https://youtu.be/4VxY0ZoR6SI

A knock at the door charged the room. Sam rose and gave Ada's shoulder a squeeze as she passed; she was rigid. Aidan stepped in from the sleet and let his hood down, splashing Sam in the process. He apologized and hung up his coat.

"Sorry I'm late, it's hell out there."

"It's all right."

The three of them were dressed head to toe in shades of black, none overly fancy. Aidan had only a dress shirt and trousers, packed for just such an occasion. He still had worn his battered black Converse, but the toes appeared to have been scrubbed. Ada's hair was fully up, pins and all, a rare occasion. She wore trousers with a high waist and a fitted fine-knit shirt. And Sam threw together a thick knit cardigan and a tee-shirt dress, barely different than she would have worn to work.

Honestly, she was just glad to seem put together. She couldn't go to pieces at the funeral or she'd be conspicuous. After all, she was "the survivor." She heard people say it about her a few times. Her secret, at least that one, was out. Today was supposed to be about Amalie and her family, not Sam and her survivor's guilt.

Naming her issue did little to help her. The guilt was as strong as ever. No matter how many times Aidan had told her it wasn't her fault, she still couldn't accept it. She could have done more research. She could have held on tighter. It didn't have to be like this.

Ada's expectant eyes danced between them. Despite the looming memorial service, she was somewhat eager for what was about to happen. Guilt ate at her, and she tried to suppress it. Sam couldn't change the past, and it wasn't wrong for her to live her life. The afternoon was for processing those demons. She settled into one corner of the couch and angled to see both Ada beside her, and Aidan in the armchair.

There was a gleam in his eye she couldn't quite read. He poured a cup of coffee from the carafe on the coffee table, then leaned back and took a long swig. Over the teal porcelain he caught Sam's eye and she swore he was grinning, but when he brought the mug down his face was stoic, and he focused on Ada.

"So, right to business, then?" He paused. "Well, I promised to tell you something about what we've been doing. I shouldn't have made that promise. If my father was to ask for details, I wouldn't be able to lie about breaking our laws."

Ada cut him off. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Sam started to protest, too, but he held up a placating palm and spoke over the both of them. "I am not kidding you. When I get back to my home my father will ask for every detail and I will have to tell him the absolute truth. So I can't tell you our secrets.

"You see, it wouldn't be fair to the other families just like us all around the world, who rely on secrecy to stay alive. For over two hundred years our kind has lived on the outskirts of society, keeping to ourselves for your protection as much as our own."

Sam squinted at Aidan; this sounded remarkably like the speech he gave her about not telling Ada the truth. Of course she had her suspicions about his motive, but she had a feeling she knew what he was doing. The question that followed was why? Ada's expression she was sure matched her own in that moment: absolute bewilderment.

"We're civilized people, all of us. Many live integrated in human society, my uncle for example. It's very uncommon for one of us to reveal our true self to a human, and even more so for them to interact. Sam unfortunately was one of the few."

Ada glanced to her; Sam could see the gears turning in her head. "Where are you going with this?"

"You'll see ... I hope." He murmured the last bit. "My brother, Noah, has been on the run for three years from our family for breaking one of these laws, and I've been searching for him ever since he ran away from our uncle's place. He's put himself, complete strangers, and his entire people at risk every single day. Sam had a run-in with him in December."

Again her eyes met Sam's. She had an air of disbelief about her, and Sam hoped it was because she was understanding the implications, and not that she thought she was the butt of some cosmic joke. She tried to arrange her face into something reassuring, but she had no idea what the result was.

"You mean when he burgled her home?"

Aidan nodded. "Those events weren't separate."

Sam was pretty sure Ada was hoping for an event she hadn't told her about to tie to the burglary, because the alternative was so outrageous. But then again, she had seen with her own eyes the rapid healing of Sam's arms, noticed the changes to her physique from the training she still hadn't told her about. Perhaps she was just clinging to the final strands of normalcy before accepting the abundant minuscule clues.

