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Chapter 2 — Where I Learned to Shrink

I woke before the sun.

Not because I liked mornings, but because I'd figured out early that the world was less cruel when it was still quiet. The silence of the house was the only moment I didn't have to brace for anything. Didn't have to put on invisible armor. Didn't have to pretend it didn't hurt.

The room was still dark when I sat up in bed. The floor was cold under my feet, and that small shock reminded me I was awake. Alive. Present. Even when it seemed like nobody noticed.

The mirror watched me from across the room.

I avoided looking for a few seconds. Not because I hated my reflection — I'd learned to live with it — but because I knew exactly what I'd find. The body everyone commented on. The curves that never fit the pack's standard. The absence no one let me forget.

I took a deep breath before facing it.

It was me.

It had always been me.

I wore loose clothes out of habit, not shame. They made me disappear a little. And disappearing, sometimes, was a form of survival.

I came down the stairs to the smell of fresh coffee. That smell always reached me before the words did. Before the judgments. Before the world.

My mother was in the kitchen.

Maelis always woke early, even when she didn't have to. She said she liked watching the day break slowly. When she saw me, she smiled in that way that asked for nothing in return. As if my presence were enough.

"Good morning, my moon," she said, like she was saying a prayer.

She handed me a hot cup with both hands, as if she were offering me something precious. And maybe she was. Maybe it was just coffee. Maybe it was care.

My father appeared shortly after, straightening his shirt, still half-asleep. Eron Silvermoon always looked tired, but when he saw me, the tiredness faded a little.

"Sleep well?" he asked.

I lied with ease. "Yeah."

They never pressed me. Never asked for details. They just let me be there, sitting at the table, breathing.

It was the only place where I didn't have to explain myself.

The sound of footsteps on the floor above announced the moment the air shifted.

Lisa descended the stairs as if she were stepping onto a stage. Always polished. Always flawless. Red hair loose, posture confident, her gaze passing over me like I was part of the furniture.

"You're going to be late," she remarked, pouring juice for herself. "Some people have important things to do."

She didn't look at me. She didn't need to.

"Good morning, Lisa," my mother said, trying to keep things normal.

She answered with a distracted wave.

"You're going like that?" Lisa finally turned her eyes on me, her green gaze sizing up my body as if it were a problem to be solved. "Don't you get tired of pretending you don't care?"

My father cleared his throat. "Lisa."

She shrugged. "I'm just being honest."

I didn't respond. I'd learned that any word became ammunition. I swallowed the hot coffee along with everything I wanted to say.

At home, I was loved.

But not all love can fill every space.

We left together. The walk to the academy was short, but it felt far too long when I knew what waited for me. Lisa walked ahead, surrounded by curious stares. I stayed a few steps behind. Always behind.

At Wolf Academy, everything ran like a well-oiled machine. Everyone knew exactly where they belonged. Who led. Who followed. Who was watched. Who was ignored.

I knew my place.

The hallways filled as the day went on. Laughter. Conversations. Wolves my age, brimming with energy, strong scents, unmistakable presence.

And then I passed by.

The conversations dimmed. They didn't stop — they never stopped — they just changed tone.

"She still hasn't awakened, right?"

"Poor thing."

"Must be waiting for a miracle."

I didn't look. I didn't respond. I walked as if I couldn't hear. As if I couldn't feel.

In the training room, I always stayed in the back. Not by choice, but because nobody wanted to share space with me. During exercises, I was the last one picked. Every time.

"Think you can keep up?" someone laughed.

I tried. I always tried.

My body ached. My muscles burned. The exhaustion hit fast. But I kept going. Because giving up would've proved them right.

Lisa passed me during the break, surrounded by people. She didn't say anything. She just wore that smile that said it all.

And then, like always, Kael appeared.

He entered the room as if everything adjusted automatically to his presence. Laughter swelled. Postures straightened. Every eye turned.

When our gazes met, he raised an eyebrow.

"Still here?" he said. "Admirable. Or stubborn."

His friends laughed.

I didn't respond.

I'd learned that silence was my only defense.

The day dragged on. Class after class. Stare after stare. When the sun finally began to sink, my body felt heavy, but my mind was empty. Maybe that was better.

I walked home with slow steps.

My mother waited with dinner ready. My father asked how my day went. Lisa talked about victories, laughter, attention.

I said, "It was normal."

And for me, that was the truth.

Because pain, when it becomes routine, starts to go by another name — normal.

I went up to my room early. I lay staring at the ceiling. The moon hadn't appeared yet, but I knew she was there. She always was.

I closed my eyes.

And I wondered, in silence, how much longer I'd have to keep learning to shrink…

before I finally learned to stand my ground.

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