If you'd asked me ten years ago who I was, I might've said I was just a fiery teenage girl with a stubborn streak and a smart mouth—what my mom used to call her "little firecracker."
Now? Now I know better. I know what I am. I know what hunts in the dark and how close the monsters have always been.
My name is Maya Adair. I'm twenty-four, and I've survived things most people only read about in books they don't believe. And I've done things… well, things I'm still trying to forgive myself for.
But if I'm being honest—brutally, painfully honest—I wouldn't change any of it. Because the path I walked brought me the people who matter most. And it all started the day my mother disappeared.
I was fourteen. One morning, she kissed my forehead, told me to be good, and walked out the front door. She never came back. No warning. No goodbye. Just gone, like she'd melted into the morning fog.
After that, I had one place to go: my grandmother's house. She lived in a weather-worn farmhouse way out in the country, where the woods stretched for miles and the silence pressed in at night. She was kind, in her own wild way. Always talking to the wind and muttering things to the fire like it might answer back. I thought she was losing her mind.
Looking back now, I realize she was probably the sanest one of us all.
Life moved slowly out there. I learned to sleep with the windows open and listen to the coyotes howl. I met the few neighbors scattered along the dirt roads nearby—two boys my age, Daniel and Bailey, full of reckless energy and sarcastic charm. And then there was Stella, Daniel's younger sister and my first real best friend.
We were inseparable. We'd spend hours exploring the dense woods behind my grandmother's property, telling ghost stories and trying to find deer trails. I'd never seen a wild animal before coming here. Suddenly I was surrounded by them. I didn't know then how much that would matter later.
By the time I turned fifteen, I saw them.
Wolves. Massive, quiet, and eerily intelligent. They watched us from a distance, never approaching, never running. Just… watching.
I should have been scared. But something about them felt different.
The summers were when things truly got strange. People came every summer—strangers with warm smiles and tired eyes. They always greeted my grandmother like old friends, calling her by name and hugging her like family. I had absolutely no idea who these people were but eventually became familiar over time.
Stella said they came every year, just for the summer. Staying either in the house or somewhere on my grandmother's large property. My gran always had space, and soon the house was full of people I didn't know. They were always kind, but too curious about me.
Summers ended. When the next began, the strangers returned.
The school years dragged on painfully slow. Coming from the city, I was ahead of most of the curriculum. My days blurred together—school, homework, and long walks in the woods with Stella.
Then, the summer I came back from college, my entire world changed.
They came back. Earlier than usual. Two full months early.
Something was different. Their smiles didn't quite reach their eyes. They were quieter. More alert.
And that was when the real story—the one I'm about to tell you—truly began.