Nyx's POV
The blue dress hung on the back of my door staring at me in accusation.
I'd pulled it out last night from the bottom of the trunk where it had lived for twenty years—carefully folded, lavender-scented. My grandmother had sewn it herse for the ceremony that everyone warned her against. Tiny perfect stitches, delicate embroidery along the hem. Hope threaded into every seam.
She'd gone to her ceremony wearing this dress.
She'd come home and never spoken again.
My fingers traced the embroidered wolves running along the neckline. The thread had faded from midnight blue to something closer to gray, but the pattern was still clear.
I swallowed hard and lifted the dress off its hook. The fabric whispered as I pulled it on, settling against my skin like a secret. It fit perfectly. Grandmother and I had always been the same size. Same slight build, same height, same dark hair that never quite obeyed.
In the mirror, I looked like a girl playing dress-up. Pretending to be someone who belonged at a Coming-of-Age ceremony. Someone a wolf might actually choose.
Stop it. I braided my hair with sharp, angry movements. You're going. You decided. No more doubts.
But my hands still shook as I tied off the braid.
Through the wall, I heard my brother's door creak open. Heavy footsteps in the hall—Father, heading to the kitchen. The clink of pots—Mother, starting breakfast like this was any other normal morning.
Except it wasn't.
My hands trembled as I tied the sash at my waist. I'd practiced this moment a hundred times in my head, rehearsed the words until they felt smooth and certain. But now that the time had come, my courage felt paper-thin.
"Just tell them. They can't stop you. You're eighteen. You have the right." I told myself.
I took a breath, squared my shoulders, and walked out of my room.
The kitchen fell silent the moment I appeared in the doorway.
Mother's hands stilled over the pot of porridge. Father looked up from his tea, his weathered face going carefully blank. My brother, Finn, froze with a piece of bread halfway to his mouth, his eyes widening as he took in the blue dress, the carefully braided hair, the set of my jaw.
"No," he said immediately. "Absolutely not."
I stepped fully into the kitchen, the dress swishing around my legs. "I'm going to the ceremony."
"Nyx—" Mother's voice cracked on my name.
"I've made up my mind."
The wooden spoon clattered into the pot. "Then unmake it." Finn shoved back from the table, chair scraping. "You can't be serious."
"I'm completely serious." I moved toward the table, forcing my voice steady even though my heart was trying to break through my ribs. "The ceremony starts in two hours. I'm attending."
Father set his cup down with the careful precision he used when he was trying very hard not to shout. "Sit down, Nyx."
"Dad—" I tried to protest but he shut me up.
"Sit."
I sat, but I didn't relax. I couldn't. Across the table, Finn stared at me like I had announced plans to walk into a fire.
Mother came around the table, flour still dusting her hands, and I could see her fighting to keep her face composed.
"Sweetheart." She crouched beside my chair, taking my hands. Hers were trembling. "Listen to me. You don't have to do this. You don't have to prove anything to anyone."
"I'm not trying to prove anything." My throat felt tight. "I just… I need to know."
"You already know." Finn's voice was flat. Bitter. "We all know. Twelve generations, Nyx. Twelve. Not a single North has bonded. Not one."
"Maybe I'll be different."
"You won't be." He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and the look in his eyes made my chest ache. Not anger. Fear. "You want to know what it's like? Really?"
"Finn, don't—" Mother started.
"She should know what she's walking into." He didn't look away from me. "You stand there while they bring out the wolves. Cubs, juveniles, adults—doesn't matter. They walk past you. Every single one. Some don't even look at you."
I dug my nails into my palms under the table.
"You watch other people get chosen. Watch them shift for the first time, watch them scream and laugh and cry. You hear families cheering. Smell the magic in the air when the bonds form." His jaw clenched. "And you stand there, alone, while everyone pretends not to stare at you. The cursed North girl who thought she might be special."
"I don't think I'm special," I whispered.
"Then why go?" His voice rose. "Why put yourself through that? Why put us through watching you break the same way—" He cut himself off, breathing hard.
The same way Grandma had. He didn't say it, but we all heard it.
Silence pressed down on the kitchen. The porridge bubbled quietly. Outside, early morning birds sang, oblivious.
Father finally spoke. "We're trying to protect you, Nyx." His voice was rough, worn. "From the humiliation. The pain. From learning in front of hundreds of people that the world doesn't want you."
Something hot and sharp twisted in my chest. "I already know the world doesn't want me." I looked at each of them—Finn's haunted eyes, Mother's barely controlled tears, Father's resignation. "I've known that my whole life. Every time someone crosses the street to avoid us. Every time I hear 'cursed' whispered behind my back. Every time I see the way people look at our family."
Mother made a small, hurt sound.
"But I can't—" My voice cracked. I steadied it. "I can't spend the rest of my life wondering if maybe, just maybe, I could have been different. If maybe the curse could have broken. I'll go crazy, always wondering."
"Better to wonder than to know," Finn said roughly. "Trust me."
"Maybe for you." I met his stare. "Not for me."
"Nyx—"
"I feel it, Finn." The words burst out before I could stop them. "I feel something pulling me toward the Hatchery. Have for weeks now. Like—like something there is waiting. I know it sounds insane. I know it's probably just wishful thinking, but I can't ignore it. I can't."
The kitchen went very still.
"What do you mean, pulling you?" Father's voice had changed. Sharpened.
"I don't know how to explain it." I pressed a hand to my chest. "It's like a hook behind my sternum, tugging. Gets stronger every day. When I think about the ceremony, it doesn't feel like dread. It feels like… like coming home."
Mother and Father exchanged a look I couldn't read.
"That doesn't mean anything," Finn said, but he sounded uncertain now. "You're just nervous. Anxious. Your mind is playing tricks."
"Maybe." I stood, the chair scraping back. "But I won't know unless I go. And I'm going." I looked at my parents. "I'm sorry. I know this hurts you. I know you're scared for me. But I have to do this."
The silence stretched.
Then Father stood slowly, his chair creaking. He crossed to the cabinet and pulled out a small wooden box—the one I'd seen on the high shelf my entire life but never touched.
Inside, nestled in faded velvet, was a simple silver chain.
"This was your grandmother's." His hands were gentle as he lifted it out. "She wore it to her ceremony. It didn't help—the wolves still passed her by. But afterward, when she could finally speak again, she told me it made her feel brave. For a little while."
My eyes burned as he fastened the chain around my neck. The metal was cool, settling just above my collarbone.
Mother still wouldn't look at me. Her shoulders shook.
"If you're going to do this," Father said quietly, cupping my face so I had to meet his eyes, "then you do it with your head high. Whatever happens in that Hatchery—whatever those wolves choose or don't choose—you're still my daughter. You're still a North. The curse doesn't define your worth. Do you hear me?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"But Nyx?" His grip tightened slightly. "When it's over, when the wolves have made their choices and bonded with whoever they choose, you come straight home. Don't linger. Don't torture yourself watching others celebrate. You come right back here. We'll be waiting."
"Okay," I managed.
He pulled me into a hug—tight, fierce and desperate. Over his shoulder, I saw Mother turn away, pressing her apron to her face. Finn stared at the table, jaw locked tight.
"I should go." The words came out rough. "I need to get there early."
No one tried to stop me.
I walked to the door, hand on the knob, and paused. "I'm sorry," I said to the room, to my family's breaking hearts. "I'm sorry I have to do this to you. But I have to do this for myself."