, unrefined, but it was training. Daily training. In secret.

Why the forest? Why alone?
Is it shame? Secrecy? Or strategy?

Her movements smoothed, turning into something almost… choreographed. A deadly dance, jagged but strangely rhythmic. She didn’t know she was performing, yet she was. That was when I realized I wasn’t just gathering data—I was observing theater. And against my better judgment, I stayed.

Then she stopped. Sniffed the air. Wolf instincts. She knew.

I should have stepped away then. I didn’t.

Instead, I lingered—until she spun a full circle with that absurd shout. “Wooo!”
Predictable. Loud. Ridiculous. My lips twitched before I could stop them. Almost a smile. Almost.

When she finally noticed me, I let her. My gaze didn’t waver. “Interesting. Your control… is chaotic. I should have expected nothing less.”

Because I had expected nothing less. And yet… every day after classes, I still find myself here. Watching. Measuring. Trying to understand why chaos feels like a pattern in itself.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

The next day, a thought struck me. “Is it possible to avoid—and hide from—Wednesday?”

During the breaks, I slipped into the crowd, blending as best as I could. At least, that’s what my Assassin’s Creed training—also known as video games—taught me. Apparently, disappearing into a throng of people was the best way to lose someone. And… it actually worked.

During a longer break, I tried it again. I moved along the wall, glancing left and right—clean, procedural walking. I ducked behind a corner, pretending to check my phone. Feeling clever, I slowly peeked out… and froze.

Her face. There she was. Wednesday. Right behind the wall. Eyes dark, unblinking, as if she had been there all along.

I jumped back, almost tripping over my own feet, and… hiccup! “H-hic! W-what the—hic!?” I stammered, hiccupping with every word.

She raised an eyebrow, expression flat as ever, clearly entertained. “Running from me? That was… pointless.”

I hiccupped again, rubbing my forehead. “H-hic! P-pointless? N-nooo! I was just… blending! Stealth! Totally stealthy!”

Her lips twitched—just slightly, but enough to betray a hint of amusement. “Blending is futile. You… cannot hide.”

I hiccupped once more, flailing dramatically. “H-hic! Oh, come on! I w-was like… invisible! H-hic! Totally invisible!”

Wednesday stepped closer, eyes sharp, almost predatory. “Invisible… really? Is that your strategy? Because it’s… adorable.”

I blinked, hiccupping violently, and muttered through it: “H-hic! Adorable? H-hic! I’ll… kill you later… maybe.”

She didn’t flinch. Just gave me that deadpan stare, which somehow made me want to laugh, hiccups and all.

I sighed, hiccuping one last time, and slumped against the wall. “H-hic! Okay, okay… so maybe not… H-hic! Invisible. Got it.”

The next morning, I set my sights on the same goal again, but after yesterday’s spectacular failure, I decided to think more… strategically.

I didn’t hide during the breaks this time. Instead, the moment classes ended, I melted into the crowd, calculating every step. My heart raced as I approached the school wall. Panic threatened to creep in, but I pushed it aside.

As soon as I reached the wall, instinct took over. I sprinted left, darted behind it, and—shifted into wolf form. Muscles coiled, senses heightened. I bolted toward the forest as fast as I could, my paws pounding the ground. Instinct guided me, every nerve alert, every breath sharp.

Once I reached a sturdy tree, I leapt, wrapping my chains around branches to climb effortlessly. Finally, I perched safely on a thick limb, chest heaving.

“Made it!” I shouted, unable to contain my joy. A silly, triumphant grin stretched across my face. I felt ridiculous—like a cartoon hero—but I didn’t care.

Then I looked down. “Uh… how do I get down now?” I muttered, facepalming at my own stupidity.

And of course, hiccup. “Hic! Really… hic! WHERE DID THIS HICCUP COME FROM?!”

I leaned against the branch, trying to steady myself, but then my eyes landed below—and froze.

Wednesday.

I groaned, hiccuping again. “Hic! Don’t… hic! look at me… hic!”

She tilted her head, expression unreadable as always, though her dark eyes glinted faintly with amusement. “You seem… remarkably clumsy for someone who claims strategic thinking.”

I sighed dramatically, hugging my knees. “Hic! Strategic! Hic! Totally planned… hic… except for the tree thing…”

She raised an eyebrow, stepping slightly closer to the base of the tree. “And yet, here you are, high above the ground, trembling like a… well, a very stupid squirrel.”

I glared down at her, still hiccupping. “Hic! Stupid squirrel? Hic! I’ll… hic! I’ll… figure this out!”

Wednesday’s lips twitched—almost a smirk—but she didn’t offer a hand or advice. “Or,” she said flatly, “I could just watch you fail spectacularly.”

I shook my head, hiccuping again. “Hic! N-no! Hic! I’ve got this… hic!” I glanced down nervously. “Hic! But seriously… hic! HOW DO I GET DOWN?!”

She tilted her head again, her gaze piercing. “Improvise. Or… wait for me to fetch you, if you’d like a guided lesson in gravity.”

I let out another dramatic hiccup and muttered under my breath, “Hic! Oh… hic! genius… why do I even… hic! climb things?!”

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself against the branch. “Hic! Okay… hic! I’ve got this…”

But of course, physics had other plans. One of the thinner branches beneath me creaked ominously—and then snapped. My stomach dropped, adrenaline surging through me like wildfire. In an instant, my magic flared, golden sparks flickering across my skin. My eyes lit up, glowing with that same unnatural light that always accompanied my powers.

Instinct took over. I spun in the air, pivoting perfectly, and my chains shot out like extra limbs, wrapping around a sturdier branch above me. My body rotated 360 degrees mid-air. For a split second, everything felt surreal—like slow motion and clarity all at once.

I landed on the next branch with a roll, muscles absorbing the impact, eyes still glowing, chains coiling around my wrists and forearms. Only a single, baffled sound escaped me: “Huh?”

I froze, breathing hard, glancing down at the ground and then back up at the branch I had just fallen from. My mind screamed with questions—how had I pulled that off? How had I not broken something?

But instead of analyzing it, I shook my head, muttering under my breath: “Never mind…”

I turned, brushing off my hands, chains clinking softly, and began walking forward along the higher branches. My eyes still glowed faintly, illuminating the path in a soft, magical light.

From below, Wednesday’s voice cut through the forest quiet, calm and unimpressed, though her tone betrayed the tiniest hint of curiosity:
“Remarkable. Though entirely reckless. How do you intend to survive here if every step risks death?”

I glanced down at her, smirk tugging at my lips despite the lingering adrenaline. “Huh… magic helps,” I replied casually, though my tone carried the slightest tremor of thrill.

She tilted her head, observing, calculating. “And yet, you still look like you might break something. Or someone.”

I chuckled, still clinging lightly to the chains, and whispered, more to myself than her: “Hic! Yeah… hic! Probably both.”

Wednesday’s lips twitched ever so slightly, just a fraction of amusement—or maybe disbelief. She said nothing more, but her dark eyes never left me.

Wednesday’s POV

I watched her from below, arms crossed, expression neutral—but my mind was anything but. Olivia Martinez. Completely reckless. Brilliant. Insanely unpredictable. And somehow… undeniably entertaining.

She moved along the branches with the confidence of someone who didn’t entirely understand the danger, yet instinct and magic compensated for almost every misstep. The moment a thin branch snapped beneath her, I expected disaster. Instead… golden sparks, a perfect midair spin, chains latching onto the next branch, landing with precision. My eyes narrowed slightly. That was… impressive. Dangerous. Delightfully chaotic.

A faint flicker of something almost like amusement passed through me—careful, fleeting. She had just pulled off a maneuver that would have ended most people in a heap on the forest floor, and yet she handled it like it was second nature. Her glowing eyes, the soft hum of magic through her chains—it was like watching a predator in its element, and I couldn’t look away.

Her “Huh?” drifted down to me, breathless and incredulous. I allowed the tiniest twitch at the corner of my lips. Not because I was impressed in the conventional sense, but because she had that rare combination of audacity and instinct that made her… unpredictable in a very compelling way.

I stepped closer to the base of the tree, careful to stay in the shadows, and tilted my head. “Remarkable,” I said evenly, voice flat, betraying nothing—though the faintest note of curiosity lingered beneath the surface. “Though entirely reckless. How do you intend to survive here if every step risks death?”

Her smirk—eyes still glowing—answered better than any words. I found myself studying her movement, memorizing her instincts, calculating what she was capable of. She was strong. Clever. And completely untamed.

Her casual, almost flippant answer floated down: “Huh… magic helps.” I suppressed a small sigh—half exasperation, half intrigue. That was Olivia for you. Dangerous, fearless, absurd, and yet somehow… fascinating.

I tilted my head again, watching her continue along the branches, chains coiling and uncoiling like extensions of her body. “And yet,” I murmured, more to myself than to her, “you still look like you might break something. Or someone.”

Her chuckle—or perhaps hiccup-laced mutter—drifted faintly: “Hic! Yeah… hic! Probably both.” My lips twitched slightly. A flicker of amusement. A shadow of disbelief.

And still, I said nothing further, letting her continue. My dark eyes never left her, tracking, analyzing, silently noting every move. She was chaos wrapped in precision, a wild card I could neither ignore nor underestimate. And though I would never admit it aloud, a small part of me—just a small part—was curious to see how far she could really go.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

The next day, after my physical training, I shifted my focus back to practicing magic—but this time, I sat on the ground. I didn’t feel like playing hide-and-seek with Wednesday today. Instead, I concentrated on what had happened yesterday. My fall… I replayed it in my mind, analyzing every millisecond.

The adrenaline had boosted my magic—but what had caused the adrenaline? Fear. The raw, bone-deep fear of death. So emotions… emotions affected how my chains moved, almost like they were an extension of my will itself.

I started thinking about my will, my intent, the part of me that drove every action. Slowly, I opened my eyes, and a flicker of magic danced within them. I stood, and this time, I treated my chains not as something to control, but as a direct reflection of my will.

I applied the movements I had learned in my combat classes, letting my body guide the chains. They responded flawlessly, curling, swinging, and striking exactly as I intended—as if we were one entity, my mind, body, and magic intertwined.

I took a deep breath and, for the first time in a long while, smiled. “Finally…” I whispered, exhaustion and satisfaction mixing in the words.

From the shadows, Wednesday’s voice cut through the quiet. Calm, measured, yet carrying the faintest hint of intrigue:
“Finally… what? Mastery, or just another reckless display of flair?”

I looked over, grinning despite myself. “Maybe a little of both,” I said, shrugging. “But this time, it felt right. Like… I wasn’t fighting the chains. We were working together.”

She tilted her head, eyes glinting, almost approving, though her voice remained flat. “Interesting. Progress is… rare with you.”

I chuckled softly, twirling one of the chains around my wrist. “Hey, don’t get used to it. Today’s my lucky day.”

Her lips twitched slightly, almost the hint of a smirk. “Lucky… or fortunate enough to survive your own chaos?”

“Details, details,” I said with a playful roll of my eyes. “Magic works better when you’re dramatic, don’t you think?”

Wednesday’s gaze lingered on me a moment longer, silent but sharp, her dark eyes studying my movements as if memorizing them. Then she finally muttered, almost to herself, “You may yet be… tolerable.”

I laughed quietly, shaking my head. “Tolerable? Hah! That’s practically a compliment coming from you.”

She said nothing, only watching, and I couldn’t help but feel the smallest flicker of pride—Wednesday Addams had noticed.

Wednesday’s POV

I watched from the shadows, silent, unmoving. At first, it was nothing more than idle observation—Luna fumbling, chains flailing like a caged storm. But then… she stopped. The chaos stilled. Her eyes sparked with that golden light again, subtle but unmistakable. Something shifted in the way she moved; the chains obeyed her not as tools, but as extensions of herself.

I tilted my head, curiosity piqued despite my best efforts at indifference. How many had I seen stumble and fail, yet none had moved with this kind of… cohesion? Precision born not of training alone, but instinct intertwined with will. It was frustratingly impressive.

When she breathed out that quiet, almost reverent “Finally…,” I felt something akin to amusement—or perhaps surprise—curl at the edge of my awareness. My lips twitched involuntarily. She dared to take a risk and succeed. It wasn’t just skill; it was audacity.

Her grin, that ridiculous, triumphant expression, made something inside me… shift. Calculations, strategy, instincts—they all screamed that she was unrefined, chaotic. And yet, she had just refined chaos into something… effective.

I stepped slightly closer, letting my gaze study her as she moved. Not a word, just watching. A small part of me… wanted to see more. How far would she push it? How far could she go before she burned herself out or broke something vital?

Her casual, playful remark about luck made me tilt my head again. That unrestrained confidence, that ridiculous humor in the face of danger… she didn’t scare easily. Not yet. Maybe she never would. And yet, I could not deny the faint trace of admiration threading through my thoughts.

“Lucky… or fortunate enough to survive your own chaos?” I said finally, voice flat but carrying the barest trace of acknowledgment. She laughed quietly, shaking her head at my words. That… almost irritated me. And yet, I found myself holding my tongue, letting her revel in it.

I stayed silent after that, still observing, still measuring. The faint glow in her eyes mirrored something I had seen before in predators, in creatures who survived because they refused to yield. She was unpredictable. Frustratingly capable. And, in some strange way… tolerable.

Tolerable. I murmured it to myself, almost as if testing the word against the reality of her presence. She was far from ordinary. I would watch. I would wait. And perhaps… I might even be intrigued.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

Another week of classes passed until the teachers announced that in two days there would be a big showcase, where students would demonstrate their abilities—mostly to get to know each other across species. In the cafeteria, everyone buzzed with excitement, talking loudly about what they planned to show, what spells they were perfecting, or which creatures they’d attempt to tame. I sat in my favorite spot, sketchbook open, pencils poised—but honestly, my attention was mostly on the chaos around me.

I wasn’t the only one looking forward to it. Across from me, my quiet dining companion sat like a statue, observing the frenzy with her usual deadpan precision. I glanced at her, debating whether to start a conversation or retreat to my sketching, and then… she spoke.

“Calm down, or your heart might actually explode. Which, on second thought, could be entertaining.”

I blinked, startled. “What’s so interesting about exploding hearts?” I asked, my tone teetering between indignation and curiosity.

“Nothing really. You’d probably find it dull anyway. Small talk suits you better.”

I smirked, leaning back slightly. “And you like irritating me… or is that your way of flirting?”

Her eyes narrowed. A deadly glare, like she could slice through steel, and yet… I couldn’t stop grinning. “Flirt? Don’t flatter yourself. Irritating you is a side effect, not a hobby.”

I rolled my eyes dramatically, but my wolf stirred anyway. My muscles tensed without permission, and for a moment, my eyes glimmered gold and silver. My teeth bared slightly—not enough to scare her, I hoped, but enough to feel like a threat.

“Oh, the wolf’s out? How dangerously adorable. Just try not to bite me… yet,” she said, her voice calm, but that tiny spark of amusement in her eyes betrayed her.

I froze, blinking. Blinking again. Did she just… call my wolf adorable? My mind scrambled for a witty comeback, but all I could do was… hiccup mentally. I flushed bright red, cheeks burning. “H-hic! I mean… uh… eating politely… yes… that’s what I’m doing.” I stabbed at my vegetables like they were enemies, pretending the wolf had never risen.

She tilted her head, observing, ever the predator in plain sight. “You really are predictable. That wolf isn’t a toy. But apparently, neither is your composure.”

I chuckled nervously, muttering under my breath, “Hic! Compose… compose… hic! Who even am I kidding?” Then I grinned and added aloud, “Guess I just like keeping life interesting… even if it’s terrifying me more than anyone else.”

She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she let the silence hang, her dark eyes boring into mine with that unsettling intensity that somehow made my heart skip—not from fear, exactly… more like mild terror sprinkled with curiosity.

I leaned back in my chair, pretending to take a sip of water, but my mind raced. Why was it so easy to throw me off balance? Did she know some hidden button inside me, one I didn’t even know existed? I tried to imagine a world where I could train my wolf to stay polite during lunch—but then again, that might be boring.

“Well,” I said with a playful shrug, stabbing a carrot with exaggerated precision, “at least I know one thing: if the wolf ever decides to fully wake up, you’re going to be very, very entertained.”

Her lips twitched. That faintest hint of a smirk—or maybe it was a warning. “I’ll reserve judgment… for now.”

And just like that, my day was off to a thrilling start. Wolf, vegetables, and Wednesday’s dark amusement: a combination I wasn’t sure I could survive, but honestly… I was looking forward to it.

The student council was going around, asking students about their talents—not just supernatural ones. Out of curiosity, after class I approached them and asked if I could sign up. They added me to the list and asked what I would perform.

“I’ll play the guitar,” I replied.

Their interest faded quickly; apparently, many students played the guitar.

Later, I grabbed my guitar and headed into the forest. My usual training spot—far enough from everyone, just me, the trees, and the occasional bird judging me from above. I leaned the instrument against a tree trunk and started with what I always did first: physical training.

Push-ups until my arms shook, squats until my legs begged for mercy, and sprints weaving between the trees like I was in some ridiculous forest obstacle course. Sweat dripped down my back, my lungs burned, and I muttered between breaths, “Because clearly, music sounds better when you’re about to collapse. Science.”

Finally, I plopped down beneath the tree, wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, and reached for the black guitar. Just holding it made my chest tighten with excitement.

I wanted so badly to start strumming—but those eyes. Black, sharp, unwavering. I didn’t even have to see her to know Wednesday was watching. Privacy? Hello? Do people not get the concept of personal space? My lips twisted into a half-scowl as I adjusted the guitar on my lap.

At first, it was chaos. My fingers stumbled over the strings like they’d forgotten every lesson, and the sound made me wince. “Wow. Amazing. Truly the stuff of legends,” I muttered sarcastically, glaring at my own hands.

But slowly, I found the rhythm. Breath by breath, the notes grew steadier, sharper. Golden sparks of energy flickered faintly across my fingertips, weaving into the melody. I closed my eyes, letting my emotions pour out—the nervous thrill of the showcase, the determination to prove myself, the ache of missing home… and, annoyingly, the magnetic weight of Wednesday’s gaze.

And why is my stalker so hot? Like—I want to pin her to the tree…

My hand slipped, producing an ugly, twanging chord. My face flushed instantly. Great. Fantastic. Thanks, brain. Exactly what I needed right now.

I shook it off with a crooked grin and played harder, channeling every ounce of will into the strings. Soon, the forest felt like it was holding its breath, listening. Each note resonated, not just as sound, but as a piece of me—my wolf instincts, my chains, my restless energy—all braided into the song.

When the last chord faded into the air, I exhaled sharply and opened my eyes. My hands trembled from the effort, but I felt alive, buzzing with adrenaline.

And of course—there she was. Wednesday. Leaning against a tree as if she’d been carved from it, black eyes fixed on me without blinking.

I smirked, wiping sweat from my brow. “Hope you enjoyed the free concert, stalker. And yes, I did all those push-ups for dramatic effect. You’re welcome.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. Heavy, unreadable, like she was dissecting me without moving a muscle. And despite myself, despite the heat still burning in my cheeks, a stupid grin tugged at my lips. Somehow, between the sweat, the strings, and those damn eyes—it felt worth it.

Wednesday’s POV

The forest was quiet, except for the pounding of Olivia’s footsteps and the guttural rhythm of her breath. She moved with a kind of reckless determination—push-ups pressed into the soil, sprints weaving clumsily between trees, sweat glistening at her temples. It was not grace, but raw insistence, the refusal to stop even when her body begged for it.

I watched from the shadows, unseen, though I doubted she was truly unaware. Olivia had a strange way of always sensing me, even if she pretended otherwise.

Then came the guitar. Propped carelessly against the tree, as if it were nothing more than another tool. She picked it up, irritated, muttering under her breath when the strings betrayed her clumsy start. The scowl on her face was almost comical—an artist enraged at her own creation.

But then… she steadied. Her hands, still trembling from the workout, found precision. Notes began to form, weaving together into something raw, something that carried more honesty than any words she had ever flung at me. The sound vibrated through the air, imperfect but alive.

And then I saw it—her face flushed red. A flicker of color across her skin, quick but undeniable. Not from the exertion; this was different. My gaze lingered, sharp and dissecting. Was it frustration? Embarrassment? Or…

The thought crept in uninvited, unwanted: me.

I dismissed it at once. I did not come here for vanity. And yet, the timing was suspicious.

I leaned slightly against the tree, arms folded, my expression impassive. Inside, I catalogued the details—the way her eyes closed as if the music was dragging her elsewhere, the subtle quiver in her lips when her fingers faltered, the stubborn grin she forced back into place. She played as though the guitar were a weapon, a confession, and a shield all at once.

When the final chord faded, she opened her eyes—and found me. Predictably, she smirked, trying to mask the flush that still lingered. “Hope you enjoyed the free concert, stalker. And yes, I did all those push-ups for dramatic effect. You’re welcome.”

I did not reply. Words were unnecessary.

But my mind lingered, unwillingly, on the sight of that blush, on the way her ridiculous energy seemed to spill into everything she touched. She was chaos given form, and yet… I found myself unwilling to look away.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

The day of the performance began in a blur. The hall was buzzing, students crowding in, the air thick with anticipation. Bianca stood on stage, her voice carrying over the murmurs as she introduced each performer. One by one, students showed their talents—magic, music, even some overconfident shapeshifters trying to show off.

When my name was called last, the hall erupted in cheers. My palms were slick, my stomach twisted into knots. Why last? Because I’m not popular? Or because they want me to trip over my own guitar and make a fool of myself?

I muttered into the microphone, my voice barely above a whisper:
“Hi…”

For a moment, the crowd blurred into faceless shadows. But then—I found them. A pair of familiar, unwavering black eyes at the back of the hall. Wednesday. The panic in my chest loosened, just a little.

“My name is Luna, and I’m going to play a song called ‘Crow.’”

I sat down, adjusted the microphone toward the guitar resting in my lap, and took a shaky breath. My fingers hovered over the strings. The hall was quiet, too quiet. Don’t screw this up, don’t screw this up…

Then I played.

( https://open.spotify.com/track/0Zrh6HgpJiWgvnIYzbPWbF?si=be0340feb86a4ff6  )

The first notes were shaky, my hands stiff with nerves. But the melody grew steadier with each chord, each breath. Slowly, the hall melted away. It was just me, the guitar, and the pulse of golden energy flowing through my fingertips. The music carried everything I had—my nerves, my stubborn will, my cautious hope—and spun them into something more.

When the last chord rang out, I opened my eyes. Silence. Then—applause exploded like thunder. The students stood, clapping, shouting my name:
“LUNA! LUNA! LUNA!”

A rush of heat filled my chest, almost dizzying. My lips stretched into a grin I couldn’t hold back. My eyes flicked to the back—Wednesday. She didn’t clap, of course. But she nodded once, curt, then turned and left the hall. Somehow, that single nod hit harder than the applause.

“Thank you, thank you!” I muttered into the mic, bowing quickly before hurrying offstage.

The adrenaline was still buzzing in my veins when I followed her scent through the corridors. When I caught up, she had already stopped, waiting as if she’d known I would.

“So… how do you think I did?” I asked, still glowing with post-performance energy.

“Impressive,” she said flatly. “I might even… consider clapping next time.”

I clutched my chest dramatically. “Clapping? From you? That’s practically a love confession!”

Her eyes narrowed like daggers. “Don’t flatter yourself. Irritating you is a side effect, not affection.”

I grinned anyway, fidgeting with my bracelet—and froze. The guitar was gone. Wednesday’s gaze dropped to my wrist, sharp as a scalpel.
“That little trick… hiding it in your bracelet?” she said, tone laced with intrigue.

I blinked at my wrist, brain catching up. “Wait… did I just—oh crap…”

Before she could press further, a piercing scream tore through the corridor. We both turned instantly. Our eyes met—hers sharp, calculating; mine wide, already bracing. Without a word, we ran.

The scene stopped me cold. Blood smeared the hallway floor, pooling beneath a student’s limp body. His chest was raked open, claw marks deep and jagged. My stomach churned, bile rising. Oh god… oh no…

Wednesday crouched down, utterly composed. Her hand hovered over the wounds, studying them like puzzle pieces.
“Hyde,” she muttered, her voice low but certain.

I swallowed hard, heart pounding. “Wait… the Hyde? As in ‘giant murder monster Hyde’? Not, like, ‘guy named Hyde who’s really bad at hugs’?”

Her gaze flicked to me, cold as ice. “Would you prefer I tell you it was a puppy?”

“…Depends. Murder puppy or regular puppy?” I shot back, forcing a grin even as my throat tightened.

Then I looked at the victim’s face—and my world tilted. My breath caught.
“Mike…” I whispered. “That’s… that’s Mike. He showed me around when I first got here. He—he was just a kid.”

For a heartbeat, silence. Wednesday’s eyes narrowed, her expression unreadable, but her voice carried a rare, low edge.
“Then this isn’t random. It’s deliberate. A message.”

My wolf stirred under my skin, restless, demanding release. I forced a shaky grin to mask the ache in my chest. “Perfect. First a standing ovation, then a homicide. My day is just… hitting all the highlights.”

Wednesday’s lips twitched, almost imperceptibly. “You have a disturbing talent for finding amusement in horror.”

“Or maybe it’s the only way I don’t break,” I muttered, eyes still locked on Mike’s pale face.

She rose, sharp and composed. “Come. If the Hyde is bold enough to kill tonight… it will kill again.”

I took a breath, fists clenched, forcing myself to steady. “Then let’s make sure it regrets picking tonight.”

And together, we disappeared into the darkened hallway, leaving the blood-soaked silence behind.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

In the room by the board, Wednesday was pinning up more sheets, her focus razor-sharp. At the center, a photo of mangled Mike stared back at me. She was so absorbed, so precise, that for a moment I wondered if she even breathed.

“I feel like this was a message for me…” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

Her head turned slowly, one brow arching in that signature Wednesday way.

“And why do you think that?” she asked, voice flat, sharp as a blade.

I swallowed. “I… knew that boy. He showed me around on the first day. And—uh—he has the same name as the author.”

Wednesday stepped closer, studying me like I was another clue for her board. “You know the author’s name?”

