Quinn's gaze lingered on the bandage wrapped tightly around her upper arm, the blood that had soaked through still fresh. The wound itself, a jagged tear from the previous night's full moon, refused to heal. Unlike the usual cuts she had sustained in her life as a werewolf, this one remained stubborn, untouched by her regenerative abilities. It wasn't the usual gash—it felt different, almost as if it were an extension of the pain she carried inside. A reminder that no matter how hard she tried, some wounds couldn't heal, not just on the surface but deep within her soul.

It was as if her body was refusing to let go of the trauma. She could almost feel the wound throbbing in rhythm with her heartbeat, a constant reminder that she wasn't the same. She wasn't healing, and perhaps, in some twisted way, she didn't want to. The wound had become symbolic, a physical manifestation of the emotional scars she carried. It wasn't just the hurt from the full moon's rage; it was the guilt that gnawed at her insides, the same guilt that had consumed her ever since Kali's death.

She should've been able to save her. Kali had been more than just an Alpha to Quinn; she had been a motherly figure, someone who had protected her and guided her through the darkness of the supernatural world. But Kali was gone now, and Quinn couldn't shake the feeling that it was her fault. She had failed Kali, failed her Alpha, failed herself. That guilt weighed heavily on her, and with each passing day, it felt like she was sinking deeper into it.

The more Quinn thought about it, the more she felt like she was a danger—not just to herself but to everyone around her. She knew that her self-control had been slipping ever since Kali's death. The wolf inside her was becoming harder to manage. The darkness within her had been unleashed, and she was terrified of what it could do if she didn't get a grip. But deep inside her, she couldn't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, part of her didn't want to control it. If the chaos she felt was somehow comforting, as strange as it was. It felt like the only thing she could rely on anymore.

Her room was a constant reminder of what she was capable of. The walls bore the marks of the last full moon's destruction, the furniture turned over, and the remnants of her rage scattered around. The room felt like a prison, but it was one she had built herself. She feared herself—feared what she might do if she couldn't contain the wildness inside her. The thought that she could harm someone else, someone she cared about, was too much to bear. The only blood on her hands was her own, but that didn't comfort her. It only deepened her fear. What if she didn't stop in time? What if the next full moon, the next surge of anger, pushed her past the point of no return?

Going to school had become unbearable. The anxiety coursed through her veins every morning as she prepared for the day. She could feel the weight of it pressing against her chest, making it hard to breathe. The scent of fear was almost palpable in the air, and it wasn't just her own. The other werewolves in the school could sense it too—her growing instability. Isaac, Scott, Aiden, and Ethan, they all knew something was off, but none of them knew how to approach her without making things worse. They weren't afraid of her—they were afraid for her. They could see the danger she was in, see how far she had fallen, but they didn't know how to pull her back from the edge.

And so, Quinn carried on, pretending that everything was fine. But the truth was, she was losing herself. She had become a prisoner to her own fears and guilt. The sleepless nights were starting to take their toll. She couldn't bring herself to rest, couldn't let her guard down long enough to fall asleep. Every time she closed her eyes, the memories of Kali's death flooded her mind. The image of her Alpha's lifeless body, the screams, the pain—it was all too much to handle. She didn't know how to escape it.

Her mind was constantly at war with itself, torn between the need for peace and the fear of what might happen if she let her guard down. It was a battle she didn't know how to win, and as the days passed, she felt herself slipping further away from the person she once was.

The day of class came, and Quinn's exhaustion had reached its peak. She had barely slept the night before, and it was taking its toll. Her eyelids felt heavy, and the sound of her classmates' voices seemed to blur into a distant hum. She tried to focus, tried to keep herself present, but her body refused to cooperate. She slumped forward onto her desk, propping herself up with her palm, but she couldn't stop the pull of sleep.

It wasn't long before her mind wandered, and the memories of Kali's death took over once again. The flashbacks hit her like a wave crashing against the shore. The terror, the helplessness, the guilt—it all came flooding back in an overwhelming rush. Before she could control it, a scream tore its way from her throat, loud and piercing. The sound echoed through the classroom, sending everyone into a panic. Her classmates flinched, startled by the outburst, and Isaac—Isaac, who had been watching her closely—winced at the rawness of the pain in her voice.

Her body trembled as she tried to catch her breath, but it was impossible. The scream had been a release, but it was not enough. Her chest heaved with uneven breaths, and before anyone could say a word, she bolted from the room. She didn't care where she was going—she just needed to get away. Away from the pain, away from the suffocating fear, away from everything.

Her teacher's calls faded into the background, not that they would've mattered. She had already made up her mind. She wasn't going to stay there any longer.

Isaac was quick to react, his concern for her outweighing any hesitation. He shot out of his seat, alerting the class to his departure. The teacher groaned in frustration, but Isaac didn't care. He was more concerned about Quinn than he was about a little disruption.

Quinn didn't know where she was going. She just kept moving, her pace quickening as the weight of her emotions threatened to consume her. She wrapped her arms around herself, as though she could shield herself from the storm raging inside her. She felt broken, beyond repair, and the thought of reaching out to anyone terrified her. How could she burden them with her pain? How could she ask for help when she felt so utterly lost?

"Quinn!" Her name rang out from behind her, and she froze in her tracks. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Isaac. He had followed her, just like he always did when she needed him most. But she wasn't sure if she needed him now. She was so angry at him for leaving her to deal with everything on her own, but at the same time, she was desperate for his presence. She didn't know how to reconcile those two feelings, but in that moment, she didn't have to. She just needed him.

Before Isaac could say another word, Quinn's arms were already wrapped around him. She clung to him, her body shaking with emotion. Isaac didn't say anything, didn't try to make it better. He simply held her, his arms surrounding her in a protective embrace. The sound of her cries filled his ears, and the scent of blood lingered in the air, but all he could focus on was her, broken and vulnerable in his arms.

At that moment, Quinn didn't feel alone. For the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to let go, to let someone in. It was messy, it was raw, but it was all she had left.