Wednesday hadn’t planned on this. She didn’t want to ask you.

But.

Your powers came in handy—especially when you could borrow the abilities of animals. Speed, scent, hearing. Survival instincts. Things she’d never admit needing, but didn’t hesitate to use.

So when she and Eugene decided to stake out the cave where they’d found the monster’s claw, she’d “asked” you to tag along. You rolled your eyes—standard reaction—but agreed anyway.

That was before she appeared at the top of the stairs, in a dress, with Tyler waiting beside her, obviously heading to the Rave’N. You’d barely raised an eyebrow when she told you and Eugene to “stand down.” You didn’t argue. Just turned without a word and walked back up to your room.

You listened to her.

Eugene didn’t.

You were on your balcony when you heard it—mid-handstand, muscles trembling, shirt damp with sweat. A scream. Sharp and distant, threading through the dark. You froze, ears twitching. Then saw her: Wednesday, darting from the school in heels, her dress like smoke trailing behind her.

You didn’t think.

You vaulted from the balcony, barefoot, still in shorts and a faded band tee. The second you hit the ground, your pupils flared yellow, catching the shadows. You ran.

Branches slapped your arms. Your breath stayed steady. You tracked her by voice.

“Eugene!” she called, panic tearing at the edges.

“Wednesday!” you shouted back.

She turned so fast you nearly ran straight into her. Your chest hit her shoulder—too quick to register, too fast to speak. Then she was running again. And so were you.

You found Eugene minutes later, crumpled in the leaves.

The gash across his stomach was brutal—deep, ragged, like something with claws meant to spill him open..

“Shit, bee man,” you breathed, crouching, the scent of blood already burning in your nose.

Wednesday was silent. She dropped beside him, hands pressing into his jacket, trying to slow the bleeding. Her jaw was clenched, face pale. No tears, but you saw it—something close.

Then Thornhill appeared, too calm, too ready, emerging from the trees like she’d been waiting.

The next moments blurred.

Sirens. Shouts. Flashlights cutting through branches. Blood on your hands and on hers. Then the hospital—sterile, blinding—and Eugene behind a set of locked double doors, slipping into a coma.

By the time the night caught up with you, you were back in Wednesday’s dorm, barefoot and silent, leaning in the bathroom doorway.

She was at the sink, sleeves pushed up, scrubbing at her hands like it would undo the night. Red paint from the Rave’N. Blood from Eugene. They swirled in the basin, turning pink, then thin, then clear. You couldn’t tell which was which. Neither could the drain.

You hadn’t spoken since the woods.

“This has gone too far,” you said finally. Arms crossed. Voice low. Your eyes stayed on your dirty feet. “He’s a fucking kid.”

She didn’t look up.

Just turned the faucet hotter, her knuckles nearly white.

“I told him not to go alone,” she said. Her voice was steady, but thin. “He didn’t listen.”

You nodded once, jaw tight.

“Neither did you,” she added after a moment, softer this time.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Another pause. Water running. The quiet loud between you.

“I think someone’s controlling it,” you said eventually. “It’s not just the monster. Someone sent it.”

Wednesday nodded slowly. “Thornhill showed up too fast.”

“I could smell her on the trail,” you said. “Perfume and something else. Chemicals. Earth. Same scent from the cave.”

Now she looked up, finally meeting your eyes in the mirror.

“You’re in this now,” she said.

You gave a tired half-smile. “Wasn’t I always?”

Another long beat. Then:

“You’ll need to use your powers again,” she said. Not a question. A fact.

“I figured.”

“And we do this my way.”

You tilted your head. “Only if you don’t ditch me next time for a dance and a boy with gelled hair.”

She exhaled through her nose—could’ve been a laugh, if it wasn’t so hollow.

“Deal,” she said.

You stayed in the doorway. She stayed by the sink.