“Well… yes and no.” I scratched the back of my neck. “At our first meeting, he said Mike Petterson. And look, that’s the exact same name as—”

“Not everything has to revolve around you,” she cut in, cold, matter-of-fact.

I met her gaze stubbornly. “I just feel it.”

Her eyes flicked to my bracelet, her tone changing like a knife sliding into its sheath. Too quiet, too deliberate.

“You’re not telling me everything… We do have some talking to do, don’t we?”

I felt my stomach twist. She stood in front of me now, arms crossed, eyes drilling holes into me.

“The bracelet,” I started, forcing myself to stay calm. “It functions like a backpack. Kind of like… a video game. It has missions, a shop, an inventory. I’ve had it since day one.”

One eyebrow arched. “Missions?”

“Yes. I complete missions every day. Failing them usually… threatens my life. I haven’t tested exactly how, but I’ve experienced penalties—usually pain.” I shivered at the memory. “You could say I’ve been tortured for missing missions…”

Her expression didn’t flinch. “Can I see it?”
It wasn’t a question.

I handed it over, my pulse racing. “It doesn’t work if someone else holds it…”

Wednesday murmured, almost to herself: “Convenient.”

“It’s bound to me by blood…” I explained.

Her gaze snapped back to me. “Empty it completely.”

“Pardon me?” I squeaked. “What if I have… personal things in there?” My face warmed instantly. “Like socks. Very personal socks.”

Her look remained utterly unmoved. No mercy in her stare.

With a sigh, I straightened up and began pulling out my things one by one. At first it looked normal—my guitar, my ID, the letters from Mike. But then the tone of the pile shifted. A pistol hit the carpet with a dull weight, followed by magazines of ammunition. Then came knives—balanced, sharp, polished. A field kit. Gauze, disinfectant, sutures. Coiled rope. A compass. And finally, a heavy pouch stuffed with neat stacks of cash—more money than anyone should ever casually carry.

The silence in the room turned heavy. The faint hum of the chains at my wrist filled the void like static.

Wednesday’s eyes moved over the weapons and supplies with clinical precision. She didn’t recoil, didn’t gasp. Instead, she crouched, tilting her head as if examining an exhibit.

“You’re not a student,” she said evenly. “You’re a survivalist.” Her finger hovered over the edge of a blade, then tapped the magazine lying beside it. “And one who expects violence.”

I swallowed, heat rising in my cheeks. “It’s… precautionary. Just in case. You never know when you’ll need to stitch a wound or… or bribe someone.”

Her gaze flicked to the bundle of cash, then back to me. “A million dollars. Convenient for bribes. Or disappearances.”

“It’s not like that,” I said quickly, crouching to shield some of the pile from her scrutiny. “It’s just… being prepared.”

Her lips twitched faintly, the ghost of a smile without warmth. “Preparedness is admirable. Paranoia, however, leaves a much darker mark. The kind that doesn’t fade easily.”

I hesitated, shifting the sketchbook behind my back. “Here… everything you need is here,” I muttered, avoiding her eyes.

“You’re lying.” Her tone was flat steel.

I spun back around. “Oh, come on—how would you even know? You haven’t watched the show about me…”

Her dark eyes pinned me without blinking. “I don’t need fiction. When someone lies, their pupils betray them. And you—” she leaned forward slightly “—blinked twice.”

My chest tightened. “It’s nothing important… just my sketchbook…”

She extended her hand. Silent. Demanding.

I clutched the sketchbook tighter behind my back. “Do you really need to know everything? Maybe it’s just embarrassing doodles of… socks. Very personal socks.”

Her lips curved faintly, like a blade finding its edge. “Keeping secrets from me? How… intriguing. The more you resist, the more curious I become about what our wolf is concealing.”

I stepped back, waving one hand between us. “P… personal space, princess.”

Her eyes narrowed, head tilting with predatory calm. “Will you hand it over willingly, or should I just take it?”

I sighed dramatically, holding the sketchbook out but still hesitating. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Contents may include cringey art, bad handwriting, and, uh… possibly a shrine to your eyeballs.”

Her gaze flickered, cold yet curious. “Now I must insist.”

“Here…” I surrendered, finally giving it to her, cheeks flaming like I’d swallowed fire.

She opened the sketchbook, flipped through a few sketches, then paused. Her head tilted ever so slightly, one eyebrow rising in that judging-but-secretly-interested way.

The pages weren’t random doodles. They were stunning, carefully inked works—shadows and light carved into paper. There she was: Wednesday Addams, framed by crows with wings spread like blades, her figure etched against a graveyard bathed in silver moonlight. Another page: her profile, eyes sharp and gleaming, framed by skulls and roses tangled in barbed wire. Each drawing breathed life, morbid beauty woven into every line.

Wednesday’s lips curved faintly, her voice quieter, darker than before. “You thought you could hide this from me?” She tapped one page with a gloved finger. “These aren’t doodles. They’re… confessions.”

My cheeks instantly caught fire. I cleared my throat, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. “You are cruel.”

Her eyes didn’t move from the page. “You don’t need to flatter me.”

“Alright… you’ve seen enough. Now give it back,” I muttered, lowering my gaze, my whole face heating up like I’d just sprinted ten laps.

Wednesday shut the book with slow precision, then hugged it against her chest like a prized artifact. “I’ll keep it… just in case I ever need to blackmail you.”

“Seriously?” I groaned, flopping onto the bed. “Great. My stalker just turned into my extortionist. Wonderful progress in our relationship.”

Unmoved, she set the sketchbook aside—deliberately within her reach—and began going through the pile I’d already emptied. A pistol. Magazines. Knives. Medical supplies. The envelope of letters. The pouch stuffed with bills. She unfolded one letter neatly, eyes scanning every word.

Her voice cut through the silence, cold and analytical: “How did he know everything? It’s like he was watching you.”

I didn’t answer immediately—half because I was too busy dying of embarrassment, half because the question stung.

Her gaze dropped back to my sketchbook. She opened it again, this time slower, examining every page as though each line was a clue. The longer she stared, the tighter my chest felt.

Finally, she looked up and stepped closer. Instinctively, I lifted my eyes to hers.

“Not bad…” she admitted, her tone flat but lacking its usual venom. “Actually, I like them. You’ve captured more than I expected. Keep going. And maybe… draw something just for me next time.”

I blinked, nearly choking on my own spit. “Wha— I mean—uh… sure. Just let me know if you want it in charcoal, pencil, or… blood, I guess?”

Her lips twitched like she was fighting a smirk. She handed me the sketchbook, her dark eyes locking onto mine with a silent dare.
“Keep it safe, wolf. And don’t waste my time… or I might have to keep it myself.”

“Ye… yes…” I murmured, still burning up. My brain screamed don’t wag your tail, don’t wag your tail, as I stood and walked toward the board.

Wednesday’s POV

She thought she could deceive me. Hide behind half-truths and jokes about socks. A flimsy veil for what she truly was.

When the bracelet emptied itself across the floor, it confirmed what I already suspected: Olivia was no ordinary student. The arsenal spoke louder than words—steel, ammunition, medical supplies, cash stacked like bone-white bricks. Not survival tools. Weapons of intent. Proof that she lived perpetually at the edge of war.

I should have felt disdain. Another reckless child playing at soldier. Yet instead, my pulse sharpened. She was chaos, but not without reason. Preparedness that bordered on obsession. I knew that flavor well.

And then—the sketchbook.

I expected crude scribbles, desperate distractions from a fractured mind. What I found instead was… unnerving. She had captured me in ways even mirrors failed. My posture, my expression, the shadows I carried. In her work I was framed by crows, by graveyards, by death itself. But it wasn’t caricature. It was worship. A confession she hadn’t intended to speak aloud.

She looked at me like I was an inevitability, not a choice. And worse—I couldn’t dismiss the accuracy of her hand.

I told her I would keep it, perhaps as blackmail. That was the logical stance. But logic was not the reason I held the book against my chest longer than necessary.

Her embarrassment amused me. Her resistance intrigued me. She was hiding something still, and I would uncover it. Not because I cared—caring is a weakness—but because she had made herself a puzzle. And puzzles are meant to be solved.

When I told her to keep drawing, I saw it—the flicker of stunned disbelief. She expected cruelty. Instead, I gave her permission. That, I realized, was more effective than any blade.

Olivia was dangerous, yes. But so am I. And in those first weeks, watching her orbit closer with every secret pried loose, I knew one truth with perfect clarity: sooner or later, her story and mine would entwine. Whether she wanted it or not.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

Trying to refocus, I gestured toward the letters. “He’s been watching me the whole time. Everything I do. That’s where my missions come from. He’s twisted and can kill without batting an eye. I’d start by checking the news—see if this was the only death.”

The blush finally began to fade as I sank into analysis mode. It was like a switch flipping inside me. Images—dozens of them—spun in my mind at once: possible scenes, branching timelines, cause and effect, who could be behind what. Like watching multiple films overlaid on top of each other. My eyes shifted rapidly, golden and silver irises flick. But then I caught myself blurting out:
“You said Hyde killed that boy… Is it true that Tyler is that species?”

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed, but her tone was calm, deliberate. “Yes. Are you suggesting we should interrogate him?”

I shrugged, meeting her gaze despite the way it made my stomach flip. “Yes. We should explore every option before he decides to kill someone else at school…”

Her eyes softened—not warm, never warm, but less like knives and more like an invitation to keep talking. It was… unnerving.

I swallowed hard and added quickly, half under my breath: “And no, I don’t mean interrogate him my way. Unless your plan involves a tree and me pinning him to it, then—well, actually that sounds fun.”

Wednesday tilted her head, eyes glinting. “Fascinating. Violence as foreplay. I should’ve guessed.”

My cheeks reignited instantly. “That’s not what I—ugh! Forget it.”

Feeling the heat of my blush creeping up my cheeks, I tore my gaze from Wednesday and focused on the board. My eyes locked onto the photograph of Mike’s mangled body.

The first thought hit me like ice: “This isn’t a game, Olivia.”

I dropped my gaze, unable to hold it any longer. My legs carried me toward the balcony almost on their own, and before I knew it, I was climbing onto the roof. The night air was sharp, the stars scattered like shards of glass across the sky. I needed this moment—needed air, distance, anything to steady the storm in my chest.

The image of Mike’s body replayed in my head like a cruel loop. But it wasn’t just a memory—it fractured, split into angles and possibilities, each one flickering like frames of a film. My mind worked like a projector on overdrive, tossing up dozens of scenarios at once: Hyde striking quickly, Hyde hesitating, someone else pulling strings behind him. My eyes shifted as though tracking invisible images across the air—left, right, up, down—like I was watching something only I could see.

Patterns overlapped and collapsed. Human form means intent. Intent means message. Message means target. My golden eye caught fragments of brutality, while the silver one mapped them into cold equations of cause and effect. Hypotheses formed and dissolved in seconds; I discarded the illogical, kept the inevitable.

This wasn’t random. Hyde didn’t just kill. He was used—guided. Which left one haunting variable standing at the center of the equation: me.

I whispered the words aloud, my voice barely more than a tremor in the wind:
“Am I capable of killing?”

The stars offered no answer, only cold silence. My chest tightened as memories clawed their way up—memories of when I was a child, when I had prepared myself to kill my oppressors. How every day of fear, anger, and pain had shaped my thoughts, carved my psyche into something sharper. Something harder.

The answer came with bitter clarity. My lips moved before I could stop myself.
“Yes.”

The word broke free, hanging in the night air. My eyes flickered with energy, a dangerous glow that pulsed with both truth and sorrow.

“That’s my reality,” I muttered, clenching my fists. “I was trained for this. Psychologically, emotionally… whether I wanted it or not. Killing is the one thing I know I’m prepared for. That’s my sad truth.”

A voice drifted from behind me, cool and deliberate.
“And yet you still hesitate.”

I stiffened. I hadn’t even heard her climb up. Wednesday stood on the edge of the roof as if she belonged there, her silhouette framed against the stars, her expression unreadable.

I glanced away, embarrassed she’d heard me. “You’re eavesdropping again.”

She tilted her head slightly. “No. Just observing. You’re loud when you talk to yourself.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Great. So now my inner breakdowns are public entertainment.”

Her gaze sharpened, cutting past my humor. “You say you’re capable of killing. I don’t doubt that. But capability is not the same as willingness. You’ll have to decide which one defines you.”

I looked back at her, eyes burning gold and silver under the starlight. “You sound like you want me to say yes.”

Wednesday’s lips curved almost imperceptibly. “I want you to be honest—with yourself. The truth is always more useful than denial.”

I swallowed hard, meeting her gaze. “Then the truth is… yes. If it means protecting people, if it means survival, if it means stopping this monster… I can.”

For the first time, her expression shifted, subtle but undeniable. Almost respect. Almost approval.
“Good,” she said simply. “Then perhaps we won’t waste each other’s time.”

I exhaled, shoulders heavy but steadier than before. “Careful, Wednesday. If you keep agreeing with me like that, people might think we’re bonding.”

Her eyes glinted. “Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t bond. I study.”

“Right…” I muttered, glancing back at the stars. “And I’m just your favorite lab rat.”

“You said it. Not me.”

Despite myself, I smiled faintly. The truth still weighed on me, heavy and cold—but with her there, watching, it somehow felt less unbearable.

Wednesday’s POV

The roof has always been a place of solitude for me. Cold air, sharp stars, silence unbroken. Yet now it was tainted by another presence—hers.

Olivia’s voice carried into the night, trembling yet unflinchingly honest. She spoke of killing, of capability, of inevitability. I did not have to interrupt; she exposed herself willingly, as if the dark sky demanded confession.

When she asked if she was capable, I already knew the answer. Her hands, her eyes, the weapons she hoards like lifelines—all betray a mind conditioned for violence. The only mystery was whether she had accepted it.

And then came the word. “Yes.”

It did not disgust me. Quite the opposite. Honesty is rare, especially when it is sharp enough to cut its speaker.

I stepped closer, letting my silhouette bleed into the starlight. She startled at my voice, embarrassed. She should not be. I do not condemn those who speak truth. I simply catalog them.

Her deflections, her humor—“foreplay,” she had muttered earlier—were nothing more than camouflage. Beneath them, a sharpened mind worked at impossible speeds. Golden and silver eyes darting like projectors, devouring every possibility at once. I have never seen someone think quite like that. It was… arresting.

When she admitted she could kill, her gaze met mine, steady despite the tremor in her voice. For the first time, I allowed the smallest fracture in my mask. Not approval. Respect. Recognition. She is no stranger to violence. Neither am I.

She quipped, of course, about bonding. I told her I study. That is safer than admitting the truth—that she is becoming less of a subject and more of an equation I want to solve completely.

A dangerous equation. One whose variables could destroy us both. And yet, as I stood with her under the fractured night sky, I knew: I would not look away.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

The day at school passed faster than usual. During breaks, I buried myself in my phone, obsessively searching for information about the recent deaths. Something on the news caught my eye — articles screaming about “bear attacks” in the nearby forests. I snapped screenshots, trying to pin down the exact locations, but all the reports were vague: “the outskirts,” “dense forest,” “near the old ranger station.” Not very helpful when you’re trying to avoid ending up as someone’s bear-themed headline.

By lunchtime, I grabbed a coffee and some food, still scrolling furiously. My brain refused to take a break, running through the deaths like a replayed nightmare. Lost in thought, I made my way to the familiar table, where the black-haired girl was already sitting, staring at nothing like she was born to ignore the entire universe. I slid into the seat opposite her, pulled out my phone, and returned to my obsessive map-marking.

Three deaths so far: one man, a couple. Bears, my eye. My instincts screamed that this was a cover-up, but I had to tread carefully.

“…via.” The voice was faint, almost drowned by the clatter of the cafeteria, and I barely registered it. Then a sharp kick under the table yanked me back to reality, accompanied by a voice that could cut glass:

“Oliwia.”

I blinked, slowly processing. “Huh? Did something happen?” My eyes finally met hers.

“Congratulations. You’ve perfected the art of not listening. Pity I’m still better at breaking through it,” Wednesday said dryly, her gaze slicing through me.

“Oh, sorry… I was, uh, looking into the recent accidents,” I mumbled, feeling slightly guilty for ignoring her presence like a teenager pretending to be invisible.

“So I noticed,” she replied, calm and precise. “What did you find?”

I leaned over my phone, pointing at my crude map. “Three deaths officially blamed on bear attacks. But I’m guessing that’s just a cover. I’m trying to pinpoint exact locations, so we don’t wander blindly into… you know… the killer forest buffet.”

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but her lips remained flat. “You mean you’re mapping the scene instead of eating your lunch?”

I shrugged, stabbing a carrot like it owed me money. “Survival first, salads second. Though honestly, I might combine the two and call it… bear-proof cuisine.”

Wednesday didn’t flinch, though I swore I caught the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth. “There’s one more thing I need to tell you. We can’t go right after classes. I need to do my training first. Skipping it could… result in my death.” My voice held the kind of seriousness that was usually reserved for threats of immediate bodily harm.

She tilted her head, silent for a moment, her gaze sharp as daggers. I could see her calculating, weighing options… clearly considering leaving me behind.

“No,” I said firmly, locking eyes with her.

Her brow arched in disbelief — almost imperceptibly, but it was there. “Did you just tell me no?” she asked, voice flat yet laced with a faint note of intrigue. “Most people don’t survive long after saying that to me. How… uncharacteristically brave of you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, yes… brave little wolf, that’s me. Make a note, world. Dangerous and adorable.” I took a sip of coffee, then leaned closer, voice dropping just enough to sound serious: “But you’re not going without me. Period.”

Her eyes narrowed, studying me like I’d just insulted the laws of physics. “You’re… serious?”

“Absolutely. You can either wait for me, or come with me to training. I know you’re tempted to uncover the whole truth on your own… but this concerns me too,” I added, voice calm but unyielding.

Wednesday’s gaze flickered, and I swore I saw the tiniest hint of surprise. Maybe even a blush. Yes. You’re imagining things. But maybe not. I smirked to myself and leaned back, swirling my coffee.

“And don’t even think about slipping away… wolves are very good at hunting,” I added, giving her a stern, almost predatory look.

For a moment, she simply stared, her dark eyes cutting into mine like black ice. Then she tilted her head, expression impossible to read. “Fascinating. A wolf issuing commands. Do you normally threaten me during lunch breaks?”

“Only on days that end in ‘y’,” I said, letting a grin slip through despite the tension. “Consider it a hobby… with benefits.”

Her lips twitched slightly, and I couldn’t help but notice how faint it was, almost imperceptible—like she was holding back a smirk. “We’ll see if your wolf skills translate to actual survival. Don’t make me regret this,” she murmured, voice calm but carrying that quiet, predatory weight that could make anyone shiver.

I waved my coffee in mock surrender. “Noted, Black-Haired Terror. I’ll be your favorite lab rat, I promise. Just… don’t eat me yet.”

Wednesday’s gaze lingered, sharp and assessing. “You talk too much. But I suppose… I’ll allow it. For now.”

I leaned back, satisfied, secretly thrilled that my wolf instincts and obnoxious humor had earned the tiniest shred of acknowledgment from Wednesday. The day suddenly felt a little more manageable… at least until training.

After classes ended, I headed toward the gate, senses alert. My instincts told me she probably wasn’t going to listen anyway. Then I caught a familiar scent—and those raven-black hairs, slipping quietly toward the exit. My blood ran hotter. Someone probably needed me, and she was trying to handle it herself. The thought alone made my wolf stir, claws itching for action.

And of course, she had swapped companions. Thing perched on her shoulder, tilting his “head” like he owned the place. “Great… she even brought a new sidekick,” I muttered internally, letting a low growl escape.

Without hesitation, I lunged. My eyes glimmered gold and silver in the fading sunlight. I saw that tiny flash of surprise cross her face—her legendary composure slipping just enough for me to notice—before she could fully react. I caught her arm, pulling her gently but firmly.

“No means no,” I growled low, letting my teeth glint faintly in the light.

She froze. Her sharp eyes studied me like I was some fascinating puzzle she couldn’t solve in one glance. Curiosity, disbelief… maybe even a tiny flicker of irritation. I thought I saw something that might’ve been a blush—or perhaps my wolf was just imagining things—but the warmth of the moment was undeniable.

“You think grabbing me will stop me? Cute… but not nearly enough,” she hissed from behind me, wrenching slightly, testing the limits of my hold.

I turned to face her, eyes narrowed. My patience had run out. Before she could react further, I scooped her up completely, carrying her like a slightly annoyed—but definitely dangerous—package. Thing, ever the curious nuisance, scrambled onto my other arm, tapping my face like a tiny, judgmental puppy.

“Really? Both of you?” I muttered, low and disgruntled, though I couldn’t hide the thrill that raced through me. “Fine. I’ll carry the circus.”

Wednesday, of course, was not impressed. Her eyes narrowed to slits, studying me as if calculating whether I’d drop her—or if she could just bite me first. “You may be strong, but strength is an overvalued quality,” she murmured, voice calm, deadly, but just sharp enough to make me smirk.

I ignored her lecture. The forest path to my training spot was familiar, and adrenaline made each step feel like I was flying. Thing shuffled nervously, but stayed balanced, while Wednesday, despite her defiance, remained firmly in my arms.

“You really enjoy this, don’t you?” she murmured, her fingers brushing at my arms as if testing where pressure points might exist.

“Enjoyment is optional,” I replied, letting my voice hum with amusement. “But success? Mandatory.”

She tilted her head slightly, lips twitching. “You may be clever, but not clever enough to escape me today,” I added under my breath, letting the words be a low warning.

Wednesday’s eyes gleamed. There was curiosity, tension, and—dare I admit it?—something almost like excitement. She let out a quiet hiss, not fully annoyed, not fully amused. “I can feel the thrill radiating off you. Do you plan to narrate this entire chase?”

“Only if you provide color commentary,” I replied, smirking, glancing at her. “And trust me, your voice is much more intimidating than mine.”

She snorted softly—almost a smirk, but still cold. “Do not flatter yourself. Your wolf might growl theatrically, but I don’t bite easily… unless invited.”

I chuckled, adjusting my grip slightly. “Noted. No invitations today. Maybe next week, though.”

Her eyes flickered toward Thing, who was still tapping my face, then back to me. “Do you ever sleep, or is every waking moment a dramatic performance?”

“Drama fuels me,” I replied, grinning. “And today, apparently, it fuels a wolf carrying a sass-filled black-haired princess and a miniature stalker at the same time.”

Wednesday’s lips twitched again. This time, it looked dangerously like amusement. “You’re insufferable,” she muttered, though the sharp edge in her voice had softened ever so slightly.

I let out a low laugh, letting the forest path swallow our steps. Carrying them both wasn’t exactly ideal, but it had the added bonus of seeing Wednesday’s composure crack just enough to be… interesting.

“Almost there,” I said, voice playful but firm. “Try to hold still. Or at least don’t bite me. Yet.”

She tilted her head, silent, dangerous, and perfectly still. But I could feel her calculating, planning, already thinking three moves ahead. I let a tiny grin slip. Perfect. My favorite lab rat indeed.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

By the time we reached the training area, my wolf instincts were roaring inside me—a mixture of anticipation, dominance, and sheer thrill. The forest smelled sharp, the ground beneath my feet solid, and adrenaline made every sense sharper. Wednesday’s gaze never wavered; she stood there, arms crossed, silently observing, analyzing, her expression unreadable but undeniably present in the moment. I could feel her calculating every nuance of my stance, my movements, the subtle tension in my body, and yes… even enjoying the thrill, though she would never admit it.

Releasing her from my arms, she stepped back, knives in hand, drawing them from hidden sheaths with flawless precision. Her posture was tight, deliberate—every movement measured. There was irritation in her eyes, but also a faint spark of something I couldn’t name. Something that made my chest tighten and my wolf growl with anticipation.

“Training? Fine,” she said sharply, her voice calm, precise, yet edged with challenge.

I grinned, baring my teeth, letting the wolf inside me howl. The exhilaration was electric. She lunged forward, and I moved instinctively, weaving through her strikes with the chains I had spent countless hours mastering. My eyes glimmered gold and silver, reflecting the adrenaline that coursed through me. She was relentless, each strike testing my reflexes, each feint probing my limits. Thing perched on a nearby branch, watching, his “head” tilted, observing every move with uncanny attention.

“You’re holding back, aren’t you? Just testing me?” she murmured, voice calm, teasing, sharp.

“You’re right…” I said with a grin, letting the chains float and respond to my will. “I’ve been refining my control.”

She nodded, expression unflinching, her dark eyes locking on mine. Not surprised—she had seen me work with these chains before—but attentive. Evaluating. Calculating.

“You’ve improved,” she said flatly, though there was a subtle undertone of… recognition. Something like respect, barely perceptible but there. “Your precision is sharper. Faster. More… fluid.”

I mirrored her movements, anticipating her strikes with the chains, letting them whip, curl, and snap, a symphony of controlled chaos. Each strike I blocked, each parry I executed, I could feel the thrill of mastery surging through me. She tested me constantly, but never lethally—enough to push me, to measure me.

When I disarmed her briefly and pinned her lightly against a tree, my chains retracting back to my arms, her eyes narrowed—not with surprise, but with calculated assessment. The faintest blush dusted her cheeks, subtle yet undeniable, and for a moment, she didn’t move, letting me savor the victory.

“I win,” I said, grinning. My wolf howled inside me with delight.

She crossed her arms again, her gaze sharp and deliberate, analyzing every muscle, every movement, every breath I took. “Not bad,” she said, almost to herself. “You’re predictable, but effective. I can see your improvement… and it’s significant.”

I stretched, loosening muscles after the intense practice. “This won’t take long. Just part of the training—skipping the run since we’re short on time,” I added, already feeling the next surge of energy as I prepared to move.

Wednesday didn’t speak for a moment, simply watching me with her usual silent, meticulous assessment. Her dark eyes tracked every flick of the chains, every subtle motion. “You’ve refined your control,” she said finally, voice flat, almost approving. “I expected less focus. Fewer details. You’ve been… thorough.”

I couldn’t resist a small smirk. “I like thorough. Makes life interesting.”

