Volume 5
Chapter 1: Whispers to the Wind
Stiles:
The night air was crisp, almost biting, as I sat in my jeep, its engine silent, the world around me drenched in the glow of streetlights. Every evening found me here, outside Andrew's house—an unspoken ritual born from hope and desperation. My gaze lingered on the familiar sight of his red Volkswagen Scirocco, untouched and unmoving, just as it had been since the day he left. The absence of any sign, any whisper of his return, echoed the emptiness gnawing at me.
The sting of his departure was a wound that refused to heal, a constant reminder of words unspoken and feelings left hanging in the air. I'd replayed that last day over and over in my mind, each time ending with the same haunting regret—I never told Andrew how much he truly meant to me. Now, with nothing but the echo of his absence, I was left wondering: Did he ever know? Could he have felt the depth of my attachment?
Tomorrow, the pack and I would leave for Mexico, a mission to search for Derek that promised its own dangers and uncertainties. But tonight, in the stillness, my personal quest weighed heavier than ever—the need to find Andrew, to see him just once more, and to finally say all the things I'd kept locked away. It was a silent plea that filled the space between each heartbeat.
Andrew's house stood dark and empty, its windows lifeless, reflecting the void in my own heart. Every night, I came here, hoping for a sign that maybe, just maybe, he'd returned, even for a fleeting moment. But the Scirocco remained still, an unmoving reminder of the life that had left, a sentinel watching over my growing sense of loss.
Absentmindedly, my fingers traced the steering wheel, the cool metal biting against my skin. In contrast, the warmth of memories rushed in—memories of laughter, of moments filled with easy friendship, and of how effortlessly his presence had become a cornerstone in my life. Only now, with him gone, did I realize just how much I had lost, how much I had taken for granted. The bitterness of that realization lingered like a weight I carried every day.
Leaving for Mexico without resolving this unfinished chapter of my life felt like betraying my own heart. Yet, my loyalty to the pack and my duty to Derek pulled me in the opposite direction. It was a tormenting split—between the duty to those I called family and the personal longing for someone who had quietly stolen a piece of my soul.
As the night deepened, the quiet surrounding Andrew's house became a shroud—comforting and suffocating all at once. The world seemed to hold its breath, and in that stillness, my resolve solidified. I would go to Mexico, I would fulfil my duty to the pack, but I would also carry with me the hope that fate would lead me back to Andrew. That one day, somehow, I would have the chance to tell him everything.
For now, though, all I had were the silent nights, the unblinking stare of his Scirocco, and the weight of unspoken words that hung in the air like the chill of the night. I started the jeep, the engine's hum a jarring break in the stillness, and took one last look at Andrew's house. A silent promise passed through my lips, carried away on the wind: "I'll find you again."
With that, I pulled away from the curb, Mexico and the unknown looming on the horizon. Yet, tucked away in the back of my mind, amid the worry and anticipation, a flicker of hope remained—hope that this wasn't the end, but merely an interlude in a story that still had chapters left to unfold.