Chapter 46: She’s Gone

Chapter 46: She’s Gone Kaya I slowly peel my heavy eyelids open, only to be met with an overwhelming sense of weight pressing down on my skull. It feels as though my head is filled with molten lead, its invisible mass pushing against my brain with relentless pressure. I blink several times, trying to gather my bearings. My vision begins to return, though the world around me still feels oddly distorted. The ceiling above is blindingly white, almost sterile in its brightness, and the round lamp hanging from it appears to sway in lazy, dreamlike circles, even though I’m fairly certain it’s not moving at all. "Awake?" a familiar male voice calls out gently, drawing my attention. I turn my head toward the sound, my movements sluggish and strained. "How are you feeling?" "Ron...?" I whisper, my voice coming out in a weak rasp, barely above a breath. "Where... where am I?" "The pack’s hospital," he answers softly, and as soon as he sees me trying to sit up, he rushes to my side. "Easy there—move slowly. You’ve been unconscious for almost two full days." "Two days?!" I blurt out, my body lurching upright before I can think better of it. Pain flares through my limbs like fire licking along every nerve, and I instantly regret the sudden motion. "I’ve been asleep for two days?!" "Hey, hey, relax," Ron says quickly, placing a firm but gentle hand on my shoulder. He helps ease me back against the headrest, careful not to jostle me too much. "Yes, this is the second day. Alpha Magnus brought you in after he cut the training session short." That makes my eyes widen in disbelief—Magnus interrupted training? Because of me? The shock on my face must be obvious; I can feel my eyebrows shooting skyward, practically disappearing into my hairline. But before I can dwell on that fact, the memories start trickling in, then rushing like a flood. Flashes of the forest return. The eerie silence. The white, grotesque creature looming over me. Its black, oozing mouth. That unbearable, rotting stench. And Magnus—his enormous wolf form, his fangs sinking into the thing’s flesh as it screamed. A violent shiver ripples down my spine, and I wrap my arms around myself as if I could shield my body from the memory. "What was that?" I finally ask aloud and hope Ron knows what I’m referring to. Thankfully, he does. "You were attacked by a ghoul," he says matter-of-factly, leaning in slightly as if trying to read something on my face. "And for some reason, your body didn’t react well to the encounter. It was... unusually harsh on you." I blink at him in confusion, my lashes fluttering in disbelief. The word "ghoul" echoes in my mind, but I still can’t quite make sense of it. "I fainted," I murmur, almost to myself, my gaze drifting to the shape of my toes beneath the thin hospital blanket. "I think I was just... shocked." "You’ve never seen a ghoul before?" Ron asks gently, though I catch the subtle shift in his expression. He isn’t mocking me, but there’s something unreadable in the way he studies me; something cautious, maybe even concerned. I could lie. Pretend I’ve encountered dozens. But instead, I go with the truth. "No," I admit, shaking my head with a trace of embarrassment creeping into my voice. "Never." He goes quiet for a moment, his eyes sweeping over me again, as if looking for something I might not even know I’m hiding. Then he lets out a quiet sigh and pats my shoulder with a reassuring hand. "Your vitals are stable," he says. "And while I’ll admit I’m slightly concerned about how long you were unconscious, I’m willing to chalk it up to stress. For now." There’s a pause—just a beat too long—and I can feel it. There’s more he wants to say. Something sitting on the edge of his tongue. But whatever it is, he swallows it down and pushes himself up from the edge of the bed instead. "I suggest you don’t let yourself stay in this sluggish state for too long. If you’re feeling well enough, try moving around a bit. You’ll recover faster that way." I blink up at him, disoriented. Wait... is he kicking me out? Judging by the way Ron returns to his desk and begins typing away on his laptop without so much as glancing in my direction, I assume that yes, he is, in fact, kicking me out. And while I’m still a little stunned that he didn’t even wait five minutes before doing so, I’m left with no real choice. With a quiet sigh, I slip my feet into my shoes and begin heading toward the door. But before I can reach it, his voice stops me. "Kaya." I pause and turn around just as he stands from his chair and walks over to one of the shelves lined against the far wall. He searches for something briefly, then retrieves a small white paper bag and places it into my hands. His gaze meets mine, and there’s a noticeable flicker of concern in his eyes. "Your friend still refuses to see me," he says, "and to be honest, I’m starting to worry. These are supplements to help with her anxiety and poor appetite. I heard she’s only letting you in, so..." It takes me a second to catch on, but when I do, the realization hits me hard. Shelly. Goddess, how long has it been since I last visited her? "Kaya?" Ron’s voice breaks through my daze, clearly picking up on my lingering silence. I nod quickly, hugging the paper bag to my chest like it’s something precious. "Yeah... I’ll make sure she gets them. Thanks." Ron offers a tight nod, then adds, "Keep an eye on yourself, too. If you notice any strange symptoms or feel off in any way today, I want you back here. No excuses." With that, I finally step out of his office, blinking against the pale hallway lights as I try to remember which way to go. After a few moments of reorientation, I find my bearings and decide to head straight to Shelly’s room. The mention of anxiety and appetite meds left a knot in my stomach—and considering she’s pregnant—at least, I hope she still is—I have more than enough reason to be concerned for her well-being. Standing in front of her door, I hesitate once more. Even now, I’m still unsure of what exactly exists between us—what kind of relationship we really share. Ever since that strange agreement we made—to protect each other’s secrets and shoulder each other’s silence—our bond has remained undefined, floating somewhere between trust and distance. But this isn’t the time to second-guess anything. I don’t know what state she’s in, and if there’s even the slightest chance I can help her, then I need to try. So I finally lift my hand and knock, exhaling a quiet breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The sound echoes dully, and to my relief, nothing happens. Just... silence. "Shelly?" I call out gently, pressing my cheek slightly against the door as if trying to hear through it. Nothing. Not a single sound. The eerie stillness on the other side makes my palms dampen with unease. A strange sort of pressure starts to build in my chest. "Shelly?" I try again, louder this time, my knuckles tapping harder against the wooden surface. I doubt she’s asleep; it’s barely noon, and if I remember correctly, she’s never been fond of midday naps. Still... nothing. And now, genuine worry kicks in. Swallowing my anxiety, I reach for the doorknob and try it. To my surprise, it turns easily beneath my fingers, the door creaking open without resistance, almost as if it had been expecting me. I step inside. Her room is quiet. Still. My eyes sweep across the space, moving frantically from corner to corner. "Shelly?" I call again, my voice thinner now, my breath shallow. But no one answers. The room is empty. Scattered clothes are strewn across the floor, and the window stands ajar, swaying ever so slightly in the breeze. The pale curtains flutter like restless ghosts. She’s gone.