The Human Among Wolves Chapter 146

Aurora

“Rory…?”

His voice pulls me out of sleep slowly, not all at once, like I’ve been sinking somewhere deep and warm and he’s gently tugging me back to the surface. My eyelids flutter before they open, my body still heavy, slow to catch up with my mind. For a second, I don’t even remember where I am.

“Are we there?” I murmur, the words tangled with a quiet yawn as I turn my head toward him. My voice sounds distant even to my own ears.

He shakes his head, eyes still on the road. “Not even close,” he says softly. “We’ve got maybe three… four hours left.”

A quiet groan slips out of me as I sink deeper into the seat, staring up for a moment before turning toward the window. Outside, there’s nothing but darkness stretching endlessly ahead of us. No houses. No signs. No broken glow of streetlights. Just the silent road cutting through the night.

“I was thinking we should stop at a hotel or something soon,” he adds after a moment. I can hear the edge of exhaustion in his voice now. “I’m getting tired.”

“If we even find one,” I mutter under my breath, my voice still thick with sleep as I keep staring out at the endless dark beyond the glass. The road feels like it could go on forever, like nothing exists outside these headlights.

“Well, there should be a motel not too far from here,” he says after a moment. His tone is steady, reassuring in that effortless way of his. “It’s not fancy, but it’ll do.”

I let out a quiet breath and nod once, slow and tired, shifting slightly in my seat as sleep still clings to me. “Yeah,” I mumble. “That’s fine.”

And just like he said, about forty minutes later, a flicker of light appeared in the distance—small, lonely, almost easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it. As we got closer, the shape of a modest building slowly emerged from the darkness, and beside it, a battered neon sign glowing faintly through the night.

The motel.

It wasn’t anything impressive. Just a simple, low building with a few dim lights under the roof and a parking lot that looked like it hadn’t been repainted in years. But right now, it might as well have been a luxury resort. I was exhausted, my body heavy with that deep kind of tired that sinks into your bones, even though I hadn’t been the one behind the wheel for hours.

Zayn pulled into one of the empty spots and cut the engine. For a moment, everything went quiet—no hum of the road, no steady vibration beneath us. Just the faint buzz of the motel sign and the cool night air pressing in as he opened his door.

We grabbed our backpacks from the backseat and stepped out into the cold, the gravel crunching softly under our shoes. I slung the straps over my shoulders, feeling the familiar weight settle against my back, and glanced at the building again.

Not fancy.

But it would do.

We push through the glass door and step into the little motel lobby, a soft bell chiming above us. Warm air hits my face right away, carrying the faint smell of old carpets and coffee that’s been sitting too long. It’s quiet, almost too quiet, and somewhere behind the desk a small heater hums steadily.

Behind the counter sits an elderly woman with silver hair pulled into a neat bun and reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She looks up from a worn crossword puzzle and gives us a gentle smile.

“Evenin’,” she says.

Zayn steps up beside me like he always does, calm and effortless. “We need a room for the night.”

She glances between the two of us, her smile turning knowing. “Long drive?”

“Yeah,” I answer quietly, feeling the exhaustion settle deeper into my bones.

Zayn pulls out his wallet without hesitation, already reaching for cash. She takes it, counts it quickly, then reaches behind her for a key hanging on a wooden board. She slides it across the counter toward him.

“Room twelve. Hot water’s slow, but it gets there,” she says with a small wink.

“Thanks,” Zayn says easily.

We head back outside, the cold air waking me just a little as the door closes behind us. Room twelve is near the end of the row. Zayn unlocks the door and steps aside so I can go in first.

The room is simple—nothing fancy, just a small dresser, two nightstands, a bathroom tucked off to the side… and one single bed in the middle.

I don’t even pause this time.

Zayn and I have shared beds before. This doesn’t feel strange or awkward. It just feels… normal.

I drop my backpack near the dresser with a tired sigh, already peeling off my jacket. Zayn sets his things down too, locking the door behind us. The quiet settles again, thick but comfortable.

I look at the bed and smile faintly.

“At least it looks soft.”

He smirks. “That’s all that matters right now.”

I clear my throat softly as I unzip my backpack, suddenly very aware of the quiet between us. My fingers sift through my things until I find what I’m looking for, and I pull out a fresh set of clothes.

“I’ll… go take a shower first,” I say, trying to sound casual as I straighten up.

Zayn looks up at me from where he’s already sitting on the edge of the bed, one arm braced behind him, posture relaxed in that effortless way he always has. His eyes meet mine for a brief second, steady and calm.

“Yeah,” he says simply, giving a small nod. “Go ahead.”

I shift my clothes against my chest and head toward the bathroom, the soft sound of my steps filling the space between us. Just before I shut the door, I glance back at him once more. He’s still sitting there, watching me with that quiet, unreadable expression.

Then I close the door behind me, the click echoing gently in the room.

After the shower, I step back into the room, the steam still clinging faintly to my skin. I’m dressed simply—a black shirt, soft and worn-in, and black leggings that feel more like comfort than clothes. My hair is still damp, ends darkened where the water hasn’t fully dried yet.

Zayn looks up the second the bathroom door opens. For a brief moment, he just watches me, unreadable as always. Then he pushes himself off the bed in one smooth motion.

“If you’re done,” he says lightly, already reaching for his things, “I’ll go now.”

I nod, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah. It’s all yours.”

He gives me a small smile as he grabs a towel and heads toward the bathroom, passing close enough that I feel the warmth of him as he goes by. A second later, the door clicks shut behind him, and the room falls quiet again.

I sink down onto my side of the bed, the mattress dipping softly beneath my weight as I wait for Zayn to finish in the bathroom. The room is quiet in that strange, unfamiliar way motel rooms always are—too still, too empty. I reach for my phone out of habit, wanting to let my roommates know we're, wanting to reassure them before they start spiraling.

The screen lights up.

No service.

I stare at it for a second, then huff out a quiet, humorless laugh. Of course. Middle of nowhere. Northern woods. What did I expect—perfect signal and fast Wi-Fi?

I try anyway, refreshing it once, twice. Nothing changes. The little icon just sits there, unbothered by my growing frustration.

“Great,” I murmur under my breath, letting my phone fall onto the bed beside me.

For a moment, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint sound of running water on the other side of the door, reminding myself that I’m not actually alone—even if it feels that way right now.