Sunday, November 3rd.
The last notes of the choir lingered faintly in the air, soft and fading, as the pastor's voice carried through the church with a steady, practiced rhythm. Warm light filtered through the stained glass windows, painting the walls in gentle hues of gold, red, and blue, the colors shifting subtly with the angle of the sun.
Adam sat at the back.
Still.
Quiet.
And completely somewhere else.
The wooden pew beneath him felt solid, familiar, yet distant in a way he couldn't quite explain. His hands rested loosely against his thighs, fingers unmoving, while his gaze remained fixed forward, not really seeing the pastor, not really hearing the sermon as it neared its end.
His mind was loud.
Too loud.
He looked different now.
Gone were the thin dreads he had worn just days ago, replaced by a clean afro taper fade that framed his face sharply, giving him a more serious, grounded look. The blue shirt he wore, patterned with tiny white stars, sat neatly against his frame, tucked into black pants that fit him just right, his loafers polished enough to catch the faint light spilling across the floor.
He looked put together.
Like someone who had everything in place.
If only they knew.
Adam shifted slightly, the fabric of his shirt brushing softly against his skin, and tried to focus, really tried to pull himself back into the moment, into the church, into the words being spoken at the front.
He couldn't.
Not when the weight in his chest refused to lift.
You don't belong here.
The thought came uninvited, heavy and persistent, settling deep in his gut like something that refused to be ignored. It made the air feel thicker, harder to breathe, as if the very space around him rejected him in ways he couldn't prove but couldn't shake either.
A werewolf.
That alone felt like enough.
But now—
Magic.
The word still didn't sit right with him, still felt foreign every time it crossed his mind. Sorcerer, mage, wizard, witch… none of it felt like him, yet all of it clung to him now, whether he liked it or not.
What does that even make me?
He exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening as his gaze dropped slightly, focusing on nothing in particular. The church had always been his place of peace, the one place where everything felt quieter, where the noise in his life faded just enough for him to breathe.
Now even that felt… tainted.
Uncertain.
Can you even be both?
The question lingered longer than he wanted it to.
Christian.
Werewolf.
Something else entirely.
Why did it matter?
Why did it bother him so much?
He didn't have an answer.
Only the weight of it. And the weight of everything else.
His mother's voice echoed faintly in his memory, her words about the future, about what was coming, about what he would have to become. The responsibility sat heavy on his shoulders, pressing down with a force that made his chest tighten just thinking about it.
Avenge her, survive.
Grow stronger.
Learn magic.
Understand the Blood Right.
Find the other half.
Each thought stacked on top of the other, building into something suffocating, something he couldn't escape no matter how hard he tried. It felt like his life had shifted overnight into something far bigger than him, something he wasn't ready for.
What if I can't do it?
The doubt crept in quietly.
Sharp and relentless.
What if he wasn't strong enough?
What if he failed?
What if all of this, everything he had been told, everything expected of him, was more than he could carry?
His chest tightened further.
The pastor's voice blurred into the background, indistinct, lost beneath the noise in Adam's own head. Words passed over him without meaning, without impact, like a language he no longer understood.
Until—
"Young man?"
The sound cut through everything.
Sharp enough to pull him back.
His head lifted slightly, blinking once, twice, as the world slowly came back into focus. The church felt different now, quieter than before, emptier in a way that took him a second to fully register.
The pews were empty.
The congregation gone.
Only the pastor stood near the front, looking at him with a gentle, concerned expression.
Adam straightened slightly, his brow furrowing as he glanced around, the realization settling in.
They all left.
He hadn't even noticed.
"You alright, son?" the pastor asked, his voice calm, warm, carrying none of the judgment Adam half expected.
Adam let out a quiet breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood slowly, the wooden floor creaking faintly beneath his loafers. Up close, the pastor looked just as kind as he sounded, his features relaxed, his eyes attentive in a way that made it hard to deflect.
"I… yeah," Adam said, though it came out weaker than he intended. "Just… thinking, I guess."
The pastor tilted his head slightly, studying him for a moment.
"That must be some heavy thinking," he said gently. "You looked like the world is sitting on your shoulders."
Adam huffed a quiet laugh at that, though there wasn't much humor in it. He hesitated, his fingers flexing slightly at his sides as he searched for words that wouldn't give too much away, words that could carry the weight of what he felt without revealing what he was.
"It's just…" he started, trailing off as he tried to shape it into something simpler. "Say someone… had to do something big. Something they didn't ask for."
The pastor didn't interrupt. Didn't rush him.
"So big that it kind of… changes everything," Adam continued, his voice quieter now, more honest despite the vagueness. "And people are telling them they're the one who has to do it. That they're capable. That they've been chosen or… something like that."