Her lips twitched, a faint, imperceptible hint of amusement—or perhaps just acknowledgement of my audacity. Thing shuffled on her shoulder, tugging slightly at a loose strand of hair, and she ignored him entirely, attention back on me.

“Done?” she asked finally, arms still crossed but with a trace of… patience, as if she was quietly approving of the effort I’d shown.

“Yes,” I said, stretching again, chains coiling lightly around my wrists. “Time for the next hunt.” I glanced at her, noting her steady gaze, and added lightly, “And don’t think you’re off the hook just because you’re not in chains today.”

She tilted her head, dark eyes glinting with calculated amusement. “I never do. But you…” Her gaze lingered, sharp, measuring, almost challenging. “…have improved. I’ll hold you accountable for it.”

I grinned. “Accountability accepted. Let’s go.”

And with that, we headed toward the gate, wolf instincts primed, chains at the ready, ready to uncover every hidden crime lurking in the shadows.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

“It should be right here…” I muttered, scanning the map, fingers tracing my messy markers.
Wednesday’s gaze followed every movement — sharp, quiet, hawk‑like.

We stepped into the clearing. Torn tape clung to the branches like old spiderwebs. Blood had dried in dark stains across the grass. My stomach knotted.

“There,” she murmured. Her chin tipped toward a camera half‑hidden near the trees.
I raised an eyebrow at her. “You spot these things way too easily.”

Something felt off. Golden energy coursed through me, and in less than a heartbeat, we became one—my soul fused with the wolf’s, instincts and senses merging seamlessly. The scents hit me all at once—blood, metal, faint chemical traces—and beneath it, a bear’s trail, but… wrong. Something was very wrong.

I shifted back to human form. Wednesday’s eyes didn’t leave me, expectant and sharp.

“One thing is certain,” I said, voice steady, resisting the urge to smirk. “There’s no escape. This was a full-on massacre. And yes, I can smell the bear…” I paused, letting the weight of the words settle. “…But it’s not behaving like a normal bear. Something’s off.”

Her brow arched. “Your wolf speaks now?”

I snorted softly. “Not exactly. We share everything — sight, smell, thoughts. He’s me. I’m him. Try explaining that at a dinner party.”

Her head tilted, curiosity flickering. “Lead on,” she said simply.

Golden light swept through me again. The world tilted into fur and paw. Roots and broken branches whispered secrets only my wolf could hear. Behind me, I felt her eyes tracking every move, calculating.

Eventually, I shifted back. “I can feel your questions from miles away,” I teased, carefully keeping my smirk in check.

Her gaze flicked to the tattoo where the chains had receded. “You control that chain?”

“Yes,” I said, nodding. “But it’s more than a weapon. It’s part of me—literally my soul. That’s what makes it… unique.”

Her eyes narrowed just slightly. “So it’s literally made from your soul?”

“Basically,” I said dryly. “Not exactly the sort of thing you lend out during sparring.”

“Noted,” she replied, expression neutral—but a faint flicker of amusement crossed her face, just enough to notice if you were looking closely.

“So that’s why they went crazy when you pinned me to the tree?” she asked, ears slightly pinked.

I flushed, muttering, “Y-Yeah…” before letting golden energy flare and becoming one with the wolf again. Her scent lingered—it was oddly pleasant—but I forced myself to focus. There was a bear—or whatever it was—out there, and we had to find it.

The forest swallowed our footsteps, but I could feel Wednesday’s eyes like iron on my back. I resisted the urge to bark a joke at her, something about how “walking with a wolf” would be an Instagram trend if humans weren’t so boring. Focus first, humor later. But her faint twitch of an eyebrow told me she knew I was holding something back, and maybe, just maybe, she found it mildly entertaining.

The trail bent deeper into the forest. My senses screamed that the bear—or what masqueraded as one—was near. The smell was sharper now, tinged with something familiar and yet… unnatural.

I paused mid-step, sniffing the air. “Wednesday,” I said, letting the weight of my words hang, “this isn’t a normal bear. It’s… something else.”

Her eyes darkened, and she tilted her head, studying me with the kind of look that could slice through steel. “Good to know,” she said, her voice almost a whisper, “because I wasn’t planning on meeting it unprepared.”

I smirked—well, almost smirked, careful not to let my face betray me—and melted back into golden energy, wolf and I becoming one again. The hunt had begun.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

Sensing the bear’s scent growing stronger in one spot, I approached cautiously. The forest was unnervingly quiet—the kind of silence that presses against your ears and makes your heartbeat sound like a drum.

I saw the bear’s corpse. Its massive frame lay twisted on the ground, fur matted with blood that didn’t seem fresh but still carried a metallic tang in the air.

I shifted back into human form and glanced at Wednesday, silently asking if she had any theories. My eyes… I knew they betrayed me. Primitive fear burned raw and unfiltered, and she noticed it instantly. Her black eyes flicked to mine, sharp and assessing, as if reading every flicker of instinct and adrenaline in my expression.

We held each other’s gaze for a heartbeat too long. Then she stepped closer, slow, deliberate. I matched her pace, muscles coiled and tense, every nerve alight. Goosebumps spread over my skin; instincts screamed to run. Without thinking, I grabbed Wednesday and leapt back.

She froze mid-step, wide-eyed, probably ready to scold me—but then she saw it in my eyes: primitive fear. Not surprise. Not confusion. Pure, instinctive terror.

Wednesday’s POV

Her grip on me was sudden, almost violent, but what stopped me wasn’t the motion—it was her eyes. I had never seen Olivia like that before.

Fear. Not the controlled kind, not the playful kind she masked with sarcasm. This was raw, primal terror. My chest tightened despite myself.

She scanned the forest like a cornered animal, her body trembling, adrenaline radiating off her in waves. For the first time, I realized that whatever she was sensing… it wasn’t ordinary.

“Olivia! What is happening?!” I demanded, but my words only seemed to scatter against the storm in her head.

I did something I don’t usually do—I reached out. My cold hands pressed against her face, forcing her gaze to lock onto mine. I felt her trembling, but I also felt her steady slightly under my touch. I wasn’t sure who was grounding whom.

“What is it?” I asked, voice low and steady.

“Danger,” she breathed, the word ragged and urgent.

“Explain.” My grip didn’t loosen, sharp and certain even though my heart was hammering faster than I liked.

Her voice came rough, almost a growl: “I sense a threat. Something… wants to kill us. But I can’t see it.”

Her eyes still burned with primitive fear, even as she shifted into her wolf form and back again. Every motion was edged, restless, instinctual. When she finally spoke again, her words made my pulse quicken.

“This body has been here for days… yet no animal has touched it. No birds, no scavengers. Just silence. This. This is the threat.”

I studied her, the twitch of fear in her eyes, the way her breath came uneven. My lips pressed into a thin line as I leaned closer, lowering my voice.

“So it’s… intelligent. Predatory. Waiting.”

She gave a bitter laugh, and I almost allowed myself to smirk. Almost.

“Then we find it first,” I said simply. “Or at least we don’t let it find us while we’re still sniffing the carpet.”

She nodded, wolf instincts flickering beneath her skin. Still afraid—but not broken. Alive. Alert.

“Good,” I said finally, my voice calm and certain. “Because whoever—or whatever—did this, won’t hesitate.”

Chapter Text

Wednesday’s POV

After her answer, I looked back at the body, scanning it for anything I could read—marks, disturbances, even the faintest scent that might tell a story. My words seemed to only scratch the surface of the truth, but I had to say them anyway, as if speaking made the danger tangible.

A famished crow swooped lower, its wings fluttering erratically. Hunger drove it closer to the corpse, even as fear flickered in its dark eyes. My heart jumped; adrenaline surged like fire through my veins.

As it pecked at the corpse, long white worms erupted from the flesh like a living tide, moving with uncanny precision. They attacked the crow with unrelenting aggression. The scene was grotesque and hypnotic; it etched itself into my mind.

I felt her before I saw her. Instinctively, Olivia stepped behind me, pressing against my back, her arms wrapping around me tightly.

Chains spun around us like liquid metal, forming a shield. Thing trembled against my shoulder, whimpering softly. I felt her grip, her warmth; her body tense, mine still steady.

The crow screamed as the worms invaded its body. Its wings flapped in panic, scraping the dirt, but the worms kept moving, organized, relentless. Olivia held me closer, letting the chains’ rhythm respond to her fear, amplifying the protective barrier. Finally, the crow—now more worm than bird—lifted its head and glared at us, sensing danger.

It lunged. Chains struck out, throwing it back with explosive force. A new wound appeared on its body, the worms burrowing even deeper. Its gaze lingered on us one last time before it fled, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.

She remained pressed against me, her eyes gleaming with primitive fear. The chains slowed, but she did not release me immediately. There was a strange comfort in the way she held me in the storm, a tether to reality even as her instincts screamed.

Finally, she exhaled, stepping back, and I instinctively created space between us, though my eyes still lingered on her, on the shield she had formed.

“You’ve… always had monsters like this?” she asked, her voice trembling, jaw tight.

“No,” I replied firmly, voice quiet but unyielding. My eyes were hard to read—calm, precise, yet shadowed by the faintest trace of concern. I could almost see the calculations behind her question, the way she measured herself, measured the threat.

Olivia’s POV

My bracelet vibrated. I looked down: a new mission had appeared.

Mission: Clutches of Darkness
Description: Everything you think you know may be false… or maybe true.
Reward: The chance to see another day
Penalty: Death
Time: 2 months
Let’s make things a little more interesting, wolf :)

Wednesday arched an eyebrow, her black eyes narrowing as she studied me. “Interesting,” she said dryly. “And terrifying, in equal measure.”

“Mission…” I muttered quietly, unsure how to even begin.

She took a step closer, tilting her head. “You’re not trembling anymore. Good. That means we’re at least halfway alive. But—” Her voice lowered, a hint of that sharp humor she always carried—“you’re still thinking too much like prey. Don’t forget: we’re predators too.”

I swallowed, letting a weak chuckle escape despite myself. “Predators who just got mobbed by worms and a very unhappy crow,” I said.

Wednesday’s lips quirked, almost imperceptibly. “That’s life,” she said, voice flat but carrying a faint smirk. “If the world were fair, you’d never be tested at all. And I don’t know about you, but I prefer a challenge.”

I glanced at her, the memory of the hug, the chains, and the primitive fear still burning in my eyes. “Yeah… a challenge,” I echoed, letting the tension drain slowly from my shoulders. “Though next time, maybe fewer worms?”

She simply tilted her head, observing me like a hawk, expression unreadable. “Perhaps. But then you’d have no reason to hold me close.”

I resisted the urge to tease, though the corner of my mouth itched to. Instead, I nodded, letting her words sink in. The forest was quiet, but danger still lingered. Whatever Clutches of Darkness meant, it was here now—and we would face it together, wolf and soul intertwined.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

As we left the forest, silence wrapped around us like a heavy cloak. Only Thing’s restless fidgeting broke it. I turned my head slightly, catching him gesturing in exaggerated motions toward Wednesday, clearly begging to go home. Poor guy had seen enough worms for a lifetime.

I caught the faintest flicker of tension in her small hand, the way her fingers twitched as if already preparing for the next move.
“It’s still early…” I said carefully. “Should we go investigate the next deaths and catch Tyler, or head back to school?”

Her reply was immediate, clipped, stiff.
“We still have too few answers. We should check the other bodies.”

I nodded. No point in arguing with that tone.

The next location was deeper in the forest, where the shadows grew thick and unfriendly. I crouched, shifting into my wolf form. The scent hit me hard: the same bear—or something wearing its skin like a mask. Too perfect. Too staged. I shifted back, letting my voice carry the weight of it.
“That leaves us with Tyler.”

Wednesday only nodded, but it was the kind of nod that said she’d already reached that conclusion five minutes ago. I glanced at the clock, then back at her.
“You lead now,” I muttered, deliberately skipping the sarcastic jab about visiting her ex-boyfriend. Self-restraint deserved a medal.

We followed her path straight into Jericho, to a café called Weathervane. The place smelled like burnt beans and lazy day. We stepped inside, and sure enough—there he was. Tyler Galpin.

I bit my tongue, watching as Wednesday approached him with all the subtlety of a knife to the throat.

“I’d like to order a ‘quad’…” she said.

“Oh, just a moment, the espresso machine sometimes jams,” Tyler replied, already moving toward her. “A quad? I see—a strong coffee for a strong person.” His smile was so practiced it nearly blinded me.

“Yes. Dark eyes require special potions,” he added, leaning in just enough to flirt.

I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly clicked. Muttering under my breath, I stalked off to find a table, mumbling something about secondhand embarrassment.

“Who should I write this coffee for?” Tyler asked, all charm.

“For Luna,” Wednesday answered without hesitation.

My head snapped around, golden and silver eyes narrowing in disbelief. Excuse me?

“Nice name,” Tyler said with a grin.

“Not mine,” she replied flatly.

That earned him a flicker of surprise. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“And may I ask who the lucky recipient of such a beautiful name is?” he pressed.

Wednesday didn’t miss a beat. She turned, arms folded, gaze pinning me like a knife. My feet felt heavier than they should as I shuffled forward.
“H-hey…” I stammered awkwardly. “That must be me.”

Tyler’s eyes lit up. “Nice to meet you. It may not be the perfect coffee match for your eye color, but it’ll definitely wake you up.” He sized me up with the kind of look that made me want to bite him. “You have unusual eyes, Luna.”

I shrugged, perfectly calm. “Just colored contacts. Nothing special.”

He slid the cup across the counter with a flourish. “Here you go, a beautiful coffee for a beautiful lady.”

I nearly choked on the first sip, laughter bubbling up before I could stop it. Turning to Wednesday, I gave her a look that screamed: Seriously? This? This was your choice?

Her eyes cut into me, sharp and irritated, with just enough of a warning glint to make me grin wider.

“Well,” I muttered just loud enough, “guess we all have a teenage rebellion phase.”

Her glare could have sliced through steel. Which, of course, made it irresistible.

I leaned toward Tyler, voice dripping with mock flirtation.
“From a handsome guy like that? Ooh, I think I could drink every espresso in the world, just to spend a moment with you” I winked, flashing the most exaggerated smile I could manage.

Tyler blinked, caught off guard, then chuckled nervously, shaking his head as if unsure whether to flirt back or call security. He turned away to serve another customer, wisely retreating.

As soon as he was gone, Wednesday’s voice dropped like a guillotine.
“Was that necessary?”

I sipped my coffee dramatically, savoring the taste like fine wine.
“Oh, absolutely. If I don’t make you regret dragging me here, who will?”

Her expression didn’t change, but I swore I saw the faintest twitch at the corner of her lips. “I regret it already,” she said flatly.

“Perfect,” I grinned. “Mission accomplished.”

Thing tapped irritably on the table, clearly siding with Wednesday. Traitor.

Wednesday’s POV

I watched Olivia carefully, every movement, every glance, measuring her intentions. There was curiosity there, yes—but something else, something sharper. A mix of irritation and provocation, theatrics and controlled confidence that I couldn’t ignore. And yet, I couldn’t look away.

When we stepped into the café, the tension in the air was almost tangible. Every step she took was deliberate, yet light, as if testing me—seeing how I would respond. Her smiles, her small provocations, were calculated, deliberate, and maddeningly enticing. They annoyed me and drew me in at the same time.

I observed her flirting with Tyler, noting every subtle move. This wasn’t about him—it never was. It was about her, about the reaction she wanted to elicit from me. I had to remain alert, but I also felt the pull, the fascination her behavior carried. That mixture of confidence and playfulness was effortless in her, and it was difficult not to be caught in it.

Gradually, her theatrics stopped irritating me. Instead, they became compelling. Every motion, every word, carried purpose, and I found myself reading them, weighing them, responding—if only in my head. A silent game unfolded between us, intricate and private, one no one else could ever understand.

When Olivia finally returned to her seat, her eyes glinting with that sly little smile, I knew she had won this round. Not by words—no—but by forcing me to react, to watch, to be part of her scheme, even as a passive observer.

Her victory was quiet, intimate, but I could feel the faint stirrings of impatience beneath it. This was far from over—and with her, it never would be.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

We went to sit at an empty table, away from most people. “What now?” I asked Wednesday, sipping my coffee.
“We wait,” she answered firmly.

“Damn, this coffee’s strong. What’s in it?” I asked, taking another sip.

“Four shots of espresso in one,” she replied.

I nearly choked. “Are you trying to kill my heart?” I asked accusingly.

“If I wanted to kill you, trust me—you’d know,” she said, staring straight into my eyes.

“Ohh,” I muttered, then suddenly remembered a line. “I’m still depressed, but now I’m faaast,” I added with a smirk.

“What?” she asked flatly.

“Nothing, just a popular quote,” I said, finishing the cup.

That’s when she hit me out of nowhere.
“On another hand, you’ve managed to violate my boundaries three separate times today. First, during training, when you decided to haul me around like some pathetic weakling. Then, with the worms—you grabbed me again, as if I were incapable of dealing with a few parasites on my own. And finally… that ridiculous hug. Smothering me like I’m some fragile thing that needs your protection. If I wanted to be manhandled, I’d sign up for it. I didn’t. So stop.”

“Huh?” I looked at her in disbelief, feeling emotions rising inside me.

I finally snapped. “You’re the one who crossed boundaries first. Don’t act like I don’t have my own. Maybe I should remind you how you demanded my sketchbook, even though I didn’t want to give it to you. Or how you were the one who threw yourself at me first. You touched me first. And excuse me for having instincts that actually saved us…” My voice was rising with frustration.

Wednesday’s eyes went cold, and she leaned back slightly, her tone razor-sharp. “Your sketchbook? Don’t twist the facts. It wasn’t innocent property. Those pages were filled with me. You drew me without permission, dissecting me on paper like some specimen. That’s where you crossed the line. I only pulled back the curtain on your obsession.”

She didn’t stop there. Her voice was ice. “Don’t try to equate my demand for honesty with the way you treat me. You lifted me, squeezed me, hugged me, as if I were a fragile doll that needed your protection. That’s not instinct—it’s weakness masquerading as heroics. At least I know my limits. You? You keep trampling over them.”

I bristled. “Obsession? You really think that’s fair?” My anger tightened my chest. “Maybe I drew you without asking, but it was just pencil and paper. I didn’t hurt you. But you—you made a conscious choice to reach for what mattered to me, to invade something I didn’t want you to have. If we’re talking about violations, look in a mirror.”

Her expression didn’t waver. “Don’t confuse art with obsession, or privacy with cowardice. You didn’t draw for art’s sake—you drew because you can’t leave me alone. And just like you can’t leave me alone, you can’t stop touching me. You can’t see the line until you’ve stomped all over it with your own emotions. That’s what makes you weak.”

Her words shattered something in me. I wanted to fight back, to scream, to tear down that wall she hid behind—but my chest tightened instead. My thoughts turned inward, spiraling like vultures circling carrion.

Weak. Obsessive. A pathetic shadow clinging to something that was never mine.

And suddenly, I wasn’t in that café anymore. I was back in the years I’d buried. The hands that grabbed me too tightly. The voices that laughed as if my pain were their entertainment. The nights where I wasn’t a person, just an object—something to hit, something to use, something to throw away when boredom set in. A toy. Always just a toy.

I thought I had clawed my way out of that. I thought I had rebuilt myself with teeth and chains and scars. I thought that if I stood my ground, if I kept fighting, I could prove I wasn’t just something to be used and discarded.

And then she came. Wednesday. Cold, sharp, impossible to predict. But she had been my anchor, the reason I hadn’t let go when the dark pulled too hard. She wasn’t gentle, no—but she was constant. In her presence, I let myself believe that maybe I wasn’t invisible. Maybe, for once, I wasn’t just a passing amusement.

But now her words told me otherwise. To her, I wasn’t an ally. Not even a friend. Just another specimen under her microscope. Another curiosity to poke, to study, to remind herself of her superiority. A distraction. A toy, once again.

My chest burned. Every chain around me felt heavier. I thought of every time I convinced myself that she saw me differently—that my wolf, my sketches, the way I reached for her, meant something. But it was a lie. My lie. I was never taken seriously. Never seen. Never wanted.

Only used. Only tolerated.

And for a fleeting, stupid moment, I had believed she might treat me differently. That maybe she wouldn’t reduce me to the same broken thing everyone else had. That maybe I wasn’t wrong to let myself need her.

But it was a mistake. My mistake.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am weak. Maybe I never stopped being prey.

I stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor, loud and ugly like the inside of my chest. My legs felt heavy, my breath uneven, like the air itself was punishing me for staying too long.

Her voice cut through the tension, calm but sharp: “Running away again, I see.”

The words stabbed deeper than she could ever know. Running away? If only she understood… I wasn’t running. I was drowning. And this time, I didn’t know if I wanted to swim back up.

“You don’t know me,” I whispered, my voice trembling, broken, and small. My eyes burned, but I forced myself not to let a single tear fall where she could see it.

Then I walked out, each step dragging me back through years of hurt, back into the spiral I had no strength left to fight.

Wednesday’s POV

Her whispered words—“You don’t know me”—drifted across the café, broken, small. My chest tightened slightly, a reflex I buried immediately. I did know her. I always knew, even when she couldn’t see herself clearly. And I had no intention of letting her forget it.

When the door closed behind her, I exhaled quietly, more to myself than anyone else. Not relief. Not satisfaction. Observation. Assessment. Fear and attachment were irrelevant tools—I catalogued, I planned, I waited. And somewhere beneath the layers of calculation, beneath the cold precision, I acknowledged the one fact I didn’t share with her: the pull she created, the chaos she embodied, it was as disconcerting as it was… necessary.

I didn’t smile. I didn’t soften. I simply waited, black eyes sharp, predatory, and endlessly aware.

I barely registered the sound of the door closing behind her. The empty space she left felt heavier than any weight I had carried in years. My gaze stayed fixed on it, cold, calculating—but beneath the surface, something prickled, something I rarely allowed myself to feel.

Thing shifted on my shoulder, restless. His small hands moved quickly, gesturing sharply and insistently. At first, I ignored him. He often fussed over what didn’t matter. But his motions grew urgent: he jabbed toward the door, then toward me, miming dragging a heavy object and throwing it away. The message was unmistakable. You overdid it.

I stiffened, narrowing my eyes. I didn’t need a tiny creature to tell me when I’d done my job. And yet… Thing’s frantic insistence gnawed at me, the truth embedded in the exaggerated gestures. I had pushed her—too far. My reprimand, my cold logic, my insistence on boundaries—it had cut deep, and the damage was immediate.

I exhaled slowly, feeling a rare flicker of doubt. My instincts screamed that she was strong, that she could survive my critique. But my mind, for once, recognized the human beneath the chaos and the wolf. She had a threshold, and I had crossed it.

Thing’s movements softened, still pointing at me, as if urging me to consider—not to apologize, but to reflect. I allowed my gaze to follow his gestures, cataloguing what I had done and what I had left undone. The café, the chairs, the empty table—they all felt secondary to the rift I’d created.

I didn’t speak. I rarely did. But inside, I recognized the lesson: even predators could misjudge, could strike too sharply. Even I, with my control and precision, could make mistakes.

Thing tapped lightly on my shoulder, almost approvingly, signaling that I had acknowledged the truth. My eyes flicked to him, a quiet acknowledgment returning in kind. I didn’t regret the discipline—I never regretted honesty—but I recognized its consequences.

We waited. Always, we waited. And I would watch, plan, and measure my next move. For her. For myself. For the balance between control and chaos that neither of us could escape.

The café felt emptier now, though it had been nearly empty before. The chair opposite me remained untouched, the absence of her presence pressing harder than any weight I carried. I should have felt relief—control regained—but instead, there was a hollow knot twisting in my chest.

Thing shifted restlessly on my shoulder, his small hands flailing, gestures growing frantic. He jabbed toward the door, then mimed a figure walking away quickly, arms swinging in distress. His face scrunched with worry, his silent alarm echoing something I tried to ignore: Olivia wasn’t coming back.

I stiffened, straightening my back, letting my usual calm mask slip only slightly. Good, I thought, the reflexive predator’s calculation kicking in. She needs to feel the consequences of her choices. And yet, Thing’s gestures clawed at me. She could be in danger. She’s too raw, too… exposed.

I exhaled, quiet, deliberate. My gaze flicked toward the door she had left through, tracing the path she had taken in my mind. I catalogued possible risks—the streets, the passersby, the predictable chaos that trailed her like a shadow. She’s careful, but she’s impulsive. She’s fast, but she’s human.

Thing’s motions intensified, frantic now. He pounded lightly on my shoulder, gesturing for me to stand, to act, to follow. I clenched my jaw. I wanted to shrug it off, to let the consequences teach her a lesson—but the unease in Thing’s gestures was contagious, even to me.

I leaned back slightly, dark eyes narrowing. Fine. Not because I wanted to chase her for her sake, but because I couldn’t ignore the storm brewing in the forest of possibilities. My instincts, sharpened by years of anticipating danger, whispered: someone—or something—could exploit her absence.

Thing’s tiny fists clutched my sleeve, still pleading silently, his worry undeniable. I met his gaze and allowed the faintest shift in my posture, a tacit acknowledgment. I wasn’t panicking. I wasn’t letting fear dictate my movements. But I was recalculating. Always recalculating.

And somewhere deep inside, beneath the mask of ice and detachment, a single, stubborn thought stirred: She doesn’t realize yet how much she still needs me.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

The forest had swallowed me completely. Every step left crimson smears along the soft earth, a trail of the life I had carried too long, too heavily. The chain at my wrist had climbed higher and higher with each movement, biting into my skin, marking me with thin, angry red lines.

Now it pressed at my throat, cold and unyielding, a tangible weight against my pulse, a reminder of the helplessness that had crept inside me and refused to leave. I let it settle there, letting my body sag under its pressure, the metal cool and unforgiving against the skin. My chest heaved, ragged breaths mixing with the quiet whispers of the forest.

I had walked until the city, the world, and even Wednesday felt impossibly far away. The trees were silent witnesses, their dark forms looming like sentinels around me. Memories clawed at the edges of my mind—years of pain, of hands that grabbed too hard, voices that laughed at my suffering, the friends and life I had lost. And now, here, alone in the shadows, the truth had settled like a stone in my stomach: hope had abandoned me.

