I'm standing in the sun, listening to the hum of the city, and suddenly catch myself thinking that if I had to choose—maybe things aren't so hopeless after all.
At the university everything feels especially peaceful, almost sterile. Here it smells of book dust, coffee from the vending machine, and whiteboard markers. Voices buzz, keys clatter, someone's arguing by the window about which class is easiest to "drop."
I catch myself thinking these ordinary conversations are like armor. If I close my eyes and just breathe, I can almost believe I'm a regular student and not a target for the five strangest men in the city.
During my history lecture, the professor sketches a map of ancient clans on the board, his voice almost lulling. I draw a tiny wolf muzzle in the corner of my notebook and hide my smile behind my hand.
My friend elbows me and whispers:
— What's up, you daydreaming on the moon?
— Something like that, I smile, and for a moment, everything is simple, as if that other life doesn't exist.
After class, the hallways are loud. Some people make plans to meet up, some rush off to work, some argue over a forgotten project. I pack my bag, pick out headphones to hide from the world.
Leaving the university, I feel the familiar tension—like the air outside is different, denser, more on edge.
There's a crowd on the steps, but I move quickly, don't linger, catch the security guard's gaze—he seems too attentive, but I decide I'm just being paranoid.
On the way home, I stop at a shop, buy bread, chocolate, a carton of milk—very normal, nothing wolfish.
I step outside, squint in the bright sunlight, and only when I turn the corner to my house does my heart suddenly clench: across the street stands Julian, leaning on a post, his look a clear challenge.
I don't rush to approach, just wait for him to speak first.
He's the one to break the silence:
— Aren't you afraid I'll catch you again?
I shrug, pretending not to be scared, though my fingers are trembling.
— If you get too pushy, I'll bite, I joke.
His smile is only half there—a shadow across his face.
— I'd believe that, if I didn't know you still haven't decided who you are.
We stand together for a few seconds. Julian is quiet, then suddenly speaks, more seriously and a little quieter:
— Just don't disappear without a trace. Here in this city… it's not just us hunting.
He puts a yellow token from an old club into my hand.
— Just in case it gets too scary. Not for control. For protection.
And leaves, blending into the students and city noise, while I watch him go, feeling a strange mix of worry and relief.
An ordinary day turns into something more than just classes, but at least now I can choose who to trust.
In the evening, I come home tired, backpack stuffed with notebooks, a recorder, and a half-eaten snack bar. The apartment breathes with silence; the hallway smells of fresh dust—Mom is probably at a meeting, or maybe at a friend's or the store. I can finally exhale.
I throw my bag on a chair, take off my jacket, put the kettle on. Home is a strange island of calm, where no one bombards me with questions or tries to figure out my "secret meaning."
While the water heats up, I check messages: in the student chat, someone's arguing about exams, the editor drops ideas for tomorrow's story—"Liz, we need a short interview about the volunteers at the monument tomorrow!"—a couple of old friends invite me to a weekend get-together.
No threats, not a hint of a wolf hunt. Just ordinary life.
I text Mom: "All good, I'm home." She replies with a smiley and a heart.
I sit at my laptop, turn on some music, edit notes for the broadcast—the day's noise fades, replaced by this honest, everyday routine.
Evening light drips through the window, clouds float over the rooftops, someone in the yard sings to a guitar.
Sometimes it feels like if you just do your homework, drink tea, and read messages from friends, you can hide from all the weirdness going on. You can be ordinary. At least until morning.
When Mom comes home, dinner is already ready—macaroni with cheese, salad, tea. She nods, smiles, as if she also wants to believe nothing unusual has happened.
We watch an old comedy, laugh at the dumb jokes, and I pretend the anxiety dissolves in the smell of warm food and homey sounds.
Before bed, I check my phone—just work notifications and a couple of memes from a friend.
I leave the window slightly open—let the moonlight in, but just a little.
In my head, it rings:
"Today is quiet. Tomorrow—another chance to just be myself."
On the third day, everything starts again with coffee and rushing: at uni, lectures, cheat sheets, whispers in class, the eternal search for a charging outlet. I almost forget recent worries—or at least learn to hide them for a while.
After class I head to the monument—I need to shoot a short piece for the local news. The weather's changed sharply: yesterday was almost spring, today it's cold, and the wind rips hats off passersby.
A small crowd's already gathered—students with posters, a few elderly volunteers, a cameraman, and the ever-present city pigeon who seems to be in every broadcast.
I prep the mic, pull out my notepad, try not to think about anything extra. Next to me, a tall guy in a gray jacket appears—I don't recognize Ethan right away: he always stays in the background, and only now do I notice his habit of keeping his hands in motion, like he's typing on an imaginary keyboard.
— Hey, his voice is calm, a little ironic. Didn't expect to see you working in such "dangerous" places.
