The Human Among Wolves Chapter 117

Aurora

Zayn tossed his empty cup onto the table and leaned back in the chair again, head tipped against the wall. He looked exhausted, but not the kind sleep could fix.

Kael stood, stretched his shoulders once, then checked the bolt on the door again like it might have undone itself in the last five minutes.

It hadn’t.

He moved to the window, cupping a hand around his face to peer out. “Still the same.”

“Shocking,” Zayn muttered.

I pushed myself up and went to the other window, staying a step back like Kael had told me before. Outside, nothing had changed. The trees looked painted on—no wind, no sway, no movement. The mist hovered low and still, like it had been frozen mid-creep.

My reflection watched me from the glass. Pale. Tired. Eyes shadowed. For a second, I could’ve sworn my reflection blinked half a beat slower than I did.

I stepped away.

“So.” My voice sounded too loud in the small space. “We can’t get out. We can’t call anyone. We can’t open the door. And magic is apparently eavesdropping through the pendant.”

Kael glanced at the pendant. “Don’t take it off.”

“Why?” I asked. “If it’s listening—”

“Because it reacted to the mimic,” he said. “And to the witch. Whatever spell this is, that thing is tuned into it.”

My fingers curled around the metal through my shirt, the cold weight of it somehow both comforting and unnerving.

Zayn shifted in his chair, elbows on his knees. He looked tired and wired at the same time. “What if this isn’t about the cabin?” he said suddenly.

Kael glanced over. “What do you mean?”

Zayn shrugged, eyes on the floor. “We keep assuming this place is the center. Witch lived here, spell originates here, mimic shows up here. But what if the cabin’s just… caught in it? Like we are.”

Kael frowned. “You think the anchor is somewhere else.”

“I think whoever ‘he’ is,” Zayn said, the word razor-sharp, “he’s not stupid enough to put his leash where we can reach it.”

He wants her alive. The half-blood belongs to him.

The words crawled over my skin like frost.

“So we’re not just stuck in some random witch’s trap,” I said, throat dry. “We’re stuck in something someone else set up. For me.”

Kael rubbed a hand over his jaw, the faint scrape of stubble loud in the quiet. “Spells like this need fuel. It’ll drain the easiest source first. Fear. Panic. Confusion.”

“So it wants us scared,” I said.

“Yeah,” Zayn replied. “Congratulations. It’s doing great.”

Kael let out a slow breath. “We wait. We don’t feed it more than necessary. We stay awake in shifts, conserve strength. When something changes, we move.”

“And if nothing changes?” I asked.

He looked at me for a long moment. “Something always does.”

That didn’t feel reassuring.

The hours—if they could even be called that—blurred after that. We tried not to talk about the knock, or the voice, or the way the shadow under the door had stretched like oil. Kael took to pacing the perimeter of the cabin, pausing every now and then to press his palm flat against the wood, like he could feel the magic seeping through.

Zayn alternated between the chair and the wall near the door, knife either in his hand or within reach. His eyes kept drifting to me, then away, like he was still pissed at himself for saying as much as he had earlier.

Every now and then, the lantern would flicker for no reason.

Once, the fire flared high on its own, then dropped back down to a low burn.

None of us commented on it.

The hunger came back in waves—sharp, then dull, then sharp again. My stomach clenched and unclenched like it couldn’t decide whether to complain or conserve. My head ached, and a light buzzing had settled behind my eyes.

At some point, I sank down by the hearth and wrapped my arms around my knees. My body felt heavy, my thoughts slow and unfocused.

“Try to sleep,” Kael said quietly. He’d gone back to sitting near the door, legs stretched out, knife resting beside him.

I shook my head. “I don’t think I can.”

“You did earlier.”

“Yeah. And woke up still in the same nightmare.”

Zayn’s voice drifted over from the window. “Sleep anyway.”

I looked over. He was watching me now, not the trees. Something in his expression had shifted—not softer, exactly, but less shut down.

“If you crash standing up,” he added, “I’m not catching you.”