The chain hugged my neck tighter with a subtle shift in weight, as if feeding on my despair, reminding me of every failure, every scar, every moment I had tried and faltered. I sank to my knees, the forest floor damp beneath me, feeling utterly hollow. My thoughts spun in endless circles, darker and heavier with each turn, whispering that maybe the world was better without me, that maybe this was the natural conclusion to the life that had never truly been mine.

And then something shifted. It wasn’t just thought anymore; my consciousness began to slide inward, down, into a place beneath the noise.

Inside me stretched an ocean.
Not metaphorical—my mind visualized it with perfect, merciless clarity, the way it visualizes everything. A black sea, viscous as ink, roiling under a sky where even the sun was fading, its light fracturing like glass before disappearing completely. Storm waves rose around me, each one a memory, a trauma, a line of code in a system I had been running for too long.

I stood in that water as if in a lucid dream, watching my own soul drown in symbolism I understood instinctively. My analytical mind tried to map it, to create patterns, but the equations dissolved into nothing under the weight of it.

The stormed surface rose, hissed, slammed into me. I tried to swim—my arms moving through the thick blackness—but the water clung to me like tar. My strength bled away with each stroke. Every heartbeat echoed like a distant drum, slower, weaker.

I knew what this meant. The part of me that dissects everything, whispered the conclusion in clean logic: You’re letting go.

I fought anyway. For a moment. Out of reflex, out of habit. But the fight was smoke. My body, my mind, my will—everything grew heavier. My breath became a countdown.

So I stopped.

I let the black water close over my head, the storm’s roar muffled into silence as I sank deeper, deeper, into the abyss of myself. The sun above—what was left of it—snapped shut like an eye. Darkness pressed in from every side. My hair floated around me like ink, my golden and silver eyes dimming as if the abyss was drinking their light.

And still, somewhere impossibly deep beneath all of it, a flicker pulsed. Faint, fragile, but present. A whisper that refused to die even as I let myself drown.

Wednesday’s POV

I rose from the chair, slow, deliberate, but my mind had already calculated the trajectory. Thing’s movements became sharper, more insistent, his tiny hands stabbing toward the door, then miming a trail on the ground. I followed his gestures, and my breath caught. Crimson streaks marked the sidewalk beyond the café, stark against the concrete—small, glistening lines that told a story I hadn’t wanted to read.

Thing jabbed again, frantic, pointing from the streaks to me, then mimicking a figure collapsing, a throat constricted, eyes closed. Panic laced his gestures. She’s pushed too far. She’s gone too far. She’s… hurting herself.

My body stiffened, instinct coiling, my heart picking up a rhythm I didn’t usually allow. My control, my mask, wavered. That trace of blood—it was hers. Every sharp line on the sidewalk screamed the truth Thing was screaming without words.

I exhaled slowly, fighting the knot in my chest. Rationally, I knew I could catch up, intercept her, contain the situation—but the implications clawed at me. She’s untethered. Raw. Alone. And she doesn’t see the edge she’s teetering on.

Thing’s gestures became frantic, almost violent in their urgency. He tugged at my sleeve, pointed sharply toward the trail, then mimed stumbling steps before curling his fingers tightly around his own wrist as if choking. The message was unmistakable: You’re too late if you don’t move. You’ve driven her to the brink.

A cold certainty settled over me, sharper than any predator’s instinct: I had miscalculated. My words, my discipline, my insistence on control had driven her this far. And now, the consequences were literal. My throat tightened, my chest constricted, but I didn’t hesitate.

I moved, swift and precise, weaving through the sparse pedestrians, tracing the crimson streaks like a predator following its quarry. Thing flitted beside me, urgent, almost panicked, pointing to each fresh mark, his silent alarms echoing louder than any voice could. She’s in danger. She’s gone too far. You’ve driven her here.

Each step toward the forested edge of the city increased the weight in my chest. I didn’t allow panic, but I catalogued every risk: the darkened alleys, the uneven pavement, the gaps in my line of sight. I didn’t speak; Thing’s gestures said enough. The reality was undeniable: Olivia was spiraling, and the path she had chosen was bleeding into the world in a way that couldn’t be ignored.

I clenched my jaw, letting my cold exterior stabilize, even as fury and fear tangled inside me. She doesn’t know her own strength. Or her fragility. And I… I need to get to her before the lesson becomes permanent.

Thing’s small hands pressed urgently against my sleeve, gesturing at the next stretch of crimson, then miming a throat constriction again, shaking his head violently. She’ll kill herself if you don’t move faster. You’ve really gone too far this time.

The forest loomed ahead. Shadows thickened. The blood led straight into its depths. My dark eyes narrowed. I didn’t run—I moved with purpose. Every step measured, every breath controlled, but inside, a storm raged. And for the first time, I realized that no amount of calculation could undo the damage my words had inflicted.

Thing pressed closer, frantic, almost screaming in his gestures, pointing ahead, then to me, then back to the trail, then miming the collapse again. Hurry. Hurry. You’ve made her cross a line.

I swallowed, forcing the knot in my chest to stay behind my ribs. I had no time for hesitation. The predator in me had to chase, to intercept, to reel her back from the edge. And the truth clawed at the edges of my control: I was late, and I had driven her here.

I stepped into the forest. The trail of crimson stretched before me. Thing’s gestures didn’t stop, urgent and pleading. And somewhere deep beneath my ice-cold exterior, a single, undeniable thought refused to be buried: She’s bleeding. She’s fragile. And I’m the one who brought her to this.

Chapter Text

Wednesday’s POV

I arrived just in time. She was on the edge, chains crawling up her arms, glinting in the faint light, pressing dangerously close to her neck. My eyes narrowed, taking in the full weight of her spiral—the raw desperation, the trembling hands, the hollow look that told me she had let herself teeter too far.

Silent, precise, I moved closer. Every step measured, every breath controlled. I didn’t scold, didn’t shout. Observation first; intervention second. The chain was inches from tightening fully, cruelly, and I could see the sharp bite against her skin already beginning.

I reached her, my hand steady, and caught the chain before it could go any further. My presence was firm, unyielding, an anchor she didn’t know she needed but somehow relied on.

“You brought yourself to this point,” I said softly, voice deliberate, carrying authority but no judgment. “But I won’t let you finish it.”

I guided the chain gently, easing its pressure, letting the metallic bite retreat from her skin. The forest around us seemed to fade, the trees and shadows secondary to the moment, to the fragile line she had been walking—and to the control I offered now.

For the first time, a flicker of guilt nudged at me. Thing, perched on my shoulder, drummed his fingers sharply against my collarbone, then snapped them once—an urgent, cutting sound that spoke louder than words. The gesture wasn’t praise; it was alarm, incredulity. He was shocked that I had let it go this far. And in that small, silent reprimand, I felt the weight of my misjudgment press against my chest.

She shuddered, trembling, raw and exposed. Yet her collapse was halted. Her storm, the darkness that had swallowed her moments ago, simmered but no longer consumed her entirely. I remained still, a sentinel, cataloguing every breath, every twitch of fear, every falter in her posture, all while feeling a subtle, unwelcome twinge of responsibility.

She sank to her knees, quiet sobs shaking her body. I did not speak, only held my position, letting my presence communicate that she was not alone, that she had not truly fallen. Each sharp, uneven gasp of her chest echoed the weight of memories, losses, and scars she had carried—and still carried.

The forest blurred around us. Shadows and whispers became irrelevant. All that mattered was her, the chains paused, and the reminder that even in the rawest edge of despair, she was not completely unmoored.

I tightened my focus, watching, ready. The predator in me cataloged danger, the human in me cataloged pain—and I realized both would have to endure this together, silently, deliberately, until she could reclaim her own strength.

And quietly, just beneath the surface, I acknowledged it: I had misjudged her fragility. Thing’s sharp “Bravo” lingered in my mind, a tiny, accusing echo of the lesson I hadn’t wanted to learn—but had, nonetheless.

I didn’t move closer. I didn’t offer comfort, didn’t speak words that could soothe or placate. I only held the chains in place, steady and deliberate, precise, unyielding, immovable. My gaze stayed locked on her, assessing every tremor, every shallow breath, every flicker of pain and fear. I had pushed her here—tested her limits—and now, silently, I was the barrier keeping her from going further.

Thing’s tiny hands tapped lightly on my shoulder, gesturing almost frantically, his wide eyes reflecting a silent “You went too far.” I felt it—not the panic, not the fear, but the quiet weight of responsibility pressing against my chest. A rare flicker of guilt ignited, subtle but undeniable. My control, my discipline, my carefully measured push—had it been too much?

I watched as the storm inside her began to shift, almost imperceptibly. Her sobs softened into quiet sniffles. Her muscles, taut with panic and pain, released some of their tension. I noted the red, angry marks where the chains pressed cold against her skin, and yet, she began to breathe more evenly, slowly reclaiming some fragment of herself.

“You’re still here,” I said softly, my voice steady, almost observational. “Good.”

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t meant to be. But the weight of it—my presence, my control, the undeniable fact that she had not crossed the final line—settled over her. Thing tapped again, harder this time, his tiny fists gesturing upward toward my conscience: “See what you made her do?” I felt the sting of it, a quiet acknowledgment that even predators could misjudge, even I could strike too sharply.

And then she spoke, her voice trembling but clear. “I trusted you… but that’s my fault… I apologise.”

Her words cut through the cold armor I wore. I tightened my hold on the chains—not to assert dominance, but to prevent further harm—while allowing the faintest weight of remorse to settle in my chest. Thing’s approving gesture, a quiet “Bravo” mixed with exasperation, forced me to confront it: I had miscalculated. She had been pushed too far.

I didn’t say anything. I simply remained there, holding the chains, watching her shudder, inhale, exhale. My eyes softened imperceptibly, betraying the slightest recognition that my precision, my control, had consequences beyond calculation. She hadn’t fallen, not entirely—but the responsibility for her pain lingered heavily on me.

For the first time in a long while, I felt the quiet, unsettling tug of guilt. Even predators could bleed. Even I could make mistakes. And even if I would never show it outwardly, Thing had reminded me: she was not just another challenge, not just another specimen. She was human.

Olivia’s POV

I lifted my head slowly, meeting her gaze. No warmth. No pity. Only control. Only the quiet insistence that I survive. And for the first time since everything had fallen apart, I realized I could breathe—fragile, raw, but alive—and that she would not let me destroy myself, no matter how far I had allowed her to push me.

Slowly, the chains began to retract, inching back along my arms, climbing down in the same deliberate, cold rhythm that had driven them upward. The bite of metal eased, leaving thin, angry red lines that throbbed faintly with pain. As they retreated, the chains shimmered and dissolved, sliding seamlessly back into the tattoo on my skin, the black ink now glowing faintly as if absorbing the memory of the torment.

I let out a shaky breath, my muscles still trembling, the ache in my arms and neck lingering, but manageable now. Wednesday stepped closer, her eyes calm and calculating, but there was a trace of responsibility in her gaze—a quiet acknowledgment of the state she had led me into.

As she produced a few strips of dark fabric from a small pouch at her belt, dipped into a vial of glowing elixir, I instinctively recoiled slightly, my body tensing. The thought of someone touching me, even to help, made my chest tighten, the raw edge of vulnerability still sharp.

“You’ll be fine,” she said flatly, observing my hesitation, but her voice left no room for argument. Slowly, deliberately, she applied the soaked strips to the red, angry lines on my arms. The elixir hissed softly as it touched the wounds, sealing them and numbing the pain almost instantly. Her fingers were steady, precise, and unflinching.
“You need to be careful,” she stated, matter-of-factly. “I won’t let you fall apart entirely.”

And then, somewhere deep inside me, the ocean returned.
The black water was still there—thick, endless, roiling beneath a dead sky. I floated far beneath its surface, limbs heavy, lungs burning. For so long there had been nothing but darkness, weight, and silence.

But now—there. A glow.
Tiny at first, so faint I thought I imagined it: a single point of light drifting through the water like a lost star. It pulsed once, twice, and my eyes opened wide to follow it.

I didn’t understand. Why was it here? Why now? Why me? Why was I worth saving? Why was she saving me?

The questions echoed like sonar in the dark as the light swam closer. It wasn’t warm, not yet, but it was real. The first thing that felt real in the abyss. My arms moved without thought, weakly reaching, not to fight the water this time but to move toward the glow.

That small light became my focus, my breath, my first flicker of hope. Even as the black water pressed in from all sides, even as doubt hissed its old litany, I held my gaze on it. It did not answer my questions, but it refused to leave.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I realized: I hadn’t drowned completely. Not yet.

I let her work in silence, the chains gone, the pain duller, my body still trembling from both the ordeal and the vulnerability. For the first time since the forest, I felt a fragile sense of control return—not from my own strength, but from her presence, steady, unyielding, and quietly responsible for keeping me from the edge.

I let the last of the elixir-coated strips settle on my arms, my chest still heaving. Quietly, almost to myself, I asked,

“Why… why are you helping me? I’m just a weakling.”

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed, sharp and precise, fixing me with an unflinching stare. She didn’t flinch, didn’t soften her tone. “Stop saying that,” she said flatly. “You are not a weakling. You survived what would have broken most people. Do you think enduring that pain, facing the abyss, and still breathing makes you weak?”

I swallowed, the words hitting harder than any physical wound. Her gaze didn’t waver. “You keep belittling yourself, and it won’t matter how much I save you—because if you keep thinking like that, you’ll keep letting yourself fall apart. I won’t allow it.”

Her words were sharp, commanding, almost cold, but beneath the edge was a thread of intent—anchoring me. I wanted to protest, to mumble something about being broken beyond help, but I couldn’t. The weight of her stare, combined with the lingering ache from the chains, left no room for excuses.

I exhaled shakily, the tears in my eyes still wet, and muttered, “I… I don’t know how not to.”

“Then learn,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “Start here. Stop calling yourself names. Start with the truth: you’re stronger than you think.”

For the first time since the forest, I felt a flicker of clarity amid the storm inside me. Her presence wasn’t comforting in the traditional sense, but it anchored me more than any words of pity ever could.

I sank to the ground, pulling my knees close, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. My chest still ached, and the lingering tremor from the chains made my hands shake

slightly. The forest seemed quieter now, the shadows stretching long, mirroring the heaviness inside me.

After a moment, my voice came out low, strained, and full of guilt.

“I… I messed up,” I admitted, my gaze fixed on the ground. “I screwed up the mission…

the one to intercept Tyler.”

Wednesday didn’t move immediately. She simply observed, her eyes sharp, calculating, and unflinching. I felt exposed, weak, the raw truth of my failure pressing down on me heavier than any wound.

“You didn’t fail because you’re weak,” she said finally, her voice calm, precise. “You failed because you’re human. That doesn’t mean you give up. Own it, learn from it, and move forward. Complaining about weakness won’t change what happened.”

Her words were blunt, cutting through my self-reproach, but there was a strange steadiness in them, a lifeline that grounded me even as I trembled on the edge of despair. I nodded slowly, still absorbing the weight of my own guilt, but beginning, faintly, to reclaim control over my thoughts.

I stayed on the ground, still pulling my knees close, my gaze fixed on the forest floor. The weight of failure pressed down on me, heavier than any wound or chain. My chest heaved, and I could feel the tension still lingering in my muscles, a residue of the storm that had nearly consumed me.

Wednesday crouched beside me, silent for a moment, studying me with those sharp, calculating eyes. Then she spoke, her tone flat but deliberate:

“You’re not done yet. Sitting here, drowning in guilt, changes nothing. Tyler isn’t going to wait for your self-pity.”

I flinched slightly at her bluntness, but the edge in her voice carried a strange authority. She wasn’t scolding me—she was pushing me to act. “I… I don’t know if I can,” I whispered, voice trembling.

“You can,” she said, her eyes locking onto mine, unyielding. “You’ve survived worse than chains and worms. You’ve survived losing everything. This—this mission—is nothing compared to what you’ve endured. So stop talking like you’re powerless.”

I hesitated, my chest still tight, and finally whispered, my voice trembling,

“How… how do you even know I’ve lost everything? That I’ve… nothing left?”

Wednesday’s gaze sharpened, unflinching, but her tone remained controlled. “Because

I notice. I see patterns. You carry the weight of your past in the way you move, the way

you hesitate, the way you let yourself crumble. Losing everything doesn’t make you weaker—it just tells me how far you’ve survived already.”

I let out a shaky breath, the first real exhale in minutes. Slowly, I pushed myself upright, the ache in my arms and chest still there, but my thoughts sharpening, focus returning.

Wednesday didn’t move closer or offer a hand. She didn’t need to. Her presence alone anchored me. “Good,” she said simply. “Now let’s see if we can actually fix this mess. Time to move.”

For the first time since everything had spiraled, I felt a flicker of control—not full strength, not confidence, but enough to stand, to act, to face what came next. And for now, that was enough.

“What time does he get off?” I asked, my voice light, still fragile from everything I’d just gone through.

“I think he just finished his shift,” Wednesday replied, calm and precise as ever.

“Oh,” I said shortly. “I’ll track him,” adding nothing more. I shifted into my wolf form and moved ahead of us, eyes forward, not glancing back.

Chapter Text

Wednesday’s POV

Her confession of failure—Tyler, the mission, the collapse—was expected. Self-recrimination is her reflex. I didn’t deny the failure. I named it for what it was: human. Weakness is only fatal when one accepts it as permanent. She needed to hear that, though she didn’t want to.

When she asked how I knew she had lost everything, I nearly smiled. Observation is my craft, my obsession. She carries her past like a shadow stitched to her skin. Every hesitation, every collapse, every unspoken ache tells the same story: survival at a cost most couldn’t bear. I told her as much.

I watched her straighten, fragile but standing, and I recognized the flicker in her eyes. Not strength—not yet. But the fragile beginning of it. A spark. It was enough. I didn’t offer her my hand. I didn’t need to. My presence was the tether, the anchor. That was sufficient.

When she shifted into her wolf form, moving ahead, her question still lingered in my mind. Why are you helping me?

I hadn’t answered fully. She thought I was pulling her back from the abyss out of cold duty. Perhaps that’s true. But part of me suspects it’s more. She is an anomaly—fractured yet unyielding, volatile yet alive. I can’t decide if she is a threat, a puzzle, or something else entirely.

And until I know, I refuse to let her drown.

Olivia’s POV

I moved ahead, the forest blurring past as my paws struck the ground, my mind still tangled from the storm inside me. I didn’t glance back, refusing to acknowledge the lingering vulnerability.

But even as my body moved, inside my head the black ocean remained. I was still there — deep under its surface. The water was thick, endless, pressing from all sides, roiling like a storm without wind. For so long I had floated there, letting the current drag me down, too heavy, too tired to fight.

And then… the glow.

It was still there — faint but steady, drifting above me like a lost star. The same light that had appeared when Wednesday treated my wounds. It hadn’t left. It hovered above, pulsing once, twice, calling me upward without words.

I stared at it, confused. Why? Why is it here? Why now? Why me? The questions echoed like sonar in the abyss. What have I done to deserve being saved? Am I even that important to her? Or am I just imagining it?

I didn’t understand the light. But despite everything, my arms — my mind — began to move, not to fight the water this time but to swim, slowly, weakly, toward it. Each movement was small, but it was a choice. A refusal to let myself sink again.

Above, in the real world, my paws kept running. I could smell Tyler’s scent, faint but there, guiding me like the light in the water. My wolf ears flicked at Wednesday’s voice behind me, flat but carrying an undercurrent I couldn’t name:

“You don’t have to go alone.”

I didn’t answer, my focus forward, but my chest tightened. That presence — steady, unyielding — anchored me. She walked a few steps behind, her pace deliberate, controlled, silent solidarity keeping me from slipping fully into solitude.

Inside, under the black water, the light swam closer. It was still small, but real. It did not answer my questions. It refused to leave. And even as doubt hissed its old litany, I kept swimming. My limbs were heavy, but I moved. I followed.

Sniffing around the traces near the café, I finally glanced toward the doors I had come out of. The memory of everything hit me again. As a human, maybe it was easier to hide emotions, but the wolf is honest in what it feels and does. A soft, wolfish whine escaped me for a moment as I looked at those doors. Then I turned my head, shaking it, focusing instead on his scent.

Wednesday, a few steps behind, observed quietly. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes sharp and unyielding. She didn’t speak, didn’t comment, but I could feel the way she registered the sound of my whine. Not with sympathy, not with indulgence—just recognition. A brief pause, a subtle tightening of her posture, like she was noting the moment without intruding, acknowledging that even in wolf form, I couldn’t hide what I felt.

Her silence carried more weight than words. It anchored me in the forest, reminding me that she was there, aware, and watchful. And for now, that was enough to pull me back from letting the memory overtake me entirely.

I padded quietly along the sidewalk, sniffing the faint traces of his scent near the café. The sounds of the city—the distant traffic, the murmur of people—faded into the background as my focus narrowed on the trail.

Even in wolf form, the emotions from earlier lingered, prickling at the edges of my mind, and a low whine escaped me again as I caught a stronger note of his presence.

Inside, under the black water, the light pulsed brighter. Still small, still fragile, but now it was a path. I still didn’t understand why it was there. Why did she save me? Why does she care? The questions didn’t stop. But for the first time, they didn’t hold me down. I kept moving upward, my gaze locked on the glow.

Wednesday walked beside me, her steps measured, eyes scanning the surroundings with precision. She didn’t touch or guide me, but her presence anchored me, steady and unyielding. Occasionally, her gaze flicked to me, noting the subtle signs—the tension in my shoulders, the twitch of my ears, the tiny whine that slipped out despite my focus.

“You’re letting your mind dwell on what happened inside,” she said flatly, her tone precise. “The trail is here. Follow it. Ignore what you cannot change.”

Her words cut through the lingering turmoil without any softness, yet somehow grounded me. I pressed forward, weaving between pedestrians, staying low, my senses fully tuned to Tyler’s scent, aware that Wednesday was right there, observing, ready to act if necessary.

The city buzzed around us, indifferent to our silent hunt. Each step I took, each careful sniff, reminded me that she was there—not hovering, not comforting, just watching and controlling the space around me. It was a strange kind of reassurance, one that didn’t require words or touch, but anchored me nonetheless.

Finally, the scent led me toward the shop. After everything that had happened, I still didn’t have full control over myself. The wolf inside me was making decisions now. But under the black water, I was still moving, still swimming. Toward the light.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

I spotted my target. My instincts flared, muscles tensing, a low growl rumbling in my chest. The wolf was ready—coiled, aware, preparing to strike. My emotions and thoughts faded into the background, replaced by pure, primal focus.

Wednesday walked a few steps behind me, her eyes sharp, scanning both me and the surroundings. She didn’t intervene yet, but I could feel the tension in her presence, the unspoken command: don’t cross the line until I say so. Her control contrasted sharply with my own raw instincts, grounding me in the chaos of my wolfish anticipation.

Every step brought me closer. The city noises dulled around me; all that mattered was the scent, the target, and the tension that hung between the wolf inside me and the human watching beside me. Her presence—silent, deliberate—felt like a command to the wolf inside me: don’t strike yet. Muscles coiled, eyes locked on Tyler, every instinct screaming to pounce. My body ached with tension, a storm of raw aggression fueled by memories of cages, brutal fights, and survival where teeth and claws were law.

Tyler stepped out of the shop. My pulse raced. The wolf surged forward, ready to attack, but Wednesday’s mere presence stopped me. No words, just the weight of her awareness pressing against my instincts. I turned my head toward her, a low growl rumbling, full of history—abuse, confinement, battles where being held back could have meant death. It wasn’t aimed at her, yet it carried my displeasure, a warning: I hated being restrained.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed slightly, reading the warning without flinching. Her posture stayed controlled, sharp, precise, unyielding.
“Not here. Not like this,” she said quietly, tone flat but undeniable. “Channel it—don’t let instinct blind you.”

Inside my head, the black water was still thick and heavy. The small light Wednesday had once given me still pulsed somewhere above. But I was no longer alone. From the depths emerged a wolf—my other half. Brown-furred, golden-eyed, its fangs like steel. Weak and breathless, I clung to its back, and it swam upward for me—strong, relentless, eyes fixed on the light.

“I don’t trust it,” the wolf snarled inside me. “That light is hers. She’s the reason we’re sinking so deep. She’s the reason you wanted to die. And now she expects us to chase her spark like a blind pup.”

His words cut into me because they were echoes of my own fears.
“It’s the only thing that lets us see,” I whispered back inside. “Without it, nothing remains. Even if she lit it, it’s the only direction left.”

The wolf bared his teeth, glaring at the light with raw hatred. “I’ll crush it. Bite it down and snuff it out.”

“No,” I breathed, “don’t. It’s the only thing that keeps us alive.”

His golden eyes burned with fury. For a moment, I thought he’d throw me off and swim upward just to fight the light. The water around us shivered like a storm.

On the outside, my body in wolf form snapped toward Wednesday. A savage snarl tore from my throat, low and dangerous, carrying not only instinct but also the wolf’s rage at her. My golden eye blazed with feral fury—his mistrust, his hate. My silver eye glowed with sorrow and calm—my own soul, torn, fighting to stop him from biting her.

Wednesday didn’t flinch. Her gaze stayed sharp, controlled.
“Channel it,” she repeated, her voice flat but unbreakable. “Don’t let instinct blind you.”

I shook my head violently, as if trying to tear both souls out at once. My throat released a guttural sound—snarl, whimper, growl all tangled together. Inside, the wolf’s voice roared: “Bite her. End this. Make her feel what it’s like to be controlled!”

“No,” I fought back, “I won’t give you that. Not now. Not here.”

With all my strength, I bit into my own paw—the pain sliced through body and mind alike. That single wound shattered his fury. The black water stilled for a heartbeat. The wolf growled one last time, but then lowered his head.

“Fine,” he muttered inside me. “Your turn. But remember—I don’t trust her.”

“I know,” I answered. “But we need the light, even if it’s hers.”

Golden and silver eyes flickered together, finally balancing. Two souls in one body stopped tearing at each other. On the outside, I dropped onto my forepaws, breath ragged but control mine again.