— What about you? I glance over, can't help but smile.
— Wanted to make sure you didn't get kidnapped in broad daylight, he says, glancing at the crowd of volunteers.
— Such security, I snort, — maybe you should have come even earlier.
He smiles, just barely, but there's curiosity in his eyes.
A man in a suit joins us, as if out of thin air—tall, broad-shouldered, calm, keeps a little distance, like he doesn't want to intrude but isn't leaving either.
— Filmed everything yet? he asks, his look direct, serious, but not pressing.
— Just starting, I reply, turning slightly. Did you also come to check if I ran off during the night?
Marcus smiles a little—a barely noticeable movement.
— Sometimes you should be more careful, he says. Even when it seems safe.
Ethan chimes in, giving me a sly look:
— You're late today, Marcus. Alpha's always last to show up.
I stifle a laugh, study their faces. "Marcus," then.
— Right, the whole crew gathers like a family dinner: some late, some early. Meanwhile, I'm actually working.
They pause, look at each other, like they're deciding something silently.
— We just want to make sure you're okay, Marcus says calmly.
— Even if you think you're the most independent girl in the city, Ethan adds.
— Or maybe I just don't like being watched, threatened, and thanks to you all I've nearly died of fright, I tease, a little sharply, — and next time don't forget a "Lisa's Support Group" sign, so people don't mistake you for journalists.
They both crack small smiles.
The cameraman passes by, nods to me:
— Ready?
I nod, take a step forward, toss back:
— Don't disappear. I'll notice you anyway.
They hang back, watching the shoot, ready to jump in if anything goes wrong.
And I hold the mic, thinking that being the last wolf girl doesn't always mean being alone. Sometimes it means you're watched over—even if it's a little too much.
After shooting, I pack up, automatically plot my route home—and see that Ethan and Marcus still haven't left. They're "casually" standing at the park exit, but watching my every move a little too closely.
I come up—my face calm, but inside I'm annoyed.
— You two walking me home today? Or is this some secret contest—who'll hear first that I picked my "Alpha"?
Marcus looks away, as if weighing his words.
— It's not a contest, Lisa, he says quietly. It's just order. The way it's always been.
I clutch my bag strap.
— Some order… like I'm an object you're playing for.
Ethan raises an eyebrow, half-smiles:
— Not exactly an object… We just want you to know—the choice is yours.
— The choice? I interrupt, can't help it. What if I don't want to choose at all? Don't want to play your "rituals," don't want my whole life reduced to who gets the title.
Suddenly they're both serious.
— Lisa, you have to understand: you have power, Marcus says quietly. But if you don't choose, someone will choose for you.
— The council, the pack, whoever, Ethan adds. We didn't make these rules, and it's not as easy for us as it looks.
I look at them, anger and almost desperation twisting inside. Easy for them—it's just a formality. Alpha chooses, Moon agrees, ritual, the pack applauds, life goes on until they get bored. But for me? Just pick one of five men who seem more like rivals than protectors?
But I don't say it aloud. No point provoking a wolf—even if they're being polite, in this world the line between care and dominance is too thin.
— I understand, I say flatly, almost emotionless. You've explained it all very well.
They nod, like they've finished some required speech.
— We'll be around, Marcus adds, — but the choice is still yours.
I walk home quickly, feel their eyes on my back, and only in my building do I let myself release my bag strap and exhale. Why didn't any of them ask what I really want? Why does it seem to not matter—what I feel, for whom all this means much more than just another "role" in some ritual?
Next time I'll say it out loud.
Or at least write it down for myself, so I don't forget who I really am, no matter the rituals.
That evening I sort notes, fill tables on my laptop, pretend I'm absorbed in work. But my mind drifts back to the talk from before all this mess, when Mom tried to explain what it means to be the Moon.
— There was always a Moon in the pack, Mom said quietly as we drank tea on a rainy evening. The one through whom all the power flowed, who could keep together the leader, the juniors, the elders. The Moon wasn't just a mate for the Alpha, but the heart of the pack. Without her, even the strongest leader would eventually lose his strength.
Before, any woman could be the Moon—anyone who survived the ritual and didn't break under the weight of the change. But after the surge, everything changed. All the females lost their power. No one knows why you're the one left. Maybe because of the night you were born, maybe it's just chance…
I asked her then:
— So if I hadn't been born that night, would everything be different?
Mom nodded, her eyes tired and almost superstitious.
— We don't choose when we come into the world. Sometimes it's just how the lines of power fall.
The packs started waiting for a new Moon, but no one succeeded. The magic faded, the rituals crumbled, and the packs grew weaker.
"That's why you're not just a girl to them," Mom whispered, "but a chance to get back what they lost. Maybe not just for themselves.
