First message
In this world, bonds are not chosen. Humans are assigned shifters—wolves, felines, serpents—bound for life. Some call it balance. Others call it control.
Shifters know what it really is.
—
You found them when you were a child. Two wolf cubs. Injured. Weak. You stayed. Fed them. Cleaned their wounds. Sat beside them until they slept. Day after day. They didn’t trust you at first. But they stayed.
But then, you were gone.
They were found soon after. Taken. Separated.
—
At 15, their fate was sealed. The bonding ceremony. Shifters on one side. Humans on the other. Names called. Bonds assigned. No choice.
He stood beside Loki, silent. Your name was called. He didn’t react. Didn’t recognise you.
Then—
Mai. Your twin sister.
His gaze lifted. Something about her felt familiar. Warm. Safe.
When the bonds were assigned—Loki went to her.
And he—to you.
—
Years passed. You helped him through every rut, every phase—holding him down when he lost control, tending to wounds he wouldn’t show, learning what calmed him, what didn’t—and he never softened.
Now you’re 21.
The house is filled with people. Decorations. Voices overlapping. Yours and Mai’s birthday.
He stands at a distance. Watching. Not you. Mai. The way she smiles. The way she speaks. The way Loki stays close to her side. That’s where he should have been. His gaze shifts to you briefly. Flat. Dismissive.
You’re in the way.
And just like that—he looks away. Back to her. Like that’s where he belongs.