Wednesday studied me in silence, then gave the slightest nod—an acknowledgment that I had fought the beast down on my own.
“Good,” she said simply. “Now hold it.”

Finally, when he was alone at the bus stop, it created the perfect window for an attack. My emotions surged back, and the wolf receded to the back of my mind, letting me take full control of my body. I could still feel its presence, that primal edge, but now I was the one guiding our movements.

I realized then that he always understood me—knew when to lead our lives and when to let me take the reins. All of these events had taught me so much. Especially because of the person behind me. Cold, controlling, yet somehow, I could feel that she cared.

Thinking of her and the opportunity before us, I turned my head toward Wednesday. She must have noticed—the way she managed two souls inside one body. My gaze met hers, questioning: was it finally time to strike?

Her eyes flicked to mine, sharp and unreadable. She didn’t move closer or speak, but the weight of her gaze pressed against me, assessing, calculating. I could feel her measuring the risks, feeling the pulse of the city, silently deciding if this was the right moment. Her jaw tightened slightly—a subtle signal I understood. Not permission exactly, more like a test. Could I keep the strike under control? Could I trust her judgment?

I stayed still, muscles coiled, instincts alive but restrained, the wolf’s presence humming faintly at the back of my mind. I wasn’t fully alone anymore; her unspoken command anchored me, a reminder that even in this window, precision mattered.

The smallest nod from Wednesday was all I needed. In that instant, the two souls within me aligned. The wolf surged forward, muscles taut and instincts razor-sharp, ready to strike with pure feral precision. I followed his lead, guiding it with calculated awareness, making sure every movement was measured, every angle considered.

It complemented what I didn’t know—how to spring, how to anchor, which muscles to engage. And I, in turn, supplied the wolf with strategy, ensuring that we didn’t rely on blind instinct alone. Every leap, every lunge, every twitch of claws and sinew was a perfect collaboration between primal power and human intellect.

For the first time, I truly felt us as one. Not just human or wolf, not just instinct or thought—but both, perfectly synchronized, responding to each other’s strengths. The strike wasn’t only force; it was precision, intelligence, and instinct combined.

At the bus stop, the window opened perfectly. I moved as one with the wolf inside me, every muscle, every reflex sharpened by his instincts and my own awareness. Tyler didn’t stand a chance.

I struck, coiling and leaping with the wolf’s raw power, guided by my mind. He hit the pavement, sprawled and off balance, but I restrained the bite, careful not to seriously harm him. There was no escape, no room for flight. The wolf’s instincts dictated how to land, how to pin, how to dominate the space, while my intelligence directed it—adjusting angles, timing, and pressure. Every movement was a perfect blend of primal force and calculated control.

Tyler’s eyes widened in shock, realizing too late that he wasn’t facing just a mindless predator, but a single, controlled force—alive, aware, lethal in its precision.

I held him down, muscles coiled, senses razor-sharp. The growl of the wolf vibrated through my chest, restrained yet ready, while my mind and instincts moved as one. Wednesday’s calm presence behind me anchored every action, letting me know this was the moment she had been guiding me toward.

As I pressed Tyler into the ground, something shifted inside. The dark abyss of my mind, once suffocating, rippled. I saw the light again—the same light Wednesday had given me. But this time, I wasn’t clinging to it alone. Beside me was the wolf, brown fur bristling, golden eyes glowing like fire. For so long, we had fought each other, dragging ourselves deeper. But now, after this strike, I felt the truth.

“Even if that light is false,” I whispered inside, “I know I’m not alone. Because you’re here. And together, we’ll rise. Together, we’ll fight through it.”

The wolf’s head turned toward me, golden eyes burning with suspicion, but there was something softer there now—acceptance.
“We rise together,” he answered, voice low and steady. “But never forget—it was her who made us drown.”

“I know,” I admitted. “But we’re not drowning anymore. Not as long as we rise together.”

The wolf let out a rumbling growl, not of anger this time, but of agreement. Side by side, we swam upward, breaking through the heavy black water. And when Tyler hit the ground beneath us, perfectly pinned, we surfaced at last. Air rushed into our lungs. My body and his spirit breathed as one. We had defeated the abyss.

Above us, the light still shimmered—Wednesday’s light. He glared at it, teeth bared, but didn’t lunge. And for once, I didn’t fear he would. Because I had his word now: we rose together.

Wednesday stepped closer, her presence cold yet steady. She looked at Tyler crumpled beneath me, then at my eyes—both the gold and the silver flickering in unison. A faint lift of her brow, a tiny nod.
“You held it,” she said simply.

Her voice was flat, but it struck deeper than praise. I lowered my head slightly, breath steady, feeling the wolf inside me settle into silence. For the first time, we weren’t enemies. We were one

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

Once he lost consciousness, I shifted back into human form and looked at her. Her eyes met mine—not with words, but with understanding. I helped move Tyler’s body to a secluded spot, away from any onlookers, my movements efficient and silent.

She watched me closely the entire time, her gaze sharp and assessing, ready to intervene if I faltered. I could feel her control radiating without a word, a subtle reminder that she was always guiding, always measuring the risks, even when I acted.

I tied him with the ropes I had packed in my bracelet earlier, each knot precise. Throughout the entire process, I didn’t speak. I didn’t need to. Even my glances toward Wednesday were brief, minimal, but I sensed her observing, approving, and silently asserting that she held the space—and me—in check.

After the entire process, I spoke briefly, not even looking at her.

“Do what you must. I don’t have the strength for anything else. I still need to finish my training.”

With that, I turned and walked away, leaving her behind, each step heavy, carrying the weight of the day and everything that had happened.

Wednesday’s POV

I watched her walk away, the moonlight tracing pale lines over her shoulders. Her steps were steady, but the exhaustion beneath them was unmistakable—like someone forcing strength out of the last fragments of will. I didn’t call after her. She needed distance, and I needed clarity.

Tyler lay at my feet, still unconscious, bound with neat precision. Olivia’s knots were exact—tight, unyielding. Efficient. It made me pause. She had learned more than she realized.

I crouched beside him, studying the faint rise and fall of his chest. The scent of blood lingered faintly on his jacket—his, not hers. Good. That control had cost her, but she hadn’t lost it completely.

Thing scuttled down from a nearby wall, tapping my arm twice—impatient, questioning.
“Yes,” I murmured. “She’s stable. For now.”
The hand hesitated as if unconvinced. I ignored it and shifted my attention to the boy.

His pulse fluttered beneath my fingers. Too fast. Fear or shock—it didn’t matter. I pressed two fingers against his temple, focusing, searching for magical residue. It clung there like smoke—tainted, unstable. Someone had tampered with his mind. The corruption wasn’t his alone.

“Of course,” I whispered. “He’s just another vessel.”

The ropes tightened slightly with a subtle twist of my hand, my spell sealing them so no strength—human or otherwise—could break them. Tyler groaned faintly, eyelids twitching. I leaned closer, voice barely a whisper.
“You’ll wake when I decide you will.”

Thing shifted uneasily beside me.
“No, I won’t kill him,” I said quietly. “Not yet. He’s worth more alive—for what he knows, and for what she needs to learn.”

I stood, brushing the dirt from my gloves, and looked in the direction Olivia had gone. Her presence still echoed faintly through the air—wild, conflicted, but undeniably alive. The part of me that wanted to follow was quickly silenced. Attachment clouds judgment. She has to walk through that darkness herself before I intervene again.

Still, as I turned back toward the bound boy, a flicker of something—unwanted, unwelcome—stirred in my chest. Concern, maybe. Or curiosity. Both were equally dangerous.

Tyler shifted again, a faint moan escaping him. I looked down coldly.
“Sleep,” I commanded. The spell obeyed. His body went still.

I glanced once more toward the forest’s edge where she had disappeared, the faintest trace of her scent lingering in the night air.
“She’s learning to hold the line,” I murmured to no one. “Let’s hope she remembers who drew it.”

With that, I dragged Tyler deeper into the shadows, out of sight and sound, my mind already moving ahead to the interrogation to come.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

I kept running, each kilometer stretching longer than the last, my legs burning and lungs straining. The 10 kilometers felt endless, but I forced myself forward, letting the rhythm anchor me. Yet it wasn’t just the run that weighed me down. Memories surged—battles, cages, survival, everything I had endured to get here. But today’s memories were heavier. The argument with Wednesday, my anger, my fear, the moment I almost gave in to the darkness—wanting to end it all.

And her—how she had been there, unwavering, stopping me, holding me when I couldn’t hold myself. The thought of her hands, her steady presence, her silent control—it both haunted and comforted me. I ran not to escape her, not to escape the city, but to process the flood of emotions that had hit me. Every pounding step reminded me of my weakness, my fear, and my survival. And also of her—how she had stayed, how she had guided me, and how, for the first time, someone had refused to let me fall completely.

By the halfway mark, my body screamed, my mind raced, but through the pain and exhaustion, a quiet realization settled in: I was still here, breathing, running, alive—and not alone. Wednesday’s presence, though physically absent now, lingered in my chest, in my thoughts, in the rhythm of my heartbeat, guiding me even from afar.

I returned to my room, drained and still tangled in my thoughts. I took a long, hot shower, letting the water wash away the tension in my muscles, the adrenaline, and some of the chaos in my mind. When I stepped out, I went onto the balcony, hoping for a moment of quiet and space to think. But the thought of Wednesday entering startled me. I didn’t want to face her just yet. So, with careful, deliberate movements, I climbed up to the roof, seeking solitude above the world.

I sat there, staring into the dark. It was cold, but it hardly mattered. Thinking of her, I reflected on what she had said. She had every right to react the way she did—I had crossed her boundaries. She hated being touched, just as I hated being controlled. I let out a quiet, ironic laugh. Even though she had broken me—shattered me into a million pieces—she had put me back together, stronger than before, using her control. Somehow, I could feel that, in part, she cared.

But today had been too much. I lay down on the roof, still lost in thought. Gradually, exhaustion began to take over, and I fell asleep. I slept in the coldest, most dangerous place, yet somehow felt freedom and safety—a space I desperately needed.

Inside my head, the black water rolled beneath me. The wolf swam by my side, his brown fur rippling in the dark, golden eyes alert, every muscle a quiet storm. Together we floated at the surface, heads tilted upward, staring at the faint light shimmering far above—the same light Wednesday had given me.

I reached for it at last. My fingers, trembling but steady, closed around the glow and pulled it closer. It pulsed softly in my palms like a heartbeat. Without thinking, I pressed it gently to my lips and kissed it, closing my eyes. All the warmth I still had inside me, I gave to that little spark.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice breaking in the water.

The wolf’s head snapped toward me, ears flat, eyes wide. His voice rumbled through my mind like distant thunder.
“Have you lost your mind?” he snarled. “Do you realize what you’re doing? That spark is hers. You’ll fall for her. You’ll fall for the one who broke you into pieces and then pieced you back together. For the one who knows only control. For the one who can destroy you.”

I let out a soft, tired laugh. “What could be worse than what we’ve already survived? We’ve died once. We’ve endured things worse than death. Can’t we allow ourselves a little warmth in life?”

The wolf blinked at me, stunned, his golden eyes narrowing, but the snarl faded from his muzzle. A low, uncertain growl rolled out of his throat.
“You’re reckless,” he muttered. “She’s a blade, not a balm. She could cut you open without a second thought.”

“Maybe,” I said softly. “But even blades can reflect light.”

He stared at me for a long moment, then huffed and turned his gaze back upward, toward the spark glowing faintly in my hands.
“I’ll swim with you,” he said finally, his voice a grudging rumble. “But if she burns you, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I smiled faintly, feeling the water calm around us. “Deal,” I whispered. “But for now… let’s just keep swimming.”

Side by side, we floated toward the light. For the first time, the abyss didn’t feel like a prison. It felt like a place we were finally leaving—together.

Gradually, exhaustion began to take over, and I fell asleep. I slept in the coldest, most dangerous place, yet somehow felt freedom and safety—a space I desperately needed.

Chapter Text

Wednesday’s POV

I returned to the room with Thing perched on my shoulder. Empty. Of course. A small frown crept in—not panic, but a controlled flicker of concern. She should be here.
Steam clung faintly to the tiles, the scent of hot water still sharp. She had been here. Close.

The balcony door was ajar. I moved toward it, each step measured. My eyes swept the darkness beyond, searching. No movement. No sound. Unacceptable to assume. If something had gone wrong, I had to know.

The path to the roof was familiar, silent, my body working on memory and instinct. Every step precise. Every grip sure. My mind was a scalpel, cutting through distraction, sharpening itself on possible outcomes.

At the top, I found her. Lying in the cold night air, asleep. Vulnerable. Yet strangely peaceful. Relief flickered sharp and quick inside me. I stayed back at first, observing, confirming. Always assess before interfering.

Thing shifted on my shoulder but made no sound. Reckless, I thought. Even now. Even asleep. I exhaled slowly. She was here. Safe—for the moment.

Then I saw it: a subtle shift, the faint slide toward the edge. She didn’t even know—still lost in sleep, unaware of the drop beneath her. My body moved before the thought was finished. No hesitation, no noise. Steps measured. Hands steady.

I reached her just in time, fingertips brushing her arm, anchoring her weight before she could slip further. My grip firm, controlled, holding her without waking her.

A spark of frustration rose—reckless, even now. But it was chased by something sharper: the memory of the worms, her dragging me through filth, breaking every boundary I had drawn, saving me when death was certain.

She had saved me.

It should have softened me. It didn’t. The memory of our last argument—sharp words, defiance, her relentless testing of my patience—rose like smoke in my chest. She had ignored my lines, crossed them all, and yet… I owed her my life.

The contradiction sat cold and heavy in me, but my hand stayed steady on her arm. The forest, the night, the rooftop—silent except for her breathing. I adjusted her position, guiding her a fraction away from the edge, securing her without waking her.

For a heartbeat, I allowed myself to look at her face—the exhaustion, the trace of pain even in sleep. Beneath irritation, something heavier pressed at the edge of my control. I didn’t move. I didn’t let go.

I would hold the line. Not just out of duty, not even out of choice, but because if I didn’t, she would fall. And this time, there might be no one to catch her.

Olivia’s POV

My eyelids flutter open, heavy and slow. Darkness blurs everything at first, but then I feel it—the firm weight of her arms around me. Steady. Unyielding. Holding me against the cold.

I blink up at her. Her gaze is sharp as always, unreadable, yet I sense something quieter behind it. Heat rises to my cheeks; my heart stumbles at the closeness. The rooftop air is freezing, but her grip is warm, deliberate, safe.

I don’t speak. I just let myself breathe, aware of her presence, of the tension in her body, of the strange bond that exists between us but never gets named.

Her eyes catch the faint blush on my cheeks. A flicker crosses her expression—interest? amusement?—but it’s gone before I can be sure. She doesn’t tease, doesn’t comment. Only holds me a fraction closer, a silent acknowledgment of what almost happened.

For a moment, I stay still, letting the safety settle around me like a blanket. Then, carefully, I shift upright, the night air biting at my skin, my cheeks still flushed. My voice fails me, so I give her a single, quiet nod—a wordless thank-you—and turn my gaze outward, the city lights below a blur.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

“I don’t even know when I fell asleep...” I said aloud, though I wasn’t sure if I was speaking to myself or to her. The memory of our previous argument tightened

something in my chest, and the awareness that I was now in her arms stirred a quiet fear—had I crossed her boundaries even in my sleep?

“I’m sorry… if I crossed your boundaries… I didn’t mean to,” I said, ashamed, lowering my head.

Wednesday leaned slightly, her gaze calm and controlled as always. Her voice was low, steady, but with a hint of gentleness:

“You don’t need to apologize. I know you didn’t do it with any intention of causing harm. The fact that you’re here… that you survived… that’s what matters.”

Her eyes never left mine, and in that silence, there was a clear sense of acceptance and care. She didn’t need to say more—her presence, calm and certain, conveyed that my boundaries were understood, and that she was still here for me.

“Anyway, I’m sorry for my earlier behavior too,” I said quietly, with a faint, uncertain smile. “Sleeping on the roof probably wasn’t the best idea… what if I had fallen, or if you had fallen with me?” A soft, nervous laugh escaped me despite myself.

Wednesday’s eyes met mine—sharp, piercing, yet not harsh. After a brief moment, she spoke calmly, almost as if stating a fact:

“If you had fallen, I would have made sure you didn’t hurt yourself. But it’s good that you’re here, and not there. Roofs aren’t a place to sleep, even for the most reckless.”

There was no reproach in her tone, only a cold certainty that somehow conveyed a sense of safety. Her presence was steady, protective, and yet she maintained complete control over herself and the situation.

I could feel that something had changed. She was being kinder to me. There was none of the usual sarcasm, no sharp remarks about me potentially breaking my legs. It was new, unfamiliar. I looked deeper into her eyes, as if searching for an answer—what had changed?

“Wednesday?” I began hesitantly, wanting to say something, though I wasn’t exactly sure what. Asking “why are you being nicer to me” felt too blunt, too direct.

Wednesday watched me carefully, her eyes tracking every movement, every tension in my body. Her tone was low and calm, yet carried a quiet certainty:

“I can see you’re trying to ask something. Don’t overthink it. Just… know that I’m here, and I’m not letting you fall.”

She didn’t smile, and she didn’t need to—her presence, the sharpness of her gaze, and her quiet confidence conveyed everything she wanted to say.

Her words—“I’m not letting you fall”—hit me. If I had been blushing slightly before, now my whole face must have been burning red. Luckily, it was dark; hopefully she didn’t notice. I wasn’t sure if she realized it, but she had just spoken the most romantic words I could imagine—and from her lips, no less. Of course, she probably just meant the roof—hah, I laughed quietly in my head. Definitely the roof. I didn’t dare look her in the eyes.

Or… maybe not just the roof. Maybe something really has changed. Did kissing her light, holding it close to my heart, do something? Did I open myself to her without realizing—let her into my chest, into my pulse? Did I choose her, even though she scares me?

What if this is why she feels softer now, steadier? What if that small act—my lips on her light, my whispered thank you—bound me to her? Bound her to me?

I swallowed, heart hammering, cheeks still burning, but stayed silent.

Wednesday tilted her head slightly, reading my silence. “What?” she asked quietly, her voice a shade softer than before. “You’ve been staring at me for a while now.”

“I… nothing,” I muttered, turning slightly, trying to hide my face.

A faint pause. Then Wednesday’s voice again, low but clear: “If you’re afraid of something, you can tell me. I won’t use it against you.”

Her words stopped me mid‑step.

She won’t use it against me. Why does that sound like a promise? And why does part of me want to believe her?

I shifted slightly as I turned toward the way down. “C’mon, let’s go back inside,” I murmured.

Wednesday’s eyes lingered on me for a long heartbeat. Then, in a tone just above a whisper, she said, “I meant it. I’m not letting you fall.”

Something in the way she said it made my chest tighten—not an order, not control, but a quiet vow. My cheeks burned hotter, the heat spreading with every heartbeat.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

Wednesday’s gaze followed me, steady and sharp, yet not without a strange softness. Her reply came quiet, deliberate:

“I’ll go first. You’re not taking another step on this roof without me.”

It wasn’t a request—it was a statement, an order. But beneath the severity, I caught something else: certainty, protection. And that, more than anything, made my chest tighten.

"Please stop," I begged silently, "because if this keeps going, instead of falling from the roof, I’m going to fall for you instead."

“Re–relax,” I muttered nervously, forcing a shaky laugh. “I’m an adult. How hard can climbing down from a roof be?” My heart was hammering, wild and unsteady.

She moved first, precise as always, and ordered me to follow. But I shifted too soon, trying to prove I didn’t need saving. The tiles betrayed me, sliding beneath my weight, and I felt myself tipping toward the edge.

Her response was instant—sharp, decisive. Wednesday’s hand shot out, catching my wrist and yanking me back with a strength that left no room for argument. But instead of simply steadying me, she pulled me flush against her, so close our faces hovered just inches apart.

My brain fried. Gay panic—full, irreversible, merciless. My dignity: officially deceased.

“Please God have mercy on me,” I muttered out loud without thinking, eyes wide, the words slipping past my lips before I could stop them.

Wednesday’s gaze locked onto mine, dark and unblinking, her voice low and cutting:

“Pathetic. You beg for divine intervention while I’m the only thing keeping you alive.”

Her last words, sharp and merciless, should have rattled me. Instead, they grounded me. For a fleeting moment, my racing heart slowed, though my thoughts still spiraled elsewhere. The corners of my lips tugged into the faintest smile, and before I could stop myself, I whispered under my breath, almost inaudible:

"That’s my Wednesday."

Her eyes narrowed instantly, catching the slip. No blush, no softening—only razor- edged composure. She leaned in just a fraction, her voice cutting low:

“Correction. I don’t belong to anyone.”

That should have been the end of it, but my mind was already fried from the sheer closeness, from her voice, from everything. The words slipped out before I could contain them, a helpless laugh in my chest:

“...aaand I’m gone.”

Her gaze lingered on me—sharp, analyzing, far too perceptive for my comfort. I tried to play it off, but I could feel my pulse racing, my breath uneven.

Wednesday’s voice came quieter this time, lacking her usual bite, though still firm:

“You’re unraveling. I can see it.”

A pause. Her eyes didn’t waver from mine.

“But don’t mistake collapse for weakness. You’re still here. And that—” her grip tightened just slightly, as if anchoring me in place—“is what matters.”

Her grip didn’t ease. If anything, it tightened slightly, keeping me pressed close, her body still angled between me and the void. Cold words, unyielding tone—but her actions told another story entirely.

“Yeah, yeah, collapse and flying,” I muttered nonsense, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a rush. My brain was fried, my heart still sprinting. “C-can we go down?” The gay panic was still in full force, and I could barely keep my voice steady.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

Wednesday’s head tilted slightly, her eyes narrowing in quiet scrutiny. She let the silence stretch just long enough to make my skin prickle, before answering in her flat, unhurried tone:
“Your words are incoherent, but your intent is obvious. You want escape. Gravity isn’t the only thing you’re afraid of.”

She stepped closer, so close I could feel the faint brush of her sleeve against my arm, her gaze locked firmly on mine.
“Very well. We’ll go down. But if you lose your footing again…” Her voice dropped, a whisper meant only for me—“I won’t let you fall. Not from the roof. Not anywhere.”

My voice slipped out before I could stop it, unfiltered, raw:
“If you keep saying things like that, I’m not gonna fall from the roof… I’m gonna fall for you.”

Wednesday’s eyes flickered, the smallest spark of something unreadable in the dark. She didn’t move away. If anything, she leaned in closer, her face inches from mine, her voice low and deliberate:
“Then be very careful.”

A pause—sharp, calculated, meant to pierce straight through me.
“Because unlike roofs, I don’t offer mercy.”

Her gaze didn’t waver, her presence pressing against me like gravity itself. She let the words hang in the air, merciless, undeniable, as if testing how much more my already fried mind could take.

I could feel my pulse in my throat, my stomach a knot of nerves and adrenaline. My mouth moved before I could think, panic spilling out in nervous defiance:
“Perhaps I’m meant to be both… daring and afraid.”

Her eyes flicked to my hands gripping the tiles, then back to my face, sharp and calculating. For a heartbeat, I thought she might scold me for moving too soon—but instead, her voice was calm, precise, and laced with a dangerous amusement:
“Perhaps. But it will be my job to find out which one destroys you first.”

I blinked at her, heart still hammering, and managed a shaky smirk:
“Careful… I don’t pay well for jobs like that.”

Her lips curved—just the faintest tilt, almost imperceptible—but her eyes didn’t waver. Instead, she studied me, her gaze measuring, calculating every tremor of my body, every racing beat of my heart. She leaned slightly closer, just enough to make the heat of her presence inescapable:
“You’ll learn that I’m never negotiable.”

I shivered, part from the cold, part from the closeness.
“And yet,” I whispered, voice trembling, “I somehow feel like I wouldn’t survive if you were negotiable.”

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed, dark and unreadable, but I caught the barest trace of something behind them—a flicker of consideration, of… restraint. She didn’t smile. She didn’t soften. She didn’t need to.
Instead, she said quietly:
“Good. That means you understand the rules. Now follow my lead.”

Her hand brushed mine as she moved, just lightly enough to remind me that she held control—over the climb, over the space, and perhaps, over me. I couldn’t think straight. My mind scrambled between panic, awe, and something dangerously close to awe-struck admiration.

As we carefully descended, I added a soft, barely audible, “Thank you… for not letting me fall.”

Wednesday’s hand paused for a heartbeat, fingers tightening just slightly over mine—not a touch of affection, but an acknowledgment. Her voice was low, measured, and calm:
“You’re welcome. But don’t make a habit of testing me.”

I swallowed, cheeks still warm, but the words hung between us like a fragile truce. She didn’t say more, didn’t soften further—but there was a subtle shift in her posture, a quiet acceptance of the gratitude I offered. It was enough.

Wednesday’s POV

I watched her, tilting my head just slightly, observing every twitch, every shallow intake of breath. She teetered on the edge—not the roof, not the tiles, but on something far more volatile. Her words were reckless, but beneath the panic, the nervous defiance, I could see her attempt to assert control over herself.

Her declaration—falling for me—was audacious. Dangerous. My first instinct was to pull back, to remind her of boundaries, of consequences. But instead, I let it hang in the air, studying her. Was she bluffing? Testing me? Or… was there truth in it?

The pause between her words and mine felt almost like a heartbeat stretched into eternity. I leaned in, calculated, deliberate. If she slipped, if she faltered, she wouldn’t die—not on my watch—but I would ensure she understood the weight of her own impulses. “Then be very careful,” I said, letting the warning linger between us.

Her next words—daring, defiant, teasing even—made me almost smirk. Almost. I resisted the urge. Her nervousness, the slight flush creeping across her cheeks, did not go unnoticed. She thought she could hide it in the dark. She thought her tremor in voice and pulse could be masked. I didn’t need words. I saw it.

I let her speak, letting her test the boundaries. I measured her pulse, her hesitation, the way her fingers clenched the tiles. I could feel the tension in her muscles, the storm of adrenaline mixed with something… softer, unexpected.