"Think about it," Aidan murmured, and then returned to his coffee as though this was the most normal thing in the world.

Ada assessed him for a long time; her eyes lingered on the multitude of scars he wore proudly on his forearms. Hints of fresher scars peeked out from the cuffs he had rolled to his elbows. She glanced to Sam, searching her face, her hands. If she was freaking out, she handled it beautifully. Ada, too, sipped her coffee. Her keen gaze continued over the edge of the mug.

"Aidan?" Sam asked. "You can't confirm her guess, can you?"

"No, I can't, he will know."

"But I can?"

He shrugged. "That's your call."

That's what she thought. Sam locked eyes with Ada and tried with all her might to use telepathy to give her the answer. Sam understood the consequences of confirming, but she'd take that risk. She didn't fear Aidan's dad as much as he did. She probably should have.

Sam's words must have reassured her some, because her shoulders eased away from her ears. "Last time, I swear, but you're really serious about all this? Don't play with me."

"It's real, I swear." Sam would give anything for Ada to believe her.

"Are you trying to tell me that guy, your brother, also was the one to attack Sam in the alley?"

There was still disbelief in her voice.

Sam nodded eagerly.

"But then ..."

Her silence stretched on and Sam's heart crept into her throat with each beat. "Go on."

"Tu es un loup-garou?" Are you a werewolf?

The whispered word was honey to her ears. Tension melted from her spine and she nodded even deeper. She couldn't find her voice, which this time was totally natural, as repressed tears were choking her. Sam didn't know just how badly she needed her to know, to have someone outside of this insane reality to confirm it really was happening.

Something like peace seemed to settle over Aidan. Was he relieved as well? The tension in the room dispersed considerably. Ada stared between them while the revelation sank in.

"Are you all right?" Sam asked softly.

Ada nodded. "This is for real."

"It is."

Aidan hadn't said anything. Covering his bases, she guessed. Agreeing would be just as implicating as telling her in the first place.

Ada blew a sigh. "Well, all right then. While I don't understand why you had to tell me that way, I get why you kept it from me. I'm sorry for being so nosey."

"Don't be," she grinned. "I'm sorry for keeping it from you. Are you okay?"

"I will be. I'm just ... reeling, I guess."

Aidan leaned on his knees. "I hated to break our promise, and I hope you never have to find out why I had to do it this way."

"It's got to be serious to scare you." Her astute observation stunned them both.

"You're not wrong," he mumbled after a moment.

"Can I tell her about Amalie?" Sam asked Aidan. He nodded, staring into his half-empty mug. "The girl who died the other day was killed by Noah."

Her hand flew to her mouth. "Why?"

Sam looked to Aidan as well, equally curious. He shrugged slowly, not in indifference, more like at a loss. "It was wrong place, wrong time. He was enraged, and probably scared. She got in his way and he took her down. This is his third victim. All were young women. Oh, I'm sorry, Sam; fourth victim."

There was no emotion in the words. He removed himself to preserve his sanity, as Sam had seen him do dozens of times before when discussing his brother. Her heart ached for him.

"Did they all ..." Sam trailed off.

"Yes."

Sam nodded slowly and gulped. His face from the diner filled her mind, those quiet moments of joy twinkling in his eye behind that stoic mask. The way he stumbled over the information he had to impart. Those moments she had worried he was flirting were in a new light.

"Did you capture him?" asked Ada, breaking her concentration.

"No," they echoed.

The weight returned to the room as Ada gave their outfits a sombre assessment. Time was drawing near to leave for the church. They had a small breakfast, as none of them had much of an appetite. She only forced the food down because she worried Noah would come after them in vengeance, and she would need her strength if she was going to shake off this lethargy.

The car ride was quiet. The only thing that really stood out to her was when Ada said, "I know I said I don't want to be picking locks anymore, but if it will help somehow, then I take it back. You can call me for that."