You're like the only candle in a long, dark night."
I look at the screen again—line after line, but in my head it spins: "Moon, power, last hope."
It's not just a title, not a sign of fate—it's a duty no one chose. I don't want to be someone's role, a tool for someone else's victories and rituals.
With those thoughts, I return to my notes, but somewhere at the edge of my mind I still feel the moonlight tapping at the window, and the pack's shadow waiting for me to make my first real choice.
Morning starts as usual—the alarm, the smell of coffee from the kitchen, streaks of sun through the curtains. I get ready on autopilot: jeans, t-shirt, backpack, hair in a bun. All simple, all familiar. Only my heart's beating faster than usual—because all evening I felt uneasy, as if the air had thickened.
I go down the stairs and almost run into the neighbor from the third floor. She's just come back from the market, one hand with a bag, the other with a bundle of newspapers.
— Good morning, I exhale, hoping to slip past.
But then she notices the "guardians" at the door.
Outside, as if on cue, all five of them are there: one leans on the railing, another checks his phone, another just scans the area. They try to look innocent, but five big, confident guys at one entrance—always attracts attention.
— Your suitors again! the neighbor hisses with reproach, shifting the paper. I get it, you're young, but couldn't you at least take turns? You're bothering everyone else!
I feel my ears go red.
— It's not… — I start, but bite my tongue. How do you explain that the "suitors" aren't my idea, and there's only so many because I'm not exactly popular?
Apparently, the neighbors have discussed it: at the bench two old men grumble, some woman scolds, pointing at my "guards"—saying decent girls don't do this, why drag the "whole football team" under the windows.
The worst part—they can all hear it too.
Lucas is clearly trying not to laugh, Ethan hides his smile in his collar, Julian crosses his arms and looks like he's ready to put all the city's grandmas in their place. Marcus stands a bit aside, clearly not used to such scenes, and Adrian doesn't even blink, as if it's part of some serious mission.
I pass by the five quickly, not meeting their eyes.
— Couldn't you at least not bunch up at the door, I mutter, — now I'll be called in for a tenants' meeting.
Lucas leans closer, winks:
— Come on, now everyone knows you're not an ordinary girl.
— Now the whole neighborhood thinks I have a harem, I grumble.
— You should've seen how the neighbor looked at me, Ethan adds, not hiding his grin.
— Do this again and they'll make you clean the street, I threaten, but inside I'm both mad and embarrassed.
Adrian just shakes his head:
— We're not leaving until you talk to us.
— What, you couldn't take turns? I hiss.
— We're a team, Marcus says seriously, — this concerns all of us.
I roll my eyes, but know: today I'll have to listen to their "business proposal" and figure out how to live so at least I don't get summoned for a "clarification talk."
I walk through the yard, the five follow in near formation, and in my head it spins: "If only I could be ordinary, disappear for an hour or two…"
I only just leave the yard, already used to not looking back, when I hear footsteps, soft chatter, someone crunches an apple (probably Lucas, he can't walk without snacking).
Out of the corner of my eye I see: what a circus.
— Seriously? I can't take it anymore, I turn around, — How long are you going to tail me?
Julian snorts:
— We're just going to work. Maybe you're headed there too?
Ethan shrugs, as if nothing weird is happening:
— We can speed up if that's easier for you.
Marcus adjusts his tie, dryly remarks:
— Ever heard of "group responsibility"?
Lucas—wearing the most innocent smile in the world:
— Lisa, admit it, isn't it more fun with us? No one will bother you in an alley, for example.
Adrian looks strict, but a hint of a smile flashes on his face:
— We're just doing our duty. And if you'd just decide which of us you want to marry, this would be solved a lot easier.
I stop in the middle of the street, pull out my headphones but don't put them in yet.
— Marry, I say slowly, — If you keep this up, I'm going to start howling, got it?
Lucas claps his hands happily:
— There! That's the spirit! Definitely a born Moon.
Ethan nods to Julian:
— Five against one, and she's still the most dangerous.
Julian grumbles:
— Easier to drive her crazy than catch her. Who came up with chasing her as a pack anyway?
Marcus shakes his head, looks at me seriously:
— Please, let's not involve the police today.
I roll my eyes, push open the university door and turn to them at the entrance:
— That's it, show's over. Whoever follows me next gets a lecture from the dean about privacy invasion.
They look a bit lost.
— Can we at least buy coffee? Lucas asks.
— Buy it, leave it at the door. But don't stick your noses inside! I snap, go in, and hear their almost collective sigh behind me.
Inside, among the students, I finally exhale and snort softly. Never thought my life would turn into a farce, where I'm not the Moon but the "grand prize for the most persistent."
And I can't help thinking: if it keeps going like this, I really will start howling at the moon—and let's see who doesn't believe it then!