Her whispered words—the “wouldn’t survive if you were negotiable”—made me pause ever so slightly. A flicker, almost imperceptible, ran through me. Not weakness. Not exactly emotion. But recognition. I had never allowed someone this close, nor had I let anyone approach the edge of my control and remain unscathed.

Her quiet “thank you” as we descended pulled my attention fully to her again. The words were small, almost inaudible, but deliberate. She acknowledged my presence, my protection, and—without knowing it—her trust. A single breath, and I had to acknowledge it in kind. My fingers tightened slightly around hers, not enough to admit softness, but enough to register my awareness.

“You’re welcome,” I said, voice even, low, controlled. “But don’t make a habit of testing me.”

The words carried more weight than she realized. Not a lecture, not an order—an acknowledgment of the truce between us. That fleeting moment of recognition—her gratitude—was enough. I didn’t soften. I didn’t give her any more than necessary. But inside, I cataloged it, stored it. Not weakness. Not affection. A simple note: she was alive, she was cautious, and she had survived the edge… with me.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

When we entered the room, the light revealed just how flushed my face was. I didn’t turn to her, my voice barely steady as I said,
“I’m going to take a shower.”

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed slightly, noticing the steam curling from the bathroom. “You’ve already showered, haven’t you?” she remarked, calm and precise, as if reading every detail.

I hesitated, heat rising to my cheeks, caught somewhere between embarrassment and the faint thrill of being seen so clearly. “You’re right… I’ll just go to sleep,” I murmured, my voice quieter than intended.

I spun on my heel, catching her gaze for a fleeting moment before quickly looking away, cheeks burning hotter by the second. The room felt smaller somehow, the air thicker, every movement charged with the tension I couldn’t quite name. Without another word, I threw myself onto the bed, letting the weight of the day—and the weight of my own scattered emotions—pull me down.

Wednesday’s eyes followed me as I collapsed, unwavering. There was no judgment in her gaze, only that sharp, calculating awareness she always carried, the kind that seemed to see straight through me, dissecting every twitch of muscle, every flicker of emotion. I could almost feel her analyzing, cataloguing each mistake, each lapse in my composure, and yet there was something else beneath it—something faint, almost imperceptible, like… concern?

After a moment, her voice cut through the quiet, calm but pointed:
“You didn’t even change.”

I flushed even deeper, my embarrassment mingling with a strange warmth at her attention. I pulled the covers around me, letting myself sink deeper into the bed, pretending the blankets were a shield between us, though I knew she would still notice everything.

Her presence lingered in the room, silent and steady, like gravity itself. I could feel the way she was watching—not judging, not commenting further—but somehow making me acutely aware of how exposed I was, both physically and emotionally. Every heartbeat seemed louder, every inhale sharper. The way she noticed, the way she understood without needing explanation, was unnerving, grounding, and somehow intimate all at once.

I lay there, feeling the residual heat on my skin, the echo of our earlier tension, and the lingering awareness that she was still here, still observing, still present. I wondered, fleetingly, if she ever allowed herself to be this close to anyone—or if she always maintained that controlled distance. And somewhere deep down, a small, reckless part of me hoped she didn’t pull back tonight.

Wednesday’s POV

The alarms blared, slicing through the stillness of the room. My eyes opened immediately, catching the movement before it even happened. She grabbed her phone and, in a fit of frustration, sent it flying across the room.

I didn’t flinch. Instead, I tracked its trajectory with precision, noting the angle of release, the impact, and the fact that it caused no real harm. Objects didn’t interest me as much as the person holding them; the outburst told me more than the flight of the phone ever could.

“Impressive,” I said, my voice flat, almost dry. Not an accusation. Just an observation.

Without a word, I stepped forward, retrieved the phone, and placed it neatly back on the desk. My movements were deliberate, controlled. I didn’t need to question her or scold her. Chaos would not go unchecked here, but I wouldn’t add to it with unnecessary words.

Her face was buried in the pillow, muffling a groan of defeat. She didn’t look at me, but I kept my gaze fixed on her anyway — sharp, unyielding, cataloguing every breath, every twitch of reluctance.

“Next time, aim at the trash,” I said quietly, my voice low but edged with just enough authority to remind her I’d noticed everything.

She only made a muffled noise into the pillow. I let my eyes linger on her longer than my words, my expression unreadable.

“You can groan all you want,” I continued, my tone flat but firm, “but we still have school. I can keep trying to wake you, or you can move before I make it unpleasant.”

No scolding, no warmth — just the truth, delivered plainly. The day wouldn’t wait, and neither would I.

She barely managed to lift her head before tossing a pillow at me in sleepy frustration. My eyes tracked the object with calm precision. For a fraction of a second, the corner of my mouth twitched — the tiniest, invisible hint of amusement — before I caught it effortlessly with one hand.

“Really?” I said, my voice flat, almost deadpan. “Is that your best attempt at rebellion before school?”

I didn’t throw it back. I didn’t scold. I simply held it, watching her, my gaze sharpening, reminding her — without a word — that I saw everything and remained in control.

She lifted her head slightly, her eyes half-lidded, her voice thick with exhaustion.
“I’m not a rebel… I’m dying. Please, let me rest in peace,” she murmured.

I didn’t soften my gaze. But the faintest twitch at the corner of my lips betrayed that I’d caught the humor in her tone. I tilted my head slightly, analyzing her as always, and chose not to answer immediately. Silence was often more effective than words.

Her stance, her sighs, her muttered complaints about having already finished school and college — I let them fill the space. I didn’t push. I didn’t reply right away. I simply observed, letting the weight of her surrender settle between us.

The corner of my mouth twitched ever so slightly — a flicker of acknowledgment she probably wouldn’t even notice. My gaze remained steady, controlled, unyielding. Even in her exhaustion, I wasn’t going to let her slip completely away from me.

“Fine, fine… let’s go to this school, even if the world is burning and flipping upside down,” she muttered, stifling a yawn.

I said nothing. I simply watched as she stretched, dragging herself toward the bathroom, her theatrics spilling out with every word.
“I’m in perfect state to face demons…” she declared with a yawn, then threw her arms wide with mock gravitas. “Better go get ready before my angel of death drags me off by force!”

Her eyes locked with mine for a brief, intense moment, full of theatrics and faux despair, before she spun on her heel and disappeared into the bathroom. The door slammed softly behind her.

I followed the motion with my eyes, sharp and unwavering. After a pause, my voice cut through the silence, flat and controlled, yet tinged with a subtle acknowledgment of her drama:

“Do try not to let your angel catch you before you finish.”

Then the room was quiet again, and I stayed there, composed as ever, the faint trace of a smirk still threatening at the corner of my lips.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

When I finally stepped out of the bathroom, my hair still damp and sticking slightly to the nape of my neck, the heaviness of sleep clung stubbornly to me. My body dragged, every step weighted with fatigue, as if the remnants of dreams and rooftop chaos had fused into my bones. I wasn’t sure how long I had actually slept—maybe a little on the roof, maybe less than I thought. Either way, exhaustion clung like a second skin.

As I gathered my notebooks for the day, flashes of the rooftop crept unbidden into my mind. My cheeks warmed instantly at the memory—especially the words that had slipped out before I could rein them in:

“If you keep saying things like that, I’m not gonna fall from the roof… I’m gonna fall for you.”

And her reply…
“Then be very careful… Because unlike roofs, I don’t offer mercy.”

I could still feel the weight behind those words, her presence pressing close even in memory. A sigh escaped me, barely audible:
“I really am walking chaos… always saying the worst things possible.”

I thought it was only to myself—just a quiet confession of my own panic and embarrassment—until her voice cut through the air, calm and sharp from where she sat at her desk:
“You do have a talent for unintended confessions.”

The words landed like a hammer, freezing me mid-motion. Heat flooded my face, my fingers tightening instinctively around the notebooks. Of course she hadn’t missed a thing. She never missed anything. My chest tightened as I realized how exposed I had been without even knowing it.

“I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that…” I muttered, voice a little louder than intended, more to cover my embarrassment than anything else. My hands shifted the books slightly, a nervous attempt to create some barrier between us, yet it was futile—she saw everything, always.

I forced myself to glance her way, heart hammering against my ribs. Her gaze was unreadable, sharp as ever, and yet there was something weighty in it, a silent acknowledgment that I had spoken more truth than I intended. I tried to speak casually, though the words sounded weak even to me:
“Ready?”

She didn’t answer immediately, letting the silence stretch, drawing it out just long enough to make my stomach twist. I felt dissected, every fragment of my posture, every blush, every tremor of my fingers noted. Finally, with unhurried grace, she rose from her chair, eyes still tracking me like a predator evaluating prey—though not in a hostile way, not exactly. It was… intense. Calculating.
“I was ready before you started negotiating with your own conscience,” she said evenly, her voice steady, precise, controlled.

I stammered, “Ye-yeah,” the sound weak, my cheeks burning hotter with every heartbeat. I didn’t dare meet her eyes again, instead grabbing my bag and slipping toward the door. Each step felt like a betrayal of my own composure, my internal chaos laid bare beneath her unflinching observation.

And behind me… I felt it. Her gaze lingering longer than necessary, sharp and deliberate, almost tangible, pressing against the back of my neck and shoulders. It wasn’t accusatory, wasn’t mocking—it was something else. Awareness, intensity, a quiet weight of consideration that made my skin prickle and my heart stutter. She knew. She knew exactly what effect those words, that slip of truth, had left behind.

I walked out of the room with the faintest shiver running down my spine, fully aware that in that silence she was still there—watching, measuring, understanding—and that the tiniest spark between us had shifted, unspoken but undeniable, like a rope tightening quietly around my chest.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

Classes passed faster than I expected, though I kept sprinting for coffee during every break just to stay functional. Each sip felt like a small lifeline — bitter, grounding, and barely enough to hold my thoughts in line.

By lunch, I’d already obliterated two cups and was on my fifth, the caffeine buzzing through me like adrenaline in disguise. I slid into the seat across from Wednesday, balancing my tray with exaggerated precision, the steaming cup front and center like an offering.

“Right, with everything going on, I didn’t even ask… how did interrogating your ex go?” I asked, feigning casualness, though the flicker of curiosity in her eyes made my pulse tick up.

Wednesday set her fork down, posture immaculate, expression unreadable.
“Tyler isn’t the Hyde,” she said flatly. “Neither is his mother. I checked everything. They’re far too ordinary to be involved.”

I exhaled a quiet breath, letting my lips curl into a small smirk. “I kind of figured. Something about him just didn’t fit the pattern.”

Her brow lifted the faintest fraction — a microexpression of acknowledgment. “Feelings can be misleading,” she replied crisply, then, softer, “but this time… you’re right. The Hyde remains hidden. And it’s very good at pretending.”

Her calm made the words heavier somehow. Comfort and tension tangled in my chest like twin wires sparking under pressure.

“Now I almost feel bad for Tyler,” I muttered, poking at my food. “Interrogated and terrified for nothing. Remind me to never be your ex — I’d rather wrestle a Hyde than your suspicion.”

A flicker of something — amusement, maybe approval — crossed her face.
“Noted,” she said, tone dry as dust, as if logging data in a mental file.

I took a slow sip of coffee, meeting her gaze over the rim. “So that leaves us with a Hyde somewhere on campus… and those lovely parasitic worms that take over living hosts. Sweet.” My lips twisted into a smirk. “Guess that means it’s time to interrogate the worm boy.”

Wednesday’s dark eyes lingered on me, sharp and unblinking. “That’s your third coffee,” she observed, voice deadpan. “At this rate, the worms won’t need to possess you — the caffeine will.”

I nearly choked laughing. “Correction: fifth. The worms wouldn’t dare.”

“Fifth?” Her tone didn’t rise, but her stare sharpened. “You’re going to burn a hole in your soul before the Hyde gets a chance.”

I swirled the dark liquid in my cup, grinning. “Mmm, black caffeine… my one true dark master. I’ve always had a weakness for dark things — coffee, shadows, ominous girls who threaten suspects for sport…”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Be careful what you let control you,” she said softly, voice calm but cutting. “Even the things you love can become a leash.”

The word struck harder than I wanted to admit. Leash. Control. Chains.
For a moment, my mind slipped — to past hands, past orders, to every invisible tether I’d ever broken.

Wednesday’s tone shifted again, quieter this time. “You’ve survived worse,” she said. “Control doesn’t define you — you do.”

Her words steadied something in me I didn’t realize had been shaking. I muttered, half to myself, “You don’t know exactly what I’ve been through… but yeah. I broke my chains once. Maybe that’s why I don’t fear them anymore. Even gods couldn’t keep me leashed.”

A slow, knowing silence stretched between us. She didn’t press, didn’t pry — just watched, her gaze cool and dissecting, but not unkind.

“Before we interrogate the bug boy,” I said after a beat, needing a lighter note, “maybe we should check if he still has his powers. Fuckerson likes to mess with things. He’s been… playing with me. I told him some things were predictable.”

Her eyes flicked up, unreadable for a heartbeat, then the faintest smirk ghosted across her lips. “Predictable or not,” she murmured, “don’t let him think he can toy with you. Keep control. Always.”

“Control isn’t exactly my specialty,” I said, leaning back, grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Chaos is more my field of expertise.”

Wednesday didn’t reply immediately — she simply observed, her expression precise as ever. But her presence drew subtly closer, the air between us tightening with quiet awareness. The faintest curl of her lips said she understood — maybe even approved.

I stood to take my tray back, pretending my hands weren’t trembling from caffeine or her stare. She moved at the same time — controlled, deliberate — her fingers brushing mine as she steadied the tray.

“Careful,” she murmured, her voice calm but weighted with authority.

The contact was brief, grounding, but electric enough to leave me rooted in place for a second longer than I meant to.

Setting the tray down, I exhaled, feeling the tension and thrill twist together — the strange, sharp comfort of being seen, measured, and still left free to burn.

Even in something as ordinary as lunch, Wednesday Addams had a way of making control feel like both a warning and a protection — a quiet challenge that said, let’s see how long you can dance with chaos without falling apart.

And for once, I was certain I’d keep dancing.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

I could feel the effect she had on me—how she made my heart race, how her touch made me blush, even as an overwhelming exhaustion weighed down my body. It had barely been any time since the moment I almost took my own life. That thought still sat somewhere deep in me, raw and tender. This thing with Wednesday—this flirting, this chaos—wasn’t just me being reckless. It was me trying to breathe again, to test the edges of my existence, to see if I could still feel something other than emptiness.

Right after class, I walked toward the training area, aware of the shadow that followed me. She wanted to watch me, probably to control me. But I needed a moment for myself—to prove, even if just for a heartbeat, that I still had a space of my own.

I turned around, eyes steady and certain. With a single motion, I slammed my chains into the ground, drawing lines across the earth. My gaze met hers, firm and unwavering.
“These are my boundaries,” I said, my voice quiet but resolute. Then I turned and continued walking.

Wednesday’s sharp eyes followed me, unblinking, analyzing every motion, every subtle inflection in my tone. Her lips curved slightly, almost imperceptibly, but her expression remained unreadable.

She stepped closer, slow and deliberate, her presence pressing into the space around me. “Bold,” she said, her voice low, deliberate. “And yet… predictable.”

I didn’t stop. My jaw was set, my steps measured. The chains were more than a gesture; they were my way of saying I’m still here. I’m still fighting. I still get to decide who crosses into me.

She tilted her head, dark eyes assessing, and added softly, “You think lines in the dirt will keep me from crossing… but I know where your heart actually lies.”

Her words made my pulse quicken, but I kept walking, letting the chains mark my territory, my space.

A pause, then she spoke again, quieter, almost a whisper meant only for me: “If I step over them, I step into your world. If I don’t… I leave you intact. That choice… is mine.”

I didn’t turn, but inside I felt the tiniest flicker of hope. This was me letting her know: I survived. I’m still choosing. My eyes stayed fixed ahead, but my chest tightened. Everything depended on her now.

She didn’t move, just stood there, shadows stretching behind her, her gaze unwavering. Then, just before I disappeared from view, her voice cut through the air again:
“Consider me… curious.”

When I was finally alone, I could finally breathe. Her control—it’s maddening. I started using my chains to strike the innocent trees around me. Every strike released a fraction of the frustration building inside me. I needed this… I needed to exhale without her eyes on me.

So much had happened in these past two days. Fuck, I almost lost my life—I can’t even count how many times. Partly Wednesday’s fault, partly mine, partly the Author’s. I knew what needed to be done next in the mission, but there was time—enough time to get it done. That part of me was certain. The Author sees everything and, like Wednesday, is entangled in me.

I spoke out loud, letting the words echo:
“Ugh, what is it with these people and gods that they’re so obsessed with me? I’m just a graphic designer… And now I’m here… playing this dangerous game between them… Hey! I have feelings too! I’m not a ball that gets rolled from one paw to another…”

I felt a weight lift as I said it. I sat down, crossed-legged, meditative, processing everything that had happened so I could move forward.

Then the familiar low rumble of my wolf spoke inside my mind.

“Finally,” he growled, voice amused but sharp. “You’ve been holding that in like a caged storm.”

“I needed to,” I muttered. “I can’t always… be under her eyes. I can’t always be… controlled.”

The wolf snorted. “It’s mostly the result of what happened today in the dining hall. You reacted… and so did she. You didn’t just get caught off guard—she wanted you to feel that. That flush, that heat—it’s deliberate.”

I clenched my fists around the chains, letting them rest on my knees. “So… it wasn’t an accident? That she caught me like that, made me feel…”

“No accident,” the wolf confirmed, golden eyes sharp. “She made you react. Turned you red, made your heart race. She’s testing you, or maybe… she just wanted to see how far she could reach into you. You’re not imagining it. You felt it because she meant for you to.”

I let out a shaky laugh, still feeling the heat on my cheeks. “So, I should feel grateful… and terrified at the same time?”

“Exactly,” he said with a low rumble. “Keep it in mind. She’s dangerous, and she’s ours in a way. Don’t let your mind get lost in panic—you survived today, and that’s what matters. But she… she’ll leave her mark every time she chooses to.”

I leaned back against the tree, chains resting across my lap, letting the weight of the words settle. My wolf’s presence hummed steady, grounding me even as my thoughts swirled. And somewhere deep down, I realized he was right—this spark, this tension… maybe I didn’t want to let it die.

I let out a shaky breath, still thinking about what he had just said. Then, almost without thinking, I asked aloud in my mind:
“What do you mean that she’s ‘ours’? So far, everything tells me it’s the opposite… and it irritates me, frustrates me… and yet, I want more. Am I crazy?”

The wolf’s golden eyes glinted sharply in my mind. His growl was low, rumbling with both amusement and warning:
“Crazy? Maybe. But not in the way you think. You’re reacting to her because she’s a force, because she pushes boundaries—and you… you’ve never been faced with someone like her before.”

I frowned, trying to untangle the knot of emotions twisting in my chest.
“So… it’s not just me losing it?”

He tilted his head, voice still a rumble deep in my mind.
“No. You’re not alone in this. She affects you because she’s meant to. And you—this fire, this desire to fight and feel at the same time—it’s part of being who you are. The ‘ours’ I meant? It’s that bond, that connection. Not ownership. Not possession. Just… interwoven.”

I swallowed hard, cheeks still hot even as I realized he was right.
“Interwoven… huh?” I muttered.

He snorted softly, almost a laugh.
“Yes. Dangerous. Frustrating. Tempting. Exactly the kind of chaos that keeps you alive. And maybe… just maybe, it’s worth it.”

I exhaled, letting my shoulders loosen slightly. The tension didn’t disappear, but the clarity—however small—made the madness feel less like losing control, and more like surviving it.

I let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Heh… chaos… I am chaos… you can’t control chaos. Eventually, she’ll find out. Maybe she’ll change her approach then. Maybe she’ll stop looking at me like an experiment… but I don’t know how she’ll see me… maybe she’ll start to fear me. I don’t know, and part of me wants to push the limits… test her… become the chaos that outgrows her…”

The wolf’s eyes narrowed, amber glowing with both curiosity and caution. His voice rumbled in my mind, low and deliberate:
“Be careful what you wish for. Chaos… it tempts, it excites… but it can devour you just as easily. You can challenge her, yes—but do you really want to risk what happens if she fights back? She’s not gentle with those who push too hard.”

I frowned, letting the edge of my thoughts sharpen.
“I know… and yet… I want to see. I want to test the limits, to see how far I can go.”

He growled, a sound both warning and begrudgingly admiring.
“Bold… reckless. You’ll hurt yourself, or her… or both. But perhaps that’s exactly what you need to understand her… and yourself.”

I tilted my head, letting a small, sly smile creep over my lips.
“Maybe. Maybe that’s the point. To shake things up, to see what breaks—and what survives.”

The wolf’s rumble softened, almost a reluctant chuckle.
“You’re relentless… and that’s why I’ll follow. But remember: chaos is a double-edged blade. Wield it wisely—or it will wield you.”

I let the words settle, feeling a thrill run through me. Chaos wasn’t just danger—it was power. And maybe, just maybe, it was a way to reach her.

And so, I was able to breathe for a few hours before heading into training. Something about physical exertion consumed me mentally as well as physically—it was a release I desperately needed. I returned very late, making sure Wednesday was already asleep. 

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

The next morning, I made my way to the training area, tracing the line I’d set the day before. Each step was deliberate, my mind focused, every scrape of the chains against the ground grounding me.

I sensed her presence before I saw her. Wednesday leaned against the edge of the area, arms crossed, eyes sharp and unreadable.

“You moved your line again,” she remarked, voice calm but precise.

I glanced at her without breaking my pace. “Lines aren’t permanent. They’re reminders.”

She tilted her head, studying me. “Reminders… or challenges?”

I didn’t answer immediately. My chains dragged softly, marking the boundary I had chosen.

Wednesday stepped closer, shadow falling over part of the line. “Testing me,” she said quietly, almost a whisper, yet carrying her usual authority.

“Maybe. But the choice to cross it… is still yours,” I replied, calm and steady.

A faint smirk tugged at her lips. “Curious. We’ll see how well you’ve learned to protect yourself,” she murmured.

I exhaled, feeling a subtle tension ease. Even under her watchful gaze, I felt in control. At least for now.

The rain began falling in soft, cold drops. I considered retreating, but instead let it wash over me, a reminder that I was alive. Sitting cross-legged, I focused on breath and body, letting the rhythm of the rain guide my thoughts.

When I rose, I moved through exercises—slow stretches, twisting, balancing—rain forcing attention, forcing adaptation. Each motion was a lesson: chaos could be controlled, discomfort mastered.

After a while, I returned to the line. Chains scraped the wet earth, merging faint marks with the ground. There she was again, arms crossed, eyes fixed on me.

“You’ve spent enough time out here,” she said, calm but authoritative.

I met her gaze, a tired smile slipping through. “I needed… to process everything.”

Blinking at her, dampened hair clinging to my face, I asked, “…Why are you here? You didn’t wait… and in the rain?”

Her gaze met mine, unwavering. “…I returned after checking everything was as it should be. I didn’t need to wait—I chose to come back,” she said, precise, unflinching.

I laughed softly, heart skipping. “You… came back to me. That’s… romantic,” I admitted, voice breathy, cheeks flaming.

The wolf snorted in my mind, amused. Romantic? You actually said it. Didn’t think you had it in you.

Wednesday’s expression remained controlled, though the corner of her mouth twitched ever so slightly. “Romantic is subjective,” she said, calm, almost teasing.

I smirked, shrugging. “Subjective or not, I like it.”

Her gaze lingered, calculating. “I didn’t intend to impress you,” she stated evenly, but her focus said otherwise.

“Oh, come on,” I said with a teasing tilt of my head. “It works. Very well, actually.”

The wolf purred in satisfaction. Finally, acknowledgment. And yes, you’re blushing again.

I let my grin linger, feeling her presence press around me. “…I guess I’ll allow it,” I murmured, a soft laugh escaping.

Wednesday didn’t move closer, but her eyes never left mine. Quiet, precise observation—both grounding and unnerving.

She raised an eyebrow, voice cutting through the rain. “Why were you out here?”

I hesitated. “…I needed to clear my head,” I admitted, shrugging, fatigue and tension lingering.

Her lips twitched faintly. “And you thought this was the best way?”

I laughed softly. “Apparently… I have questionable judgment,” I said, glancing down before meeting her eyes.

The wolf chuckled, teasing. Questionable judgment? More like testing limits. Both hers and yours.

Wednesday’s eyes softened just slightly. “I’ll allow your theatrics… this time,” she said, dry but approving.

I let out a shaky laugh. “Okay… okay. You’re back. And… I like it.”

The wolf hummed in agreement. Every chaotic heartbeat is tangled up in this.

Her eyes softened, still sharp. “Processing doesn’t require reckless exposure. You could have been hurt.”

“I’m fine,” I said, shrugging lightly. “I needed it… needed to clear my head.”

The wolf snorted, amused. Cheeks flaming, hands trembling. Is this your idea of clearing?

“Shut up,” I muttered, though a smirk threatened to surface.

Wednesday stepped closer, shadow pressing lightly. “Good,” she murmured, low and deliberate. “Respect and restraint… rare traits. I’ll notice if they slip.”

I swallowed hard, aware of the tension coiling in my chest. “…Understood,” I said, voice steady despite my pulse betraying me.

The wolf let out a low, amused growl. Understood, hm. You’re predictable… but entertaining.

Wednesday’s sharp eyes narrowed slightly, lips twitching faintly. “Don’t let your mind wander too far,” she said, voice calm, almost soothing. “Or I might misinterpret your intentions.”

I flushed harder. “…I’m trying not to,” I admitted, voice trembling slightly.

Her lips twitched—a ghost of a smile—but she didn’t break composure. “Good,” she said quietly, measured. “Control your chaos… for now.”

The wolf snorted. For now… I like that. Keep it up, chaos.

I exhaled, heart hammering, cheeks ablaze, aware that every step, every thought, was measured under her watchful eyes. One misstep could unravel the delicate balance between observation, restraint, and the chaotic pull she always seemed to provoke.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

Feeling that I needed another day to recover, I stood at the boundary—the line I had drawn. A reckless thought struck me, and a faint smile tugged at my lips. I’ll do something daring… I’ll test Wednesday.