The service was being held at the church on, of course, Rue d'Èglise. Cars filled the streets, and they had to park at the post office and walk the rest of the way. It was raining, continued from the prior afternoon. The snow was nearly melted with only larger snow banks remaining as dirty hunks of ice. Slush coated the sidewalks, the flat grey grass, every flat surface as far as the eye could see. Long before dawn, when the temperature plummets, everything would turn to thick ice. Spring up north is fickle that way. They would get at least four more coats of snow before spring stuck, as usual.

The church was bustling. It was one of those lovely old buildings with reaching spires and a somewhat weathered eggshell exterior. The wood door was thrown wide to welcome mourners. It appeared the whole town was there.

The Gaultiers, as Sam found out that afternoon, were beloved at their church—the very one they were inside—and community. She would have been the third generation of her family in their town; Amalie was an only child. Family surrounded Amalie's parents to offer privacy as they openly wept. Sam overheard a few people saying the parents wanted to bury her immediately so they could mourn her properly, since a viewing was impossible and that route of healing was cut off. She determined that last bit. Everyone else was just surprised to be holding the service so soon. Still, no one objected too much. They all understood the severity of the situation.

There was a monster in town, and everyone knew it. The men from the park were telling some men from the mill about the tracks they had found in January—Sam's tracks. Word was spreading that this animal might not be a dog after all. Not exactly. The three of them were tense navigating to a somewhat less suffocating area to stand.

The service began, and Sam didn't recall much. She had never been one for remembering religious writings, let alone spoken word. There were lots of compliments shared by the priest in his wavering voice. Her father spoke of her incredible piano skills and her time spent playing for the church choir as her mother sobbed at his side. She was struck by the likeness Amalie had inherited from her mother. The photo just beyond the woman's left shoulder could have been her in her teens.

Sam's stomach roiled for much of the event and more than once she wanted to run from the stuffy room. Even with the door wide open, the damp air could not chill the space enough. Her heart kicked uncomfortably. Surely everyone must hear it.

Aidan did. He leaned around Ada and mouthed, "Are you okay?"

Sam nodded. She would make it through this. She owed it to Amalie.

Ada caught their exchange, and a moment later her pinky brushed Sam's before she laced her fingers through Sam's own. The effect was instantaneous. Her heart slowed, the pressure forming in her mind diffusing slowly. Ada gave it a reassuring squeeze. Sam was grateful for the contact.

Time passed at a crawl. She thought the service would never end. Even when it did, there was only one door to exit through, and the throng moved at a crawl. The parents hung near the back with their relatives, receiving words of regret and apology from the stragglers. Sam and her friends were among them. She saw Mrs. Gaultier's eyes light in recognition when she saw Sam and she couldn't decipher her expression. Her husband felt her tension and followed her gaze.

Sam raised a hand in a halfhearted wave from the corner they were easing out of. Mr. Gaultier beckoned them over, and Ada released her hand to remain a step behind with Aidan.

Sam didn't know what to say beyond the standard, "I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," they echoed.

"I appreciate you coming to my daughter's ..." a sob racked the woman before she could finish. Her husband encircled her shoulders supportively.

"It means a lot that you would come today," he filled in the blank.

Sam couldn't express any of the things weighing her down without sounding like a lunatic. She chose her words carefully. "Whatever is doing this is going to be stopped."

She took Sam's left hand and squeezed with both of hers. Her short fingers explored the scars there before releasing her. "If only she could have been as lucky as you."

Something recoiled inside her. Lucky? How was this lucky? She had to put up with-

No, that wasn't important. She redirected and reminded herself the woman had just lost her daughter and knew nothing of Sam's struggle. She couldn't blame her for wishing her daughter was alive. Sam gave her her kindest smile and indicated they had to leave. She felt her friends close behind and welcomed the light mist in the air outside.