Her house sat deep in the woods, outside of Jericho, hidden beneath a shroud of mist and pine. The scent of old fire and dried herbs hung in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of wet earth. Midnight pressed against the windows, and somewhere in the silence, a flicker of motion stirred. Something restless, something alive.

You rose from your bed without thought, drawn by instinct. You were the newest addition to Isadora's pack. She found you and picked you up after your parents threw you out.

The hallways were narrow, lined with books and jars that gleamed in candlelight, their contents pulsing faintly. At the end of the corridor, in the living room, she waited.

Isadora Capri. Kneeling by the hearth, the flames danced across her face, casting shadows that moved like smoke snakes across her skin. Her fingers flexed in the amber light, curling and uncurling as if coaxing some hidden energy from the fire itself. The faint scent of musk and pine clung to her, sharp and intoxicating.

“I felt you wake,” she said, her voice low and smooth, carrying over the hum of the house. “You can’t hide it. Not here. Not from me.”

The firelight reflected off the glass bottles scattered around the room, catching in the fine mist curling at floor level. The shadows leaned toward her as if drawn to her presence, and the wind outside pressed against the walls like it, too, wanted to listen.

“You’ve grown,” she murmured after a moment, eyes scanning the room. “Not just in body, but in the storm you carry inside. You can’t always control it, and you don’t have to. But the forest… the pack… they will notice if you falter.”

Her gaze lingered on the empty space beside her, on the worn rug and the curling edges of the hearthstone. The air smelled faintly of smoke and wet leaves, and the energy in the room thrummed with unspoken histories—hunts, fights, secrets locked behind blood and instinct.

“Some of them will fear you,” she said, voice softening. “Some will admire you. And you will learn which is which soon enough. Not all can hold power without breaking under it.”

She leaned back, the firelight glinting off her teeth as a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at her lips. “But you… you might. You remind me of what I once was. Chaotic. Hungry. Reckless. And yet… steady when it counts. The pack will learn that, even if they try to fight it.”

Her hand hovered over the flames, letting the amber light wrap around her fingers like living wire. The shadows of the room responded, stretching and bending around her shape. She exhaled, the warmth of her breath mixing with the cold of the mist seeping through the cracked windows.

“I will stay nearby,” she said, finally, her voice almost a promise. “The night is loud, and the woods are restless. But here, near the fire, you will be safe. You will sleep. The dreams, the whispers… they won’t reach you if I am here.”

The flames danced higher, shadows moving like living beings, and the house itself seemed to breathe with her presence. She exuded a strange authority, a mixture of danger and reassurance, like a wolf on the prowl and a wolf at rest at the same time.

“You are not alone,” she whispered to the room, to the night, to the mist and trees outside. “The pack is larger than you see. And I am here. Always.”

The warmth of the fire, the scent of pine and smoke, and the subtle thrum of life in the house pressed in around you. Somewhere deep in the shadows, you felt the weight of her gaze, steady and unwavering, and for the first time in a long while, the forest did not feel threatening.

You were seen. You were not alone. And in the hush of her presence, that was enough.