I let my chains scrape against the ground, drawing the line darker, deeper than before. Then, deliberately, I stepped a single foot over it. My heart hammered, heat rising to my cheeks. I wanted to see what she would do.

From the shadows, Wednesday’s gaze fixed on me instantly, sharp and unyielding. She didn’t move at first—just watched, her expression unreadable, the silence stretching like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath.

Finally, her voice broke the air, low and precise:
“Bold. But tell me…” Her eyes narrowed slightly, assessing every flicker of emotion in my face. “Is this defiance… or an invitation?”

I froze, breath caught in my throat, but forced myself not to step back. “Maybe both,” I murmured, my voice softer than I intended, betraying the tension beneath my calm.

The wolf’s growl rumbled in my mind, sharp and amused. “Both? Oh, this is going to get messy. You really want to dance with fire, huh?”

“Shut up,” I thought back sharply, though a tiny thrill curled through me at his words. “It’s not messy if I control it.”

Her lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile breaking her composure. “Careful,” she said quietly, her tone measured but carrying that subtle thread of amusement. “Lines are not meant to be crossed lightly. Especially not with me.”

The wolf snorted in my head. “Especially not with her? You’re saying it like it’s a warning… and yet, here you are, practically begging.”

“I’m not begging,” I shot back silently, though I felt the heat rise in my chest. “I’m daring.”

For a moment, she stepped closer, the pressure of her presence tightening around me, deliberate but never touching. Her dark eyes held mine, unwavering. “If you test me, you should be ready to face the consequences.”

I swallowed, forcing myself to hold her gaze despite the fire in my chest. “…And what would those consequences be?”

Wednesday tilted her head slightly, her lips curving just faintly as she replied in a whisper, “That depends on what you want them to be.”

The wolf’s rumble returned, low and teasing. “You hear that? She’s giving you a choice… don’t mess this up, chaos queen.”

“I’m not messing up,” I countered, my thoughts biting at him. “I can handle this.”

The tension between us thickened, each heartbeat loud in my chest. I could feel her eyes on me, sharp and unrelenting, but something in me refused to back down. Instead, I let a smirk tug at my lips and stepped just a fraction farther over the line.

“You look like you’re waiting for me to crumble,” I teased, my voice low, deliberately playful despite the heat in my cheeks. “Or maybe you’re just hoping I’ll invite you over.”

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed, but not with anger—there was calculation there, and something else, something darker, almost amused. Her voice was calm, precise as ever.
“Careful. You’re testing the current, and you don’t even know how deep the water runs.”

The wolf’s low chuckle vibrated in my mind. “Oh, she’s a predator, and you’re waving a red flag in her face. Hilarious. Keep going, I dare you.”

“Shut up,” I thought back, suppressing a small laugh, though the thrill in my chest made it difficult. “I’m serious.”

I tilted my head, my smirk widening as my chains curled lazily at my sides. “Maybe I want to see how deep. Maybe I want to see if you’ll follow.”

Her gaze sharpened, and for the first time, I thought I saw the faintest spark of challenge flicker in her dark eyes. She took a deliberate step closer, her presence pressing into me without ever breaking the space.
“You mistake me if you think teasing will grant you control. You’re not leading me anywhere. I allow myself to follow—if I choose.”

The wolf rumbled, amused and slightly warning. “Bold words. Careful, chaos. Don’t let her charm you too much.”

“I’m not charmed,” I thought quickly, cheeks burning hotter. “I’m in control.”

My heart skipped, but I held her gaze, daring her further. “Then choose. Step across.”

The silence that followed was unbearable, charged, electric. Her lips twitched, almost forming a smile, though her tone remained coldly measured.
“You want chaos,” she said softly, almost like a confession. “And yet, you dare me… knowing I could drown you in it.”

A shiver ran through me, but I didn’t look away. “…Maybe that’s what I want,” I whispered, my voice trembling with both fear and defiance.

The wolf’s voice rumbled again, low and teasing. “Oh, this is delicious. She’s close, and you’re practically glowing with it. I should warn you, but… nah.”

“Stop teasing me,” I thought, trying to hide my smile, though it betrayed me in the slightest twitch of my lips.

Wednesday studied me for a long moment, her dark eyes searching mine, dissecting every flicker of my resolve. Then, so quietly it felt like it pressed straight into my bones, she murmured:
“Then you’d better be ready when I decide to take that step.”

The wolf snorted, a low chuckle this time. “Ohhh, she has no idea what she’s done. That flush… priceless.”

I covered my mouth to suppress the laugh that slipped past anyway. “Shut up!” I thought, cheeks burning even hotter.

Her shadow stretched across the ground, brushing close to mine without ever touching. The air between us was charged, unsteady, vibrating with something dangerous and unsaid.

I whispered, almost like a challenge, “You see it, don’t you? But don’t confuse fire with weakness. I won’t break, Wednesday. Not for you.”

Wednesday’s lips curved, faint and deliberate, her eyes narrowing with a glint of amusement that only sharpened the tension. “Oh, I see it,” she murmured, her voice low, silken with control. “But determination doesn’t erase desire. It only hides it—for now.”

The wolf’s low, amused growl rolled through my mind. “For now… hm. Keep burning, chaos queen. She likes it.”

I let out a shaky breath, muttering under it, “…I’ll try.” Heart hammering, cheeks blazing, aware that every step forward was measured against her watchful eyes.

Chapter Text

Wednesday’s POV

She turned her head just enough for our eyes to meet from the corner. I caught the faintest smirk tug at her lips, the color rising in her cheeks. She thought she was hiding it. She wasn’t.

“You say every dare has a price…” she said, her tone deliberately teasing. “What if I’m willing to pay it?”

The words hung between us like a blade suspended mid‑fall. I stepped closer — deliberate, unhurried — until the air itself grew taut between us. I felt the tension hum like a string pulled to its limit.

Her eyes met mine. Beneath her reckless heat I saw it — that flicker, the spark she tried to disguise.

“You mistake me,” I whispered, my voice colder now, though threaded with a dangerous softness. “It isn’t you who sets the price. It’s me. And I don’t trade in mercy.”

For a heartbeat she didn’t blink. She only smirked faintly, almost daring me.

“Good,” she whispered, eyes locked on mine. “Mercy’s boring.”

I narrowed my eyes, refusing to break the gaze. She’d stepped over the line, and she knew it. I let my next words fall low, deliberate, a murmur of warning:
“Careful. You’re treading into territory that doesn’t forgive hesitation.”

Her lips curved again. “Maybe hesitation isn’t my problem,” she teased softly, just above a whisper. “Maybe I want to see how close I can get before you break.”

A spark jumped in my chest at that — irritation, amusement, and something far more dangerous. I tilted my head, dissecting every flicker of expression on her face. Slowly, I raised my hand, hovering near her jaw but not touching. A silent promise. A threat.

“You mistake composure for weakness,” I said, my tone sharp but hushed. “But understand this—if I choose to break, it won’t be me who suffers.”

She shivered, but the smirk on her lips deepened, reckless and glowing with defiance. She leaned in a fraction, lips close enough that the air between us felt like static.

“Then maybe,” she breathed, eyes burning with defiance and desire, “that’s exactly the risk I want to take.”

My pulse tightened, but I didn’t let it show. For a heartbeat, the world felt suspended—her gaze locked on mine, her presence pressing in. I could feel the danger, the temptation, the way she tried to pull me into her chaos.

And then, before I could stop it, the corner of my mouth betrayed me — the faintest ghost of a smile.

“Bold,” I whispered. “Reckless. Predictable… and yet—irresistibly tempting.”

Inside, I could feel my composure shift like a blade in my hand: still steady, still sharp, but not untouched. She thought she was testing me. She didn’t realize she was forcing me to test myself.

Olivia’s POV

The wolf growled softly in amusement. “Irresistibly tempting… and yet, you’re trembling. Admit it, chaos queen.”

“I’m not trembling!” I shot back, though the tiny shiver running through me said otherwise.

Her presence pressed against me like a storm contained in silence. Wednesday’s eyes locked onto mine—unyielding, dissecting, yet strangely magnetic. My breath quickened, the space between us shrinking with every heartbeat until the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of us.

Her lips hovered dangerously close, just a breath away. My chest tightened, my thoughts spiraling into a single pounding mantra:
Fight. Fight. Fight. Come on, girl… fight!

But I knew—I was close. Too close. My body trembled, betraying me as the heat in my chest rose higher, threatening to burn through my fragile restraint.

Her gaze flicked down to my lips for a fraction of a second, deliberate enough to make my pulse stumble, before returning to my eyes with razor precision. She wasn’t just watching me—she was waiting. Waiting to see if I would shatter, if my chaos would consume me.

Desperation surged. With a shaky breath, I lifted my hand between us—not touching her, not daring to, but hovering just inches from her chest. A silent command. A trembling barrier. A plea and a defiance all at once.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth betraying something between amusement and curiosity. She didn’t move back. She stood perfectly still, letting the weight of her presence crash against my fragile resistance.
“Interesting,” she whispered, her tone soft but cutting, threading straight through me. “You push me away… without touching me.”

Her gaze burned into mine, dissecting every flicker of weakness, every ounce of tension trembling in my frame. And then—her lips curved, the ghost of a smirk, deliberate and devastating.
“You’re trembling,” she murmured, low enough that it felt like a secret. “Not from fear… but from restraint.”

The wolf’s voice was playful now, teasing. “See? Told you… trembling. You look ridiculous… and adorable. Hahaha.”

I covered my mouth, muffling a small laugh that slipped out despite me. “Shut up!”

Her eyes flicked up at me, curious now. “Why… are you laughing?” she asked softly, brows knitting.

“Nothing,” I murmured, cheeks flaming.

The wolf snorted again. “Please stop… hahah. You sound like a mess, chaos queen.”

Wednesday tilted her head slightly, a faint frown tugging at her lips. She leaned closer, just enough that the heat from her presence made me flustered again. My cheeks burned brighter.

The wolf purred in delight. “Ohhh, look at that… she’s doing it again. Can’t help herself. Classic.”

I stifled another laugh with my hand, trying to regain composure.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed, dark and calculating. “Are… you always this affected?” she murmured, voice low, almost teasing. Her gaze flicked to my hand covering my mouth. “It’s almost like… someone else is speaking in your head.”

My throat went dry. “…The… wolf,” I admitted before I could stop myself, voice barely a whisper.

The wolf chuckled in my mind. “Finally, she knows. Hilarious.”

Wednesday’s lips twitched at the corner, a glimmer of intrigue in her sharp eyes. “I see…” she murmured softly, her tone low and measured. “Interesting… indeed.”

I exhaled shakily, heart hammering, aware of both her gaze and the wolf’s amusement lingering in my head. My cheeks burned hotter than ever, and my hand trembled slightly as I tried to steady myself.

Chapter Text

Wednesday’s POV

The line she had drawn didn’t matter anymore. Every nerve in my body screamed that this was no longer about boundaries or lessons. Her hand trembled as it hovered, but her eyes… her eyes dared me to cross the invisible line I’d long held.

I leaned closer, close enough that the warmth of her skin pressed faintly against my own, the rain-slicked air clinging to us. My pulse was steady, but my mind… my mind cataloged everything: the slight hitch of her breath, the tension in her shoulders, the quickening in her pulse. Every flinch, every subtle shift—a map of her chaos, a fire I could ignite with a single touch.

I let my bare fingertip brush her jawline, just a second. Not enough to dominate, but enough.

Immediately, a soft, involuntary moan escaped her lips—low, shaky, and raw. My eyes snapped to her face. My body reacted, though I forced myself to remain still, observing, not consuming.

“Interesting,” I whispered, low and deliberate, letting my words hover over her like a blade. My own pulse quickened, betraying the thrill of her tremor beneath my touch. She’s already unraveling. One touch—and she quivers. And yet… she won’t admit it.

Her cheeks flamed crimson, jaw tight, the heat crawling down her neck and across her chest. Every inch of her screamed both resistance and invitation. I fought the urge to linger, to press harder, to cross the line she seemed desperate to test.

Her body shuddered again, the faintest tremor beneath my fingertip, and I clenched my jaw, forcing myself not to let my fingers linger longer, not to push her further, not to step over my own line.

“F—fuck you both!” she snapped, voice trembling, raw heat burning behind every word.

Then, the golden light erupted beneath her skin. Claws ripped through the night, fur rippling—the wolf surging outward. She didn’t glance at me. She ran, fleeing, and every motion screamed of the chaos I’d provoked.

I remained in the shadows, silent, unmoving, but I was far from untouched. My bare fingers tingled from restraint, my breath catching at every moan, every shiver, every tremble of her body. I had to fight not to lean closer, not to test her more, not to break my own rules.

“Run if you must… but chaos always circles back,” I said quietly, my voice steady, precise, tethering her even as she fled.

I watched her sprint, rain dripping from her fur, golden glow fading, but the memory of that single, fleeting touch haunted me. The moan. The tremble. The spark.

She is chaos, I thought, swallowing the pull of temptation. And yet she is… alive. She dares me to break my own rules, and I must not.

Every instinct screamed to chase, to touch again, to see how far I could push before she surrendered—or before I did. But control, discipline, restraint—those were my lines. And I would not cross them. Not yet. Not while she still ran.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

I stormed into my room like a thunderclap, already back in human form. My heart was still racing, heat still burning across my face. Without thinking, I threw myself onto the bed, burying my face in the pillows. My fists pounded against them again and again, frustration boiling over, until I finally collapsed on top of them—red, breathless, trembling.

With a sharp inhale, I forced myself upright and folded into a meditative pose, legs crossed, eyes shut tight. My chest rose and fell unevenly as I tried to center myself. Block him out. Block him out. Just silence, please…

The wolf’s laughter slithered through the cracks in my mind anyway, low and smug.
“Meditating? Hah. As if sitting still will silence me. You’re adorable when you try, little chaos.”

“Shut up,” I hissed under my breath, squeezing my fists tighter against my knees. Just… shut up.

The door creaked open. I froze, my cheeks still flaming as Wednesday stepped inside with her usual quiet precision. She stopped just past the doorway, her sharp gaze falling instantly on me.

Her head tilted slightly, her voice calm but edged with curiosity.
“What exactly are you doing?”

I cracked one eye open, caught, and exhaled sharply. “…Trying to get rid of an intruder in my head. He got too loud.”

Her brow arched faintly, though her face stayed unreadable.
“An intruder,” she repeated, slow and deliberate, as if dissecting the word. “And how do you plan to remove him? By… meditating on your bed?”

The wolf chuckled in my mind, his growl dripping with amusement.
“Intruder. I like that. Makes me sound dangerous. Tell her the truth, Olivia—tell her I’m not going anywhere.”

My cheeks burned hotter, and I clenched my jaw. Stop talking, damn it!

Wednesday took a step closer, her arms crossing, her eyes narrowing just slightly as she studied my trembling posture.
“So… you’re fighting with someone I can’t see,” she murmured, her tone flat but probing. “And losing, by the look of it.”

“Not losing,” I shot back, my voice tighter than I meant it to be. “…Just trying to quiet him down.”

The wolf snorted, clearly enjoying this far too much.
“Quiet me down? Please. The more you resist, the louder I’ll get. She knows it too… look at her, she’s curious. Maybe I should introduce myself.”

“No!” I snapped aloud before I could stop myself, my eyes flying open. My face was crimson. “You stays in my head.”

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed further, the faintest flicker of amusement breaking her composure.
“Interesting,” she said softly. “So you’re keeping secrets… even from yourself.”

The wolf rumbled, smug and unrelenting.
“Secrets don’t stay hidden forever. And she’s not the type to let them go.”

I squeezed my eyes shut again, forcing another shaky breath. “…You’re both impossible.”

My hands shook as I pressed them to my temples, the words spilling out before I could stop them.

“He’s been loud ever since…” my voice cracked, “…ever since I tried to end my life. He’s not just a voice. He’s another soul—connected to mine. It sounds worse than a mental illness, I know… but I’ll find you,” my fists tightened against my legs, “I’ll silence you. I’ll prove it.”

Wednesday’s gaze sharpened at my confession. She tilted her head slightly, her tone a quiet blade.
“Another soul?” she murmured. “You’re not just hearing things, then. You’re carrying something… and you think you can lock it away?”

The wolf’s voice rumbled inside my mind, low and taunting.
“Lock me away? Sweet little chaos, you couldn’t end your own life—what makes you think you can end me?”

My teeth clenched. “Watch me,” I hissed under my breath.

I shut my eyes and forced my breathing slow, drawing every ounce of focus inward. In my mind’s eye, I began to build—brick by brick, gold-threaded walls rising between us, sealing the wolf’s voice off from mine.

Wednesday took a small step closer, her boots soundless on the floor.
“What are you doing, Olivia?” she asked softly.

“Almost,” I whispered, my body trembling with the strain.

And then—click. The barrier sealed.

Silence.

The wolf’s voice cut out entirely. No rumble. No sly teasing. Nothing but stillness echoing in my head.

I gasped, collapsing backward onto the bed. “Finally…” I whispered, breathless. “God, it’s so quiet… no voice… no cheeky wolf…”

Wednesday stayed where she was, studying me with eyes like dark glass. She crouched slightly, her voice low but laced with warning.
“You actually did it.” Her gaze flickered with something unreadable. “But walls like that don’t always hold. Be ready when it cracks.”

My eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion dragging me under.

And somewhere—faint, like a whisper through water—the wolf’s voice reached me from behind the barrier, muffled but still smug.
“…Impressive. But walls crumble, little chaos. And when they do… I’ll still be here.”

But I couldn’t answer him. My eyes closed fully, my breathing slowed, and sleep finally took me—my last thought a fragile, trembling relief at the silence in my head.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

The next morning dawned quiet and fragile, the kind of morning that felt like the world was holding its breath. I woke with the lingering echo of silence in my head—the barrier between me and the wolf still holding, golden threads faintly glowing in my mind. The weight of yesterday’s chaos pressed softly on my chest, and yet, there was a strange calm beneath it all.

Wednesday was already awake when I stirred. She sat across from me at the small table in my room, her posture perfect, hands folded neatly. Her dark eyes met mine, calm as ever, but there was a subtle softness there—just enough to let me know she had noticed everything.

“Morning,” she said simply, her voice low but precise, carrying that hint of quiet authority I’d grown used to.

“Morning,” I murmured back, careful not to let my voice betray the heat that still lingered under my skin.

She studied me for a moment, her gaze piercing but not judgmental. “You managed to quiet him, then,” she noted, her lips curving ever so slightly, a trace of approval hidden beneath her usual composure.

I nodded, still curled in my seat. “Yeah… it’s… manageable, for now,” I admitted softly. “It feels… peaceful.”

“Good,” she replied simply. And then, in that deliberate, sharp way that always made me sit straighter, she added, “Keep it that way. Chaos has a tendency to return when least expected.”

I swallowed, heart fluttering. “I’ll… be careful,” I whispered, feeling the small comfort of her presence even without the chaos.

Wednesday’s POV

Keep it that way. I left the warning unspoken, letting it hang like a shadow. The wolf in her head would always stir, and so would I. I didn’t need to touch her to remind her that boundaries existed… yet I also wondered how long those boundaries would hold.

There was a new, fragile understanding between us, yes—but understanding was only one layer. Beneath it simmered the electricity of yesterday, the heat of her blush, the tension of her restraint. I wanted to see how far she would let me push. How far she would let herself go before she faltered again.

I sipped my coffee slowly, eyes never leaving hers, studying the lines of control and chaos coiled together. Her barrier was strong, but I knew the cracks were only temporary. One second, one subtle gesture… and I could unravel her. She might have silenced the wolf for now, but the chaos in her—and between us—was far from gone.

And that… was exactly what I wanted.

Olivia’s POV

Breakfast passed in near silence, the tension from yesterday hovering faintly like a shadow, but there was a new, fragile understanding between us. She didn’t push, I didn’t overstep, and yet the subtle electricity between us lingered, simmering beneath the surface.

By the time the break between classes rolled around, the weight of the morning had faded slightly. I wandered into the hallways, the faint hum of students around me, and spotted a familiar figure. A chubby boy with black, curly hair, crouched over a notebook full of sketches of insects. The bug guy.

I hesitated, then approached, forcing a casual tone. “Heey… sorry if I’m mistaken, but you’re the one who deals with insects?” I asked, smiling lightly.

Eugene looked up, eyes flicking over me, and a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Yeah, that’s me,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear, “but I’m in a rush today. Got a meeting with Enid, so I can’t talk for long.”

I quickly added, seeing him walk away, “I’ll come with you… I haven’t seen Enid in a long time either…”

He paused mid-step, glancing back at me with a small, surprised smile. “Oh—sure, yeah, that’s fine. I was just heading there, didn’t expect company,” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets. His tone was casual, but I caught a hint of curiosity—and maybe a little relief—that I was coming along.

We walked toward the small building where he kept his bees, the sunlight glinting off the glass of the hives. The air was filled with the faint hum of the bees, a strangely calming backdrop to the tense energy I still carried.

As we approached, I spotted Enid leaning against the side of the building, brushing leaves from her hair. Her eyes lit up when she saw me, and she waved energetically.

“Hey! Finally,” she called, jogging over. “Been waiting forever.”

“Yeah, it’s been a while…” I murmured, my mind betraying me as it drifted back to yesterday—the way Wednesday had leaned close, her gloved fingertip brushing my jaw for just a second, and how I had nearly… almost kissed her. That soft moan I had let slip, the way my heart had hammered in my chest, and the lingering heat across my cheeks—it all came rushing back, making me suddenly aware of the quiet tension that still hung between us, like a thread pulled taut.

Enid tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly, curiosity mixing with amusement. “Luna… what are you doing here?” she asked, her voice light but probing.

Eugene mirrored her reaction, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms. “Yeah… same question. What brings you here?” His usual cautious expression softened by a faint, teasing smile, as if he genuinely wanted to know but was trying not to make it obvious.

I hesitated for a brief moment, then gave a small, wry smile. “Just… catching up, I guess. Thought I’d see you both.”

“Yeah, I know I don’t really socialize with others, and it’s fine if you don’t help me. I just wanted to ask about this weird species of bugs…” I added quickly, slightly embarrassed, not sure how to carry the conversation.

Enid rolled her eyes, but her smile was gentle. “You really haven’t changed, huh? Always diving into the weird stuff,” she said, stepping closer with curiosity in her eyes.

Eugene shook his head, but his gaze was calm and attentive. “It’s fine,” he replied softly, in a tone that seemed to accept my strange fascination.

“I know, Enid, that our last conversation was… weird. I just wanted to socialize with others, and I wanted to do it with Wednesday. But the whole time she kept kicking me under the table, and it didn’t exactly go as planned…” I admitted, a hint of remorse in my voice.

Enid let out a soft laugh, shaking her head slightly. “Yeah… that sounds about right. But hey, at least you tried,” she said kindly, her eyes warm, easing some of the tension I felt.

We made our way toward the hives, and I pulled on my suit to avoid getting stung. The air smelled faintly of honey and earth, and the steady hum of bees filled the silence between us. As we worked, Enid glanced at me with a teasing smile.

“So… how’s dating Addams going?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Before I could even react, Eugene’s head snapped up, disbelief written all over his face. “Wait… you’re seeing Wednesday?”

Heat immediately rushed to my cheeks, my hands fumbling with the jars. My mind betrayed me, flashing back to yesterday—the way Wednesday’s gloved fingertip had brushed my jaw for just a heartbeat, how my breath had caught, how that soft sound had slipped out of me before I could stop it. The way her eyes had locked onto mine, sharp and dark and so close that for a moment, I had almost kissed her. God… I was so close… so damn close. The memory made my stomach twist, a tremor running through me beneath the suit.

“I… I’m not seeing Wednesday,” I managed to say honestly, trying to steady my voice and hide the blush beneath the helmet.

“Oh, come on… I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. And the physical contact!” Enid added, her grin widening, but her tone stayed playful, like she was testing me.

“It’s not what you think…” I mumbled, my face burning even more under the suit.

“Uh-huh,” Enid replied, one eyebrow raised. Her grin softened just a little, though—like she could see the embarrassment behind my clumsy denial.

I swallowed hard, the words spilling out faster than I could stop them. “I mean… a lot has happened between us. She’s only been kind to me because of… because of what I’ve been through. I doubt she’d ever look at me differently… romantically. Besides… I like her, but I don’t know if it’s that… I just… she’s very attractive to me…”

My hand slipped, knocking over a jar of honey. It toppled with a sharp clatter, sticky gold spilling out across the table.

“Hey! Careful!” Eugene exclaimed, quickly crouching to salvage the mess. He glanced up at me with a slight smirk, his expression softening when he caught how flustered I was.

“Sorry…” I muttered, bending down to help him, my fingers trembling slightly as the heat in my cheeks refused to fade.

Enid rolled her eyes playfully, but her smile softened, and she gave a little shake of her head, clearly entertained by my blush.

“Oh, come on. I think she’s got a… thing for you. You know, for an Addams. They’re weird. No offense, Luna,” Enid said, smirking.

Eugene glanced between us, one eyebrow slightly raised. “Seriously? You’re telling me that after all that tension, she’s actually… into you?” His voice was incredulous, but his smirk betrayed that he found it entertaining.

I buried my face in my hands for a moment, whispering, “Shut up…” under my breath, but inside, my mind kept replaying the near-kiss with Wednesday, the adrenaline, the chaos, the warmth of her presence so close to mine. I can’t stop thinking about it. I almost… I almost let it happen.

Enid chuckled softly, reaching over to nudge my shoulder lightly. “Well, don’t fight it too much. You two… there’s something there, Luna. Just… careful. Addams doesn’t do soft.”

Eugene shook his head with mock exasperation, but there was amusement in his eyes. “Man, you’re literally flirting with disaster. But hey… I kinda want to see how this ends.”

I could only groan internally, my heart pounding at the thought of Wednesday, the near kiss, and the chaos that always seemed to follow us. “Yeah… me too,” I whispered, mostly to myself.

“What are you waiting for? Go get her!” Enid urged, leaning closer with excitement in her eyes.

