Chapter 3 — Echoes of Guilt

Lila Rawlins

The door to their home groaned as Lila pushed it open, the sound splitting the oppressive silence of the night. She stumbled inside, her legs unsteady beneath her, and quickly shut the door behind her, leaning her back against it as if it could keep the weight of the world from spilling in. The dim light of the single oil lamp flickered on the table, its flame casting long, trembling shadows on the peeling wallpaper. The air inside was thick and stale, the faint scent of damp wood mingling with smoke from the dying fire in the hearth.

Her breath rattled in her chest, coming in short, uneven bursts. She could still feel the sticky warmth of blood on her hands, though she had scrubbed them raw at the nearest water pump in the fog-shrouded streets before daring to return. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and the faint glimmer of her amber eyes in the cracked mirror across the room unsettled her. She caught herself staring, her reflection distorted by the warped glass, the glowing intensity of her gaze unnaturally sharp under the dim light. A chill crept over her, and she turned away.

“Lila?”

Sam’s voice, soft and hesitant, broke her out of her daze. He stood near the hearth, his small frame bathed in the faint, flickering light. His cheeks were gaunt, his brown hair messy, and his wide, worried eyes searched her face as he clutched a threadbare blanket around his shoulders. He looked so fragile it made her heart ache.

“Did I wake you?” she asked, her voice low and hoarse. She pushed herself off the door, trying to steady her trembling hands by curling them into her coat pockets.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Sam admitted, his gaze drifting to the window where the fog pressed against the glass, distorting the faint glow of the moon. “I heard... howling.”

Lila stiffened. The sound of the wolf’s cry from earlier still echoed in her ears, a mournful wail that seemed to come from the depths of the forest—and somewhere deeper, darker, inside herself. She forced her legs to move, stepping further into the room, away from the door, and toward Sam.

“It’s nothing. Just the usual forest sounds.” She knelt beside him, placing a trembling hand on his shoulder. He felt small beneath her touch, and the faint warmth of him was a cruel reminder of what she could lose.

Sam frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Something’s wrong,” he said quietly, his voice laced with concern. “You’re shaking.”

Lila looked down. She hadn’t realized how violently her hands were trembling—or how cold they still felt, as if the blood she’d spilled had leached away her warmth. A thousand thoughts swirled in her mind, crashing and colliding like a storm. The image of Jasper Thorn’s lifeless body sprawled on the floor of the Black Lantern, the blood pooling beneath his skull, flashed before her eyes. Her stomach twisted, but she forced herself to meet Sam’s gaze.

“Just tired,” she lied, though her voice cracked mid-sentence. She tried to muster a weak smile. “Working too hard, like always.”

Sam studied her with a seriousness that didn’t suit his years. “Is it about Thorn?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her heart stopped.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her tone sharper than she intended. Sam flinched slightly, and she cursed herself for her lack of control. Taking a slow breath, she softened her voice as much as she could. “Why would you ask that?”

“He came here earlier,” he said, his cheeks flushing. “I thought maybe...” He trailed off, his words faltering. “I heard him say things. About you. About us.”

Lila forced her expression to remain calm, though her jaw ached from clenching it. “He’s not going to bother us, Sam,” she said firmly, her voice a low and deliberate murmur. “I made sure of that.”

The truth of her words hit her like a blow. She had made sure of it—had ensured that Jasper Thorn would never lay a hand on her brother or anyone else again. But at what cost? The metallic tang of blood still seemed to cling to her senses, no matter how much she tried to push it away.

Sam nodded hesitantly, his relief palpable, though his worry didn’t entirely vanish. “Good,” he said softly. “I hate him.”

Lila’s chest tightened. She pulled Sam into a brief hug, holding him close and wishing, not for the first time, that she could shield him from the horrors of the world. But the darkness that surrounded them wasn’t something she could keep out—not when it lived inside her now.

“Go back to bed,” she whispered. “You need your rest.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

He hesitated, his small hand lingering on hers, the touch grounding her in a way she desperately needed. “Your hands are cold,” he murmured, his brow furrowing. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, though her voice trembled slightly. “Just tired, remember?”

He studied her for a moment longer, his young face lined with an understanding that made him seem far older than his years. But he nodded and padded off toward the small cot they shared in the corner of the room, pulling the blanket tightly around himself. The faint creak of the cot as he lay down echoed in the silence.

Once he was out of sight, Lila let out a shuddering breath and sank into the nearest chair. The flickering light of the oil lamp seemed to dance mockingly, casting shadows that stretched and writhed across the walls. She stared at her hands, the faint scars crisscrossing her palms and fingers catching the light.

It wasn’t the first time she’d fought to protect Sam. She’d done what she had to countless times before—stealing scraps of food, outwitting debt collectors, even fending off an attacker in the woods once. But this... this was different. This was blood on her hands that she couldn’t wash off, no matter how hard she tried.

Her gaze drifted to the worn hunting knife resting on the table, its blade dulled by years of use. The sight triggered a flood of memories: her father, Thomas Rawlins, guiding her hands on the hilt of a blade, his voice steady and sure.

“Monsters don’t change, Lila. They only take and destroy.”

The memory hit her like a blow, dragging her back to the nights spent training in the forest. She could see his face so clearly—lined with exhaustion but resolute, his hands steady as he taught her to wield a weapon. He’d instilled in her a hatred for the creatures that had taken everything from their family.

But now... now she wasn’t sure where those lessons fit. Her father’s voice had been her anchor for so long, his warnings a shield against the darkness. Yet tonight, she had acted out of instinct—not strategy, not careful planning, but raw, primal rage. And the ease with which she’d moved, the strength she’d felt coursing through her—it wasn’t entirely human.

A chill ran down her spine.

She closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the chair and letting the weight of her exhaustion pull at her. But the moment her lids shut, the images came rushing back—Jasper’s body, the golden-eyed stranger in the tavern, the wolf’s howl cutting through the night.

And then the dreams began.

Flashes of crimson against the snow-covered forest floor. Shadows moving through the trees, their shapes too large, too wrong to be anything human. The sharp tang of iron filled her nostrils, and the distant sound of snarling grew louder, closer, until it felt like it was inside her.

She woke with a gasp, her body drenched in sweat and her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst. The room was still dark, the oil lamp long since extinguished, but the faint light of the moon poured in through the cracked window, illuminating the thin layer of frost clinging to the glass.

Her breath hitched as her senses sharpened, the world around her becoming painfully vivid. She could hear the faint rustle of mice in the walls, the soft creak of the wooden beams overhead. Her own heartbeat thundered in her ears, and when she moved, the scrape of her coat against the chair seemed deafening.

This wasn’t normal.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the table, gripping its edge as she forced herself to stand. Her legs felt stronger now, despite her earlier weakness, but the sensation wasn’t comforting. It was alien.

She moved to the window, her eyes catching on her reflection in the frosted glass. For a moment, she didn’t recognize herself. Her amber eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight, their intensity unnatural. Her face was paler than usual, the dark circles beneath her eyes almost shadow-like.

A distant howl broke the silence, and Lila froze. The sound was closer this time, its mournful cry sending a chill through her bones. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just any wolf—it was something more. And somehow, it was calling to her.

Lila backed away from the window, her pulse quickening. She didn’t know what was happening to her, but she knew one thing for certain: the danger wasn’t out there in the fog and shadows.

It was inside her.