That pulled a small, tired huff out of me. “Rude.”

“Honest.”

Kael gave me a look that said he agreed with Zayn, for once. “You lying there with your eyes open isn’t helping.”

He wasn’t wrong. I sighed, exhaled slowly, and let my head tip back against the wall. “Fine. If something tries to eat me in my sleep, I’m haunting both of you.”

“Get in line,” Zayn muttered.

I let my eyes close.

The cabin’s sounds faded into a distant hum—crackle of wood, soft scrape of movement, the quiet rhythm of breathing that didn’t belong to me. My mind floated, too tired to cling to one thought for long.

At some point, I must’ve slipped under.

Because the next thing I knew, there it was again.

My name.

My real name.

Whispered against my ear, clear as if someone was leaning right over me.

Aurenya.

I jerked awake, heart in my throat, hands flying to my chest—and felt the pendant burning against my skin. Not warm. Hot.

I sucked in a breath, hissing, fingers jerking away from the metal. “Shit—”

Kael was beside me in an instant, hand already on my shoulder. “What is it?”

Zayn was there too, knife back in his hand like it had never left. “Rory.”

“The pendant,” I managed, breath shaky. “It—it heated up. And someone—” My throat closed around the rest.

“Someone what?” Kael pressed.

I swallowed. “Someone said my name.”

He went still. “From where?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. It sounded like… inside. Not outside. Not the door. Just—here.”

I tapped my temple lightly.

Zayn’s gaze dropped to the pendant, his mouth pressing into a hard line. “Take it off.”

Kael shot him a look. “Bad idea.”

“It’s burning her,” Zayn snapped. “How is that a good thing?”

“It’s reacting,” Kael said, voice tight. “You break contact, you might cut off the only link we have to whatever this is.”

“Good,” Zayn bit out.

I listened to them argue for a handful of seconds, then did the only thing I could manage. I pushed myself upright and leaned against the wall again, pressing my palm flat over the metal despite the sting.

“Hey,” I said, my voice coming out hoarse but strong. “You two can fight about it later. What if it’s not just reacting? What if it’s trying to show us something?”

They both went quiet at that.

Kael’s eyes flashed, thoughtful. “What did it feel like? Exactly.”

“Like a pulse. But too hot.” I hesitated. “And the second I woke up, it stopped.”

“So it flared when you were asleep,” he said. “When your defenses were down.”

“That’s not comforting,” I muttered.

Zayn crouched in front of me, eyes searching my face like he was looking for something more than an answer. “Did you see anything? Hear anything besides your name?”

I thought back. The dream was already slipping, dissolving the way dreams always did, but I clung to the edges I could still grab.

“Smell,” I said finally. “Smoke. And something… sweet. Not gross. Like flowers and… old paper?” I frowned. “And there was a sound. Pages turning. Someone whispering in a language I don’t know.”

Kael and Zayn exchanged a look over my head.

“What?” I demanded.

Kael exhaled slowly. “Seraphina’s magic smelled like that. Smoke and old paper. Ink. Sometimes flowers, if she was using anything from the garden.”

My chest tightened. “So you think it’s her?”

“I think,” he said carefully, “either she anchored something in that pendant before she disappeared… or whoever took her is now close enough to tug the same string.”

Cool. Great. No anxiety spike at all.

Before I could spiral further, a sound broke through the heavy quiet.

Not the door.

Not the window.

Below us.

A soft, dull thud from under the floor.

Once.

Twice.

Then a pause.

Zayn went rigid. “Tell me that was the house settling.”

Kael was already on his feet, head tilted like he could hear more than we could. His face went very still. “It’s coming from underneath.”

The three of us listened.

The knock came again.

Slower this time.

Steady.

Like knuckles against wood.

From beneath the cabin.

My fingers curled tighter around the pendant until the metal bit into my palm.

“Please tell me there’s not a basement,” I whispered.

Kael didn’t look at me. His voice came out flat.

“There wasn’t.”

Another knock.

Closer.

And this time, when it came, the boards under my feet vibrated.