Adriel's POV
New York City was beautiful, I was overwhelmed by the lights and sounds.
It roared.
The moment Mason's car slid into traffic, the city swallowed me whole—lights blazing like artificial stars, buildings clawing at the sky, horns blaring in a language I didn't understand. Everything moved too fast, too loud, too close.
I pressed my forehead lightly against the cool glass of the passenger window, trying to steady my breathing.
"Too much?" Mason asked, glancing at me.
I nodded before I could stop myself. "It's… overwhelming."
He smiled, not unkindly. "It is, at first. You get used to it."
I wasn't sure I wanted to.
The forest had spoken in whispers—wind through leaves, the hush of moonlight on soil. This place shouted. It demanded attention, demanded presence. My wolf paced restlessly inside me, uneasy without the comfort of a magic-drenched land.
We passed streets lined with people, all moving with purpose. Some laughed, some argued, some stared at glowing screens like they were spells. No one noticed me.
Invisible again.
That should have hurt.
Instead, it felt like relief.
Mason pulled into an underground garage beneath a towering glass building. The moment the car stopped, exhaustion crashed over me like a wave. My limbs felt heavy, my thoughts slow.
"You're safe here," he said quietly, as if he sensed it. "No one will bother you."
Safe.
The word felt fragile.
The elevator ride up was silent, smooth, enclosed. My ears rang faintly as the doors slid open onto a hallway that smelled faintly of clean metal and something warm—coffee, maybe.
Mason's penthouse wasn't what I expected.
I had imagined cold marble and space, something sterile and distant. Instead, the place was warm—soft lights, wide windows overlooking the city, furniture that looked lived in rather than displayed.
I stood just inside the door, unsure where to put myself.
"You can sit," Mason said gently. "Or shower. Or sleep. Or just… breathe."
Breathe.
I chose that.
I walked slowly toward the windows, my steps cautious, like the city might bite if I got too close. The view stole what little breath I had left.
The city stretched endlessly, lights layered upon lights, streets glowing like veins. It was beautiful in a sharp, dangerous way.
"This is where humans live," I murmured.
Mason chuckled softly. "Yeah. All of us, stacked on top of each other."
"How do you hear yourself think?" I asked.
"We don't," he said. "That's the trick."
I wrapped my arms around myself. For the first time since leaving the pack, I felt the full weight of what I'd done.
I had crossed into another world.
"What happens now?" I asked.
Mason leaned against the counter, studying me. "That depends on you. You can stay for a while. Get back on your feet."
"And if I don't know how?" I asked honestly.
"Then we figure it out."
Something warm flickered in my chest—gratitude, sharp and sudden. It scared me more than the city.
He showed me the guest room—a soft bed, clean sheets, a bathroom bigger than my old pack quarters. I stood there, stunned.
"I don't deserve this," I whispered.
Mason met my gaze. "You deserve more than you think."
When he left me alone, the silence pressed in—not the peaceful kind, but the humming silence of electricity and distant traffic. I sat on the edge of the bed, hands shaking.
I showered until the water ran cold, scrubbing away dirt, blood, and memory. When I caught my reflection in the mirror, I barely recognized myself.
My eyes looked older.
Sharper.
That night, sleep came in fragments.
Sirens sliced through my dreams. Light spilled through the windows, mimicking moonrise without the comfort of magic. I woke gasping, my wolf snarling in confusion.
I rose quietly and padded toward the window.
The city glowed beneath me.
Somewhere deep inside, something answered the hum of it—an unfamiliar pull, like my power was listening, learning.
I pressed my palm to the glass.
"This place will change you," I whispered to myself.
The next few days passed in a blur.
Mason gave me clothes—soft, simple things that didn't draw attention. He ordered food I didn't know how to pronounce and laughed gently when I stared at it as if it might attack me.
He didn't ask too many questions.
That alone earned my trust.
I ventured outside with him once, stepping onto a crowded sidewalk. The crush of people sent panic spiraling through me. My senses flared, wolf instincts screaming danger.
"Hey," Mason said quietly, placing a hand near my elbow—not touching, just there. "You're okay."
I focused on his voice. On the steady rhythm of my breath.
I didn't shift.
I didn't lose control.
Small victory.
At night, I stood on the rooftop, letting the wind tangle my hair, trying to find the moon between skyscrapers. It felt distant here, muted. The bond ache stirred sometimes—sharp, sudden—but I pushed it down.
I wouldn't think of Alex.
I couldn't.
On the fifth night, Mason's phone buzzed while he was in the kitchen. I didn't mean to overhear but my hearing sharpened instinctively.
"Yes," he said quietly. "I know… No, she doesn't know anything… Keep it quiet."
My stomach tightened.
When he returned, his expression was careful. "Everything okay?"
I nodded. "Of course."
But something felt off.
Later, alone in the guest room, I felt it again—that strange pressure beneath my skin. The lights flickered once.
Then again.
I sucked in a breath, heart racing. "Stop," I whispered.
The room steadied.
I stared at my hands, palms faintly glowing before the light faded.
My stomach churned with fear.
The city was awakening whatever I was turning into.
A familiar presence touched my senses somewhere far beyond the steel and concrete; it was subtle, far away, but unmistakable.
I froze.
No.
That wasn't possible.
But the bond ache flared violently, sharp enough to steal my breath.
Alex.
He was closer than he should be.
As a shadow passed slowly across the rooftop outside my window—too large, too deliberate—I realized with terrifying certainty: New York had noticed me… and so had he.