He swallowed.
"But they don't know if they are," he added. "They don't know if they can handle it."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable.
It felt… intentional.
The pastor nodded slowly, as if he understood more than Adam expected.
"That's a heavy place to be," he said, his tone thoughtful. "Feeling called to something you don't feel ready for."
Adam let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Yeah," he muttered. "That's one way to put it."
The pastor took a step closer, resting a hand lightly against the back of a pew.
"You know," he said, "there's a verse that comes to mind. Second Corinthians, chapter twelve, verse nine. 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'"
Adam's brow furrowed slightly, listening.
"It means that the moments you feel the least capable," the pastor continued, "those are often the moments where strength shows up in ways you didn't expect. Not before. Not after. But right when you need it."
Adam glanced down briefly, letting the words settle.
"I don't feel strong," he admitted quietly.
The pastor smiled faintly.
"Most people don't," he said. "Not when it counts."
He paused, then added, "First Corinthians ten, thirteen says that no temptation or trial comes your way except what's common to mankind. And God is faithful, He won't let you be tested beyond what you can bear. But when you are tested, He'll also provide a way out so you can endure it."
Adam looked up again.
There was something steady in the pastor's voice, something grounded that made the words feel less like scripture and more like reassurance.
"So you're saying… I can handle it?" Adam asked, a trace of uncertainty still clinging to the question.
"I'm saying," the pastor replied, meeting his gaze, "that if you believe God has a hand in your life, then you also have to believe He wouldn't place something on you that you're completely unequipped for."
He let that sit for a moment.
"The only way you find out what you're capable of," he added, "is when you have no choice but to face it."
Adam's chest loosened slightly.
Not completely.
But enough.
The pressure didn't disappear, but it shifted, settling into something more manageable, something that didn't feel like it was crushing him from the inside out.
"So what do I do?" Adam asked quietly.
The pastor smiled again, softer this time.
"You take it one step at a time," he said. "You do what you can with what you've been given. And you trust that when the moment comes, you'll have what you need to get through it."
Adam nodded slowly.
For the first time in a while, the noise in his head quieted just a little.
"Thank you," he said, meaning it.
"Anytime," the pastor replied.
---
The hallway buzzed faintly with noise as Adam walked through the school, the echo of footsteps and distant conversations bouncing off the polished floors. The transition from the quiet of the church to the liveliness of the building felt jarring at first, but grounding in its own way.
He adjusted his bag slightly on his shoulder, his mind already turning over what came next.
Magic.
That had to be the priority.
Understanding, learning and controlling it.
Then the Blood Right.
Whatever it was, however it worked, it was tied to him in ways he still didn't understand. And if there was another half out there, someone else connected to it, he needed to find them.
But how?
The question lingered as he moved through the atrium toward the high school wing, his thoughts narrowing, focusing, trying to form something like a plan.
Information first.
Find anything he could.
Books.
Clues.
Patterns.
Someone who knew something.
"Bro."
The voice snapped him out of it.
Adam looked up just as Bryce fell into step beside him, his blonde hair messier than usual, falling into his eyes as he grinned. He wore a plain white t-shirt and combat shorts, looking completely out of sync with Adam's more polished outfit.
Bryce eyed him up and down.
"Man, you look like a lawyer who just lost a case," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips.
Adam let out a short laugh, shaking his head.
"I just came from church," he said.
"Ah," Bryce nodded, like that explained everything. "Makes sense. You got that… serious energy going on."
Adam rolled his eyes slightly, but the tension in his chest eased just a bit.
"Where you headed?" he asked.
"Library," Bryce said. "Figured I should start pretending to care about finals. Three weeks isn't that far away."
Adam grimaced slightly. "Don't remind me."
Bryce nudged him lightly.
"Come with me," he said. "You look like you could use a distraction."
Adam hesitated.
Sunday.
He usually didn't study on Sundays.
It was one of those habits he'd never really questioned.
But then—
A memory surfaced.
The library...
Anissa...
The old section of the library and the smell of dust and paper.
The way she had told him to focus, to pay attention, to use his senses instead of ignoring them. That if he actually tried, he could pick up scent patterns, track things most people wouldn't even notice.
Find whatever book you need.
His gaze shifted slightly.
If it's there.
Adam exhaled slowly.
Maybe…
Maybe this was something he could do.
Something small.
Something that mattered.
"Yeah," he said finally, nodding once. "Alright. I'll come."
Bryce grinned.
"Let's go then."
Together, they turned down the hallway, their footsteps echoing lightly as they made their way toward the library. The noise of the school carried on around them, normal and unchanged, a stark contrast to everything else shifting beneath the surface.
For now, at least, things felt… steady.
And that was enough.