Quinn had never imagined that life could shift so violently within such a short period. The past few weeks had been a blur of confusion, grief, and chaos—everything crashing into her in waves, leaving her gasping for air. She couldn't quite grasp it all; it felt as if everything she knew was crumbling around her.

Her English teacher—someone she had trusted and admired—had turned out to be a Darach, a dark druid who was once an emissary to her Alpha, Deucalion. That revelation had rattled her to the core. To think she had been so unaware, so blind to the danger that had always been lurking just beneath the surface of her everyday life. And yet, in the wake of that shocking discovery, there was barely time to process anything. The days had blurred together, filled with a sense of impending doom, leading up to the unimaginable deaths of Ennis and Kali.

Kali, despite the horrors she had been involved in—nearly killing Erica and Vernon—had been a motherly figure to Quinn. She had taught Quinn many things and had been a source of strength when Quinn felt like the world was too much to handle. So, when Kali died, Quinn felt an overwhelming sense of loss that she couldn't shake. Even though her last moments were filled with regret and pain, Kali had been there for her, and that was all that mattered in the end. Quinn had failed to save her, and the weight of that failure pressed heavily on her chest.

Deucalion's departure had been another blow. She had always known that he was a cold and calculating leader, but his sudden disappearance left Quinn with a deep sense of abandonment. It was just her and the twins now—Aiden and Ethan. But even they had been stripped of their Alpha status after their near-death experience. They were no longer part of a pack, no longer the powerful beings they had once been. They were Omegas, like her. She should have felt some comfort in that shared experience, but all she felt was emptiness.

Then there was Derek. Derek and his lover, Payton, had sought her out after all the devastation, inviting her to join their pack even though her Alpha had tried to kill them. It should have been a lifeline, an opportunity to escape the isolation that was slowly consuming her. But Quinn couldn't bring herself to accept. She was terrified. Being part of a pack again, to feel like she was part of something larger than herself, sounded appealing. But every time she imagined it, all she could feel was the suffocating presence of death. It was as if death followed her wherever she went, and she feared that, if she allowed herself to belong again, she would bring nothing but destruction. She had already lost so much—how could she risk losing more?

So, Quinn stayed away. She shut herself off from everyone, including the twins, who had been the only ones who understood her. But now, they were a reminder of everything she had lost—of Kali's death, of her failure to save her. If only she had acted faster if only she had done something more. But she hadn't, and that guilt gnawed at her insides. Even though Kali had told her through her last words that it wasn't her fault, the guilt remained. It was like a shadow she couldn't shake, lurking just out of sight, always waiting to strike.

Her home was no better. Her brother had left on the same night she had lost Kali. It had been as if the universe had conspired to take everything from her in one devastating blow. Her brother's absence was just another reminder of how alone she was. It felt like the world had turned its back on her, like Beacon Hills itself was a greedy, cruel entity, stripping her of everything that had ever mattered.

Quinn didn't know who she was anymore. She felt like the broken little girl she had once been, the girl who had fought to survive every day. She had thought that part of her was gone—drowned by time and experience. But now, it was back, and it was more powerful than ever. She fought the urge to cry, to collapse under the weight of it all. But she couldn't. Not yet. She had Isaac once, and that had helped—having someone to share her pain with, to help her carry the burden. But now, she had no one. And she didn't deserve to share her loneliness with anyone. That was her punishment.

The cold air in her room felt suffocating as Quinn slowly opened her eyes. Her fingers were stained with the faint scent of blood, and she could feel the remnants of her last transformation still lurking within her. The chaos of the full moon had torn through her room, leaving destruction in its wake. She wasn't sure if it had been the moon or if it had been her own emotions that had set her off. Either way, she felt like she was losing control. The beast inside her was getting harder to contain, and each day that passed made her fear herself more. It was only a matter of time before she hurt someone, and she feared it would be someone she cared about.

She stared at the destruction around her—the shattered furniture, the torn curtains, the broken remnants of her life. Her room had become a reflection of her inner turmoil, a place of chaos and emptiness. And yet, amidst all of it, there was one thing that remained untouched, untouched by her fury and her pain.

It was a portrait, worn and frayed at the edges, sitting quietly on her nightstand. A picture of her and Isaac was taken before everything had fallen apart. Before Kali died, before the Alpha Pack disbanded, before she had become a creature of shadows and regret. The photo was a reminder of a time when she wasn't alone when things had seemed more certain. It was a piece of her past, and she didn't know whether to cherish it or let it go.