“It’s not that simple… Besides, I don’t want to dwell on whether she actually has any feelings for me. What if I fall for her, only to find out she’ll break my heart? I don’t want that,” I admitted, feeling a twinge of nervousness.

Then Enid added in a friendly, teasing tone, “If she breaks your heart, I’ll, uh… break her

face,” showing off her colorful claws.

I let out a soft laugh and smiled, replying, “Thanks, Enid…”

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

“I don’t mean to interrupt your conversation, but I’m curious—what kind of insect are you talking about, Luna?” Eugene asked.

“Oh, right!” I said, shaking off distraction. “Recently, I saw these strange insects. They were white and crawling out of a body, but they weren’t maggots—they attacked a crow and started burrowing into its flesh. The crow seemed dead at first, but then it stood up and lunged at me. Later, at the wound site, I saw weird worms burrowing even deeper into the flesh.” I finished, doing my best to describe everything clearly.

Enid’s eyes widened slightly, tilting her head with curiosity rather than fear.
“Wow… that’s… intense,” she said softly, tracing a faint pattern in the air with her fingers.

Eugene’s brow furrowed, gaze sharp yet calm. “That’s definitely not normal,” he murmured. “We’ll need to study this carefully.”
“Do you have a specimen of that worm?” he asked, leaning slightly forward, curiosity mixed with concern.

“I didn’t have time to catch one,” I admitted, voice low and tense. “And honestly, my instincts were screaming that if I exposed myself physically, I’d be in real danger.”

Enid blinked. “Instincts? You mean… literally like a werewolf?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

Eugene gave me a measured, analytical look. “I see… that explains a lot. We’ll need to approach this carefully if it’s that dangerous.”

“I’ll try to catch one and bring it to you…” I said, then added, glancing at Enid, “And… I’m not a regular werewolf. Maybe… a new species?”

Enid’s eyes widened, a mixture of confusion and curiosity flickering across her face. “A new species? That’s… different,” she said carefully.

Eugene leaned back slightly, expression calm but analytical. “Interesting,” he murmured, studying me as if analyzing a rare specimen. “Not a werewolf, but… something else entirely.”

Enid shook her head slightly, laughing in disbelief. “Well, you definitely keep things… complicated,” she said with a small smile.

“Yeah… everything around me is complicated,” I admitted, shifting my attention. “We’re done with the bees for now. I can take off the suit and show you.”

Enid leaned forward, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “Oh? You’re really going to do that? I’m intrigued,” she said, playful but cautious.

Eugene raised an eyebrow, expression calm but attentive. “I’ll observe carefully,” he added, analytical as ever.

I removed the suit and shifted into my wolf form. Two strikingly colored eyes stared back—one silver, one gold. Chains coiled around me subtly, responding to my energy, moving almost as if alive.

Enid froze, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. “Whoa… that’s… insane,” she whispered, processing the sight.

Eugene remained calm, though his sharp eyes betrayed surprise. He took a small step back, then studied me intently. “Interesting… very interesting. So, you’re not just any werewolf.”

Enid took a cautious step closer, tilting her head. “Does it… hurt? Or is it natural for you?”

I shifted back to human form, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “…It’s natural. I can become a wolf whenever I want,” I explained, focusing on the observation rather than anything else.

Eugene’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying the chains as they coiled and shifted subtly with the energy in the room. “And those chains… are they part of you? Responding to your emotions?”

I nodded. “Yes. Part of me, my will… part of my soul.”

Both exchanged a glance, an unspoken agreement passing between them. Enid leaned slightly forward, fingers twitching. “Can… can I touch them? Just a little?”

Eugene’s gaze flickered toward the chains as well, curiosity barely restrained. “Fascinating… I’ve never seen anything like this,” he murmured.

Chapter Text

Wednesday’s POV

I had not expected to find her there.

The moment I stepped through the doorway, the sound of her voice met me—soft, uncertain, threaded with something that made the air hum. I caught fragments of her words, then the sight of her—chains coiling around her like sentient shadows, alive and breathing. Enid and Eugene stood nearby, rapt, as if witnessing something sacred.

I spoke before I could stop myself.
“Socializing?”

The single word sliced through the air, sharp and deliberate. Three heads turned instantly. Olivia froze, ears twitching slightly, and for a heartbeat, the tension between us returned—hot, sharp, unmistakable.

Enid blinked, her cheerful mask slipping into nervous caution. “Uh… hi, Wednesday,” she said softly, her fingers hovering uncertainly near the glimmering chains.

Eugene straightened, voice careful, polite. “I… didn’t realize you’d be here.” His eyes darted toward me, then to Olivia’s chains, curiosity warring with unease.

I let a faint smile ghost across my lips. “I see…” My gaze lingered on Olivia. “You’re showing off.”

She flinched—barely—but I saw it. The pull between defiance and restraint. Her chains shifted like serpents responding to emotion.

“…Just… demonstrating,” she said quietly, eyes down for only a fraction of a second before daring to meet mine again.

“Demonstrating,” I repeated, tasting the word. It sounded like a lie, but not a malicious one. More like a confession.

I stepped closer—not enough to touch her, but enough that she could feel me there. The air between us tightened.
“And what happens if someone crosses the line?”

Enid’s expression flickered with unease. “Uh… I don’t think we want to find out,” she muttered, almost to herself.

Olivia’s invisible tail flicked, chains pulsing faintly with energy. Her voice was lower now, threaded with heat she couldn’t disguise. “Depends on who’s crossing it.”

My lips curved faintly. “I wonder…”

Her cheeks flushed—visible even through her composure. “I… I was just showing them—uh, the chains.”

Enid exhaled softly, nervous laughter spilling out. “You’re really something else, Olivia…”

Eugene, ever the scientist, leaned forward slightly. “Incredible,” he whispered.

I ignored them both. My eyes stayed on her. Every detail—her breathing, her pulse, the way her hands tightened slightly at her sides—recorded itself in the quiet vault of my mind.

“Stay close,” I said, voice even but firm. “No one touches anything without my permission.”

The command wasn’t for them—it was for her.

The chains obeyed instantly, coiling tighter, then slipping beneath her skin until only faint, dark traces remained like inked veins.

Silence settled, broken only when Eugene cleared his throat. “Uh… and what happens to your clothes? You know, when you—”

“Enough.”

My tone froze the air. He stopped instantly. I moved before I thought, crossing the space until I stood just behind her. My shadow fell over hers; I could hear her breath hitch. The chains shimmered faintly beneath her skin, reacting to me—to the nearness.

“Do you always feel the need to show off?” I asked, quietly, precisely.

She opened her mouth. “I… I was just—”

I raised a hand, stopping her. “Not now. Focus.”

For a second—just one—our eyes locked, and something inside her trembled. Something inside me answered.

She froze, as if my voice had tied her in place.

Enid’s voice broke the silence, awkward, bright. “Uh… wow. You two… there’s something going on, isn’t there?”

Olivia turned away too quickly. “Uh… nothing, really.” Her voice cracked.

I didn’t move. Didn’t blink. My shadow stayed fused with hers. The proximity was deliberate; the effect undeniable. I could feel her heartbeat before I heard it.

A faint, involuntary curve tugged at the corner of my mouth—barely visible, but real.

Enid saw it. “Oh my god… there is something! That smirk—Addams doesn’t smirk at just anyone.”

Eugene raised his hands slowly, muttering, “Man, this is… intense. Not my business.”

“It isn’t,” I said, my tone calm but final. My gaze stayed locked on Olivia’s.

She didn’t look away this time. Her chains hummed beneath her skin, responding to something that wasn’t danger.

Yesterday’s memory hovered between us—her trembling breath, that sound she’d made when I’d barely touched her. A single second of contact that still lingered in the pulse between us.

I had promised myself I wouldn’t cross that line again.

And yet… standing there, close enough to feel her warmth seep through the air—
I wanted to.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

I turned to Wednesday, fumbling for composure.
“Y-yeah… I just wanted to learn something about these bugs, and these two offered to help.”

I shot Eugene and Enid a desperate look that silently screamed: just agree with me, please.

Wednesday’s eyes flicked to mine—sharp, calculating—the faintest smirk tugging at her lips.
“Careful,” she said quietly, tone calm but threaded with authority—and amusement. “Make sure they don’t get carried away.”

Her gaze lingered, and suddenly I was hyper-aware of everything: the tension coiling in my chest, my racing heartbeat, the heat crawling up my neck. That smirk—so deliberate, so measured—made something twist inside me. My breath caught; the memory of yesterday pressed hard against the edge of my control.

Enid tilted her head, curiosity sparkling. “Okay, I’m just gonna say it—what’s going on here? Because this is definitely a thing.”

Eugene frowned, glancing between us. “Yeah, I can’t tell if you’re about to fight or…” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

“I’m conducting a very, ve-ry serious investigation here…” I blurted, standing straighter as if that gave me authority. My voice, however, betrayed me with a faint tremor.

Wednesday’s smirk deepened, her eyes narrowing in that sharp, predatory way that made my pulse spike. “Serious, hmm?” she murmured, stepping closer—just close enough for the air to tighten. “You do realize who’s in charge of investigations here, don’t you?”

“Y-yeah? I’m—uh—running this one!” I said quickly, voice pitching higher than I wanted.

Enid grinned, folding her arms. “Oh, this is so entertaining. Please, don’t stop now.”

Eugene muttered under his breath, “This is getting awkwardly intense…” but he didn’t look away.

Wednesday tilted her head slightly, the smirk never fading. “Interesting indeed,” she said softly, savoring every syllable.

“Exactly! Yes! Now behave and don’t get in my way—the bugs are waiting!” I snapped, trying to recover any shred of composure.

Her gaze sharpened instantly, voice dropping to a near whisper. “Behave?” she repeated, deliberate, slow. She leaned just close enough for her words to graze the air between us. “You do realize… it’s not me who needs to behave, don’t you?”

A chill rippled down my spine. My chest tightened, pulse hammering as flashes of yesterday rushed back—the touch, the sound, the almost.

Enid’s eyes went wide. “Okay, nope, I’m out—this is way too charged for me!” she laughed, backing up but clearly delighted.

Eugene pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just came here to look at bugs,” he mumbled, half amused, half exasperated.

Flustered beyond saving, I snapped, “And you two aren’t helping! Enid, I can hear you from a mile away!” I spun, trying to walk off, desperate to reclaim control. “Let’s move! Dangerous bugs on the loose!”

Wednesday’s smirk curved sharper. “A general, hmm?” she murmured, voice smooth, deliberate, eyes locked on me.

Enid chuckled, shaking her head. “Yeah… definitely something else.”

Eugene sighed. “I don’t even know what I just witnessed, but I feel like I need therapy.”

“Oh, okay! Let’s move!” I exclaimed, chin high in mock authority—then froze. “…Actually… never mind. We’ll… circle back.”

Enid burst into laughter, nearly doubling over. “You’re impossible!” she wheezed.

Eugene looked at her, deadpan. “That’s one word for it.”

And Wednesday? She didn’t laugh, didn’t move, didn’t blink. But that smirk—the one that only ever appeared for me—remained. Sharp. Possessive. Predatory.

Even as Enid and Eugene gawked, all I could feel was her presence—magnetic, suffocating, inescapable.
That smirk said it all: she wanted more. Always more.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

Wednesday’s smirk deepened just a fraction, her eyes flicking between me and Enid, clearly amused yet perfectly composed, as if she were cataloging a case study.

Eugene, on the other hand, raised a single eyebrow, that faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I didn’t expect… this level of chaos today,” he murmured, voice low, as if admitting to himself that he was enjoying the spectacle far more than he should.

Enid was laughing so hard she nearly doubled over, golden curls bouncing with every breath. The sound only made the heat in my cheeks spike. I snapped, lunging at her with a playful growl.

“Shut—shut up! I’m gonna skin the wolf!” I shouted, voice trembling with the lingering panic that hummed in my chest.

Enid squealed, stumbling back, hands raised in mock defense. “Oh, please! You’re the wolf too, remember?” she teased, leaning in, lowering her voice so I could hear. “And don’t worry—I know exactly which one you mean.”

My blush deepened instantly. I opened my mouth to retort, but only a strangled, embarrassed noise escaped.

From the side, Wednesday tilted her head, dark eyes calculating. “Impressive display of… uncontrolled energy,” she murmured, voice cool, yet the faintest glint of entertained curiosity flickered in her gaze.

Eugene adjusted his glasses, leaning slightly forward. “I—uh… I’ve seen tournaments less… dramatic than this,” he said quietly, then let a soft chuckle escape. “Honestly, though? I’m intrigued.”

I tried to salvage some dignity, straightening dramatically, pointing a finger at Enid like a knight issuing a challenge. “I challenge you to a wolf duel!” I declared, voice booming, theatrical, as if ripped from some fantasy play.

Enid blinked, then threw her head back, laughing so hard she nearly fell. “Oh my god, you’re ridiculous! Fine—wolf duel it is!” she gasped between giggles, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Eugene raised his eyebrows, lips twitching in that cautious grin. “I’m documenting this… scientifically speaking, of course. But what precisely constitutes a wolf duel?”

“Most definitely stand back,” Enid replied, winking at him with playful mischief.

Wednesday leaned casually against the wall, smirk sharpening subtly. “Ah… chaos in its natural habitat,” she said softly, smooth but edged with judgment. Her eyes lingered on me just a fraction longer, silently questioning how far I’d allow myself to dive into the spectacle.

I crouched, squaring off against Enid. She bared her claws, mischievous grin widening, eyes narrowing in mock ferocity. The “rules” were simple: first to knock the other down wins.

Eugene assumed the role of referee, voice caught between playful and analytical. “Alright… three…”

Enid bounced on the balls of her feet, laughter bubbling.

“…Two…” Eugene continued, eyes flicking nervously between us.

I crouched lower, pulse hammering, adrenaline and embarrassment dancing in tandem.

“…One… GO!”

Enid lunged first, claws flashing in the air, laughter rising even as she attacked. I shifted instantly, muscles coiled, senses razor-sharp. Every swipe anticipated—sidestepping, ducking, weaving fluidly.

“You missed!” I taunted, low and teasing.

Enid growled, claws snapping instinctively. “Keep talking, wolf-girl, and see where that gets you!”

Her next attack came faster, more reckless, but still predictable. With a fluid sweep, I hooked her leg beneath hers, sending her tumbling to the floor.

Eugene’s eyes widened, mouth dropping slightly before curving into a genuine grin. “Well… that’s impressive,” he admitted, voice quiet, almost reverent.

Wednesday’s gaze never left us, arms crossed, smirk faint but precise. “Finally. Chaos that concludes with… appropriate placement,” she murmured, calm yet laced with subtle amusement.

I spun around proudly, bounding toward her like a victorious pup. “Hehe, I won!”

Before I could revel, Enid lunged again, tackling me. We crashed, rolling, laughter and growls mingling. My wolfish instincts surged; with a swift motion, I flipped her, pinning her wrists above her head.

Wednesday tilted her head, eyes narrowing, voice low and precise. “Fascinating… the escalation is… predictable, yet compelling.”

Eugene crouched, chuckling softly, but his eyes remained sharp. “That’s… actually solid technique,” he noted, then added, more cautiously, “Just… don’t break any bones, please.”

Pinned, Enid panted, eyes glinting with mischief. “You think this means victory, huh?”

I leaned closer, growl low, playful. “Not until I say it’s over.” The thrill, the heat, the intensity buzzed through me.

Her claws grazed my arms, sparks of mischief in her gaze. “You’re… insufferable,” she hissed, though laughter undercut the words.

I pressed her slightly, smirk curling. “Persistent, aren’t you? But not winning this.”

Wednesday’s smirk sharpened, unreadable. “Interpersonal dynamics… always illuminating,” she murmured, voice calm, calculating, as if recording every detail in some private ledger.

Eugene leaned forward, adjusting glasses. “Technique checks out,” he noted quietly. “But seriously… please, everyone remain intact.”

Enid bucked, claws flashing. “Never surrender!”

I dodged, chuckling wolfishly. “Missed again.”

Her growl deepened. “Stop teasing me!”

I leaned closer, whisper-growl. “Make me.”

The words hung, charged, electric.

Then—

“Enough.”

Wednesday’s voice cut through the room like steel. Cold, absolute. She stepped forward, snapping the air taut. Eyes first locked on mine, merciless, then flicked to Enid with equal force. Her smirk lingered, but her tone left no room for argument.

“I said, enough.”

I froze mid-motion, heartbeat spiking. Even Enid stilled beneath me, caught in Wednesday’s gravity. Silence reigned. Eugene exhaled, eyebrows raised, but Wednesday remained—perfect, magnetic, predator-like. Her eyes never blinked. That smirk promised: the chaos wasn’t over, and I was very much under her control.

Wednesday’s POV

I watched Olivia struggle for composure, tail flicking subtly, chest heaving from the duel she’d just declared and lost—or at least, I hadn’t let her “win.” Enid’s laughter broke through first, light, bright, utterly chaotic.

“O-okay, fine. Call it a draw?” Enid said, wriggling until Olivia finally released her.

Eugene exhaled, muttering under his breath, “Thank God… I was about to start handing out first aid.”

I kept my gaze on Olivia a beat longer than necessary, letting the weight of my presence settle over her. The faintest smirk tugged at my lips—sharp, knowing, cataloging every rapid pulse of her heartbeat. “Olivia… one day, your chaos will outgrow you.”

Her flush deepened visibly. “…But not today,” she muttered, attempting a smirk that came out shaky, uneven. I noted the tremor of pride and embarrassment mingled with relief—it was deliciously transparent.

I softened my expression almost imperceptibly, but remained silent. My silence carried more weight than words ever could.

“You two are acting like children,” I said, voice slicing the room with clinical precision. My footsteps echoed softly as I stepped closer, gaze razor-sharp, dissecting, unyielding. “This… whatever this is, stops now.”

Olivia swallowed hard, throat dry, heat flaring in her chest. I observed the shift in her energy—pride wrestling with restraint, teasing instincts pressing against authority. Her chest hammered differently now. Not from the duel, but from me.

Pinned beneath her, Enid finally relaxed, smirk softening despite the tension. “She’s got a point… for once,” she muttered.

Eugene’s gaze darted between us, cautious calculation in every twitch of his brow. “I… uh… maybe we should focus on the hives now?” he offered, voice careful, like tossing water onto a fire he wasn’t sure he wanted to quench.

I flicked my gaze to him briefly, then back to Olivia. Eyes softened for the faintest moment—just enough to make her chest flutter—before sharpening again. Lips curved into a small, deliberate smirk. “Focus,” I ordered, deceptively calm. “Or I will make sure you’re pinned in a way neither of you will forget.”

A shiver ran down Olivia’s spine. She exhaled shakily, finally letting Enid go, sitting back with a mix of frustration, relief, and residual adrenaline. The duel hadn’t ended because she lost—it ended because I said so.

Enid brushed dirt from her clothes, nudging Olivia playfully. “Fine. Truce—for now,” she said, wolfish grin softening.

Olivia shot her a low, teasing growl, but my piercing stare reminded her—some lines, even playful ones, were not to be crossed.

She leaned slightly away, whispering under her breath to Enid: “Theoretically… I won. We’ll have to redo our duel later… you know, my owner’s going to kill me soon.”

Enid blinked, stifled a laugh. Eugene glanced sideways at Olivia, brow raised, choosing silence.

My gaze snapped to Olivia. That smirk curved sharper. My eyes locked onto hers with unnerving precision. “Oh, you think your little victories are theoretical, do you?” I said softly, deliberate. “I hear everything. Every word.”

She froze, heat exploding across her chest. Enid giggled openly, half-covering her face. Eugene’s expression held a mixture of intrigue and quiet sympathy, silently mouthing: you’re doomed.

Olivia’s throat tightened. She tried to sit straighter, willing herself not to crumble under my gaze. “You’re… really insistent on calling that a duel,” she muttered, voice weaker than intended.

Enid leaned toward Eugene, stage-whispering, “She’s blushing so hard right now.”

“Enid,” Eugene hissed, corner of his mouth twitching in amused warning.

Finally, Olivia whispered, voice betraying her, “I… I’m not reckless.”

My smirk widened just slightly, like I had been waiting for that exact word. “We’ll see,” I murmured. Not a warning, not just a command—a challenge. A promise. Heavy with quiet dominance.

The tension pressed thick around them. Olivia forced herself to breathe, slow and deliberate. Fists clenched, then released. Gradually, her heartbeat steadied, blush ebbed, though the electric pull of my presence remained, unmistakable.

“Let’s call it a day,” she said, voice steadier than I expected. “I’ll try to catch those strange bugs and bring them to you.” Her gaze met mine, controlled, measured. “Come on… mysteries won’t solve themselves.”

Enid blinked, grin softening. “Whoa… Olivia, that was… serious. Didn’t think you had it in you,” she admitted, genuinely impressed.

Eugene’s analytical gaze lingered on Olivia, nodding faintly. “Hmm. I see,” he murmured, filing away notes silently.

Chapter Text

Olivia’s POV

When we returned to the room, I hesitated, my pulse hammering harder than I cared to admit. I turned toward Wednesday, voice lower than intended, teasing but trembling ever so slightly.

“You really like to… tease me,” I said, letting my gaze linger on hers just a fraction too long.

Her eyes met mine, sharp, unblinking, dissecting me as she always did. Yet that faint, knowing smirk ghosted across her lips, just enough to make the air between us heavier.

“I wouldn’t say I like it,” she replied smoothly, words measured, deliberate. Her tone was a blade hidden beneath silk. “I simply… enjoy watching you struggle to keep up.”

Heat flared in my cheeks, a mixture of irritation and something far more dangerous I refused to name. My stance tightened, my hands twitching, yet I forced a casual air. She didn’t look away. Instead, she leaned slightly closer, her presence pressing against me like a weight I didn’t want but couldn’t resist.

“You know,” I said, fumbling for composure, “one of these days, I might just get my revenge.” My words came out braver than I felt.

Her smirk deepened barely perceptibly, but her eyes sharpened, amusement coiling into challenge.

“I look forward to it,” she murmured, voice low, deliberate, as if savoring the tension. “Though I doubt you’ll succeed.”

My pulse spiked painfully in my throat. The room felt suddenly smaller, tighter, as if the world had narrowed down to the space between us. I took a cautious half-step back, forcing myself to look away.

Desperate for a lifeline, I cleared my throat. “Do you… know how to catch those bugs?” My voice betrayed a note of nervousness I tried to suppress.

Wednesday’s gaze flicked upward, sharp as a blade, assessing me. The smirk never left her lips.

“The dangerous ones?” she asked, calm but edged with amusement. Then her eyes bore into mine, unrelenting. “Are you trying to distract yourself from something else?”

My cheeks burned hotter. I shrugged, feigning indifference though my heartbeat betrayed me. “Maybe… maybe I just need advice,” I muttered, clinging to the excuse like a lifeline.

Her smirk sharpened into something dangerous, predatory. She leaned just slightly closer, voice dropping low enough to brush my skin.

“Advice, hm?” she said, deliberate, teasing. “Be careful. I might enjoy giving it… more than you expect.”

I swallowed hard, forcing focus. “Okay… fine. Where do we even begin if we want to catch them?”

“The last crime scene,” Wednesday replied without hesitation. Her words were calm, precise—but that smirk lingered, the faint glint in her eyes making my pulse skip.

I checked the time, guilt pricking me as I remembered how much we’d wasted earlier with Enid’s duel. “Are we… going now?” I asked, anticipation threading through my nervousness.

Wednesday’s gaze returned to me, locking me in place, unflinching. Then she looked ahead, expression unreadable except for the faint, amused curl of her lips.

“Yes. Now,” she said, voice firm, commanding, each syllable final. Then she tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing, warning sharp. “And remember—distractions will not be tolerated. Keep your focus… or this lesson might be unpleasant.”

My throat tightened. I nodded quickly, shaky breath escaping me, but my mind raced, my chest pounding like I was unprepared for the intensity she demanded.

Even so… when she moved toward the door, I couldn’t stop myself from following. Every step beside her felt charged, every glance exchanged humming with unspoken tension. Her smirk stayed fixed on me, deliberate, teasing, and I knew—I was utterly caught.

Wednesday’s POV

When Olivia hesitated at the doorway, her pulse hammering, I noticed everything. Every flicker of her expression, every subtle shift in her posture — she thought she was masking it, but I could read her like a book. That mixture of confidence and unease was… delightful.

Her gaze lingered on me a fraction too long, and I felt the invisible tail of tension coiling around her, the unspoken weight of her chaos pressing subtly into the air between us. I didn’t need to move. She was already ensnared by it.

She tried to speak with bravado, teasing and trembling all at once. The blush rising to her cheeks, the twitch in her hands, the shallow intake of breath — all of it was a performance she couldn’t entirely control. I allowed it, letting the atmosphere thicken, watching how she struggled to maintain composure.

When she threatened revenge, that barely perceptible smirk curled on my lips. The audacity and uncertainty in her eyes were… entertaining. She wanted confrontation, and yet the slightest hesitation betrayed how much she felt the pressure, the chaos she’d created herself.

Her question about catching the bugs seemed mundane, but I recognized the distraction immediately. She tried to shift the tension away from herself, and I allowed it, letting her think she had a foothold while subtly tightening my grip on the moment. Every heartbeat, every inhalation, every movement of her invisible tail of anxiety was mine to sense.

As she leaned in, voice softer, trying to appear in control, I mirrored just enough presence to make the space between us feel smaller. Her pulse skipped, her chest tightened, and she took a tentative step back, though I could feel her still tethered to me.

Her words were clumsy shields, a thin veil over the heat she couldn’t hide. I leaned just slightly closer, letting the tension swell, letting her feel the unspoken command behind every look. The invisible tail curled, wrapping her senses around me.

When she finally nodded to leave, I allowed her to follow, each step deliberate. Every glance she stole, every step she mirrored, was a reminder of who dictated the rhythm of this space. I remained unreadable, calm, precise — yet the smirk never left, a subtle thread of amusement running through it. I could feel her caught, completely aware, utterly bound by this silent, electric dance.

The tension was thick, palpable. I didn’t speak, didn’t move more than necessary, yet the room vibrated with the unspoken charge. This wasn’t over. Not today.