Page 30 of Anders
A whimper escaped her.This was happening.This was real.
She wasn’t human.
She never had been.
The revelation should have broken her.Perhaps it would have, if not for another memory that chose that moment to surface—her father, a massive man with kind eyes, teaching her to control her shift.
Feel it, sweetheart,he said in the memory.The wolf is not separate from you.It is you.Fighting it only causes pain.
Etta stared at her reflection, no longer seeing the terrified woman in Anders’s bathroom but a small child with earnest eyes, trying desperately to please her father.
That’s it,he encouraged.Accept what you are, and the change will come naturally.
The memory faded, leaving Etta trembling.She splashed cold water on her face.But even the water felt different against her skin—each droplet distinct, the smell of minerals sharp in her nose.
It was too much.Everything was too much.
Etta stumbled back to the kitchen, drawn by the need for normality, for routine.She reached for her bag before remembering it wasn’t here.
Her notebook, her pen—the tools of her trade, the anchors of her identity—were either back at the rental house or still scattered across the basement floor.
Her fingers twitched with the need to write, to document, to understand.
On the counter, beside the now cooling toast, was a small notepad and pen.Anders again, anticipating her needs.Etta snatched them up and began writing without conscious thought.
When she looked down at what she’d written, her blood ran cold:Shows accelerated synaptic response to stimuli.Chemical suppression degrading at an approximately 32 percent faster rate than projected.Recommend immediate recalibration of dosage.Priority: high.Asset compromise imminent.
The handwriting was hers, but the words belonged to someone else—someone clinical and detached, viewing her as a subject.An asset.
Oh god,Etta whispered, dropping the pen like it had burned her.
She’d been spying on the pack without knowing it.Writing reports she had no memory of writing, observing behaviors she had no conscious awareness of noting.
And now she was doing it to herself.
Rage boiled up, sudden and overwhelming.
Etta tore the page from the notepad, ripping it into tiny pieces.Then she tore out the next page, and the next, shredding them with fingers that kept threatening to shift into something not quite human.
Etta.
Anders’s voice cut through her fury.He stood in the doorway, his posture cautious but not afraid.
Not of her, anyway.
Stay back,she warned, her voice cracking.
He didn’t move.I heard the paper tearing.Thought you might need someone to talk to.
Etta laughed bitterly.Talk?About what?About how I’m apparently some kind of—of monster?About how my entire life has been a lie?About how I’ve been used as a goddamn spy without even knowing it?
You’re not a monster,Anders said quietly.You’re a wolf shifter.Like me.Like everyone in Sunburst.
Everyone?The revelation staggered her.The whole town?
The pack,he corrected.There are humans here too, but they don’t know about us.The people you’ve been interviewing?Malcolm, Larissa, the twins?All shifters.
Etta sank onto a kitchen stool, the pieces of notepad confetti scattered around her like snow.I’ve been writing about them.Documenting everything.Their behaviors, their relationships, their security measures.I don’t remember doing it, but I have pages and pages of notes.