The portrait was the only thing in her room that hadn't been destroyed, and it felt like a cruel joke. A reminder of what once was and what could never be again. It was a constant reminder that no matter how far she ran, no matter how hard she tried to close herself off from the world, her past would always follow her, lingering in the shadows, waiting for her to confront it.

Quinn sat there in the wreckage of her room, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. She didn't know how to move forward. She didn't know how to face the world anymore. The only thing she knew was that she couldn't stay here. Not like this. But she also couldn't leave, not when every part of her was tethered to this place, to this moment in time.

The silence in her room was deafening, a constant reminder of how far she had fallen, and how alone she truly was. Every small creak of the house felt like a roar in her ears, and the stillness pressed heavily on her chest, making it harder to breathe, and harder to think. It was like the world outside had moved on, leaving her in a frozen moment, stuck between the past and whatever uncertain future awaited her. She couldn't escape it. She couldn't escape herself.

Quinn's mind spun, thoughts swirling like a whirlwind she couldn't control. Everything was a blur. The faces of the people she once knew, the life she had once lived, felt like distant memories, fading with each passing day. Nothing made sense anymore. The pack, her Alpha, her own identity—all of it seemed like a cruel joke. She had once fought so hard to find her place in this world, to be part of something bigger than herself. But now, it was as if everything had been ripped away, leaving her adrift in a sea of confusion and pain.

She had been a part of something once. Her pack, her family, had given her purpose. But that was before everything shattered—before Kali's death, before Deucalion left before Derek had even come to her with his offer. Now, she had nothing. The walls of her room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cage, closing in on her as her thoughts circled tighter and tighter.

Her fingers still tingled with the remnants of blood—the scent of the full moon lingering in the air. She couldn't remember the last time she had truly felt in control. Every transformation felt like a loss of herself, the animal inside her taking over, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake. She feared the next full moon, feared what she might do to herself or anyone who dared get too close. But more than that, she feared the emptiness she felt. The loneliness that stretched endlessly before her, threatening to swallow her whole.

Quinn's gaze fell on the portrait on her nightstand once more—the only thing left untouched by the wreckage of her room. The picture of her and Isaac, smiling, carefree before everything had come crashing down. She couldn't even remember when it had been taken, only that it felt like a lifetime ago. The warmth of the memory seemed so distant, so unreachable now. She wanted to believe in it, to believe that there was still something worth fighting for. But how could she? How could she fight for something when the world around her kept changing, kept taking more than it ever gave?

Her mind drifted back to Isaac—the person who had once made her feel like she wasn't alone in the world. She had shut herself off from him, from everyone, because the pain of losing Kali had been too much. She couldn't bear the thought of losing anyone else. But she couldn't deny the truth—Isaac had been the one constant, the one person who understood her in a way that no one else could. And yet, she had pushed him away, leaving him to carry his own burden, just as she carried hers. The guilt of that weighed on her more than anything.

But it wasn't just Isaac she had shut out. It was everyone—the people she had once called friends. She had built walls around herself so high that she couldn't see over them anymore. She couldn't see the way forward, couldn't see how to break free of the suffocating weight of her own thoughts.

Quinn buried her face in her hands, pressing her palms against her eyes, trying to push away the tears that threatened to fall. She didn't want to cry—not now, not when she had already lost so much. But the tears came anyway, silent and heavy, streaming down her face as the pain broke through.

For a moment, it felt like she could let go. Let the tears wash away the guilt, the pain, the loneliness. But then the thought came—would that really make a difference? Would crying bring back Kali? Would it fix what she had broken? Would it fill the emptiness inside her?

She didn't have the answers. And that was the most terrifying part.

The silence in the room became louder, pressing in on her from all sides. She was suffocating in it, trapped in her own mind, unable to escape the memories, the regrets, the fear of what was to come. The full moon loomed in the distance, and she dreaded it. She dreaded what it would bring, what it would take from her next.

And yet, despite everything, despite the darkness that surrounded her, there was still a small, flickering spark deep inside her. A flicker of something that refused to die—something that whispered to her that maybe, just maybe, there was a way out. A way to heal. But the question was, how? How could she find her way back when everything around her seemed to be falling apart?

Quinn didn't have the answers yet. But she knew one thing for sure: she couldn't keep running forever. At some point, she would have to face everything she had been avoiding. The pack. Isaac. Her own fears. Only then would she have any chance of finding peace. Only then would she have any chance of reclaiming the pieces of herself she had lost.

But for now, all she could do was sit in the silence, feel the weight of it press down on her, and try to gather the strength to keep moving forward. Even if she didn't know where that path would lead. Even if she didn't know how she could ever fix the broken pieces of herself.