The Human Among Wolves (Aurora) novel Chapter 115

Chapter 115

Aurora

88%

I closed the book gently, the weight of it solid and cold in my hands. The leather creaked faintly under my grip, and for a second I just stood there, staring at the plain cover like it might suddenly decide to open itself and reveal all its secrets.

It didn’t. Of course it didn’t.

“Alright,” I whispered, my voice barely carrying past the space between us. The room felt too quiet. “We should get back to the dorm. It’s almost midnight.”

The girls nodded in unison, no one daring to argue. Mira’s eyes were wide, darting around the shelves as if something might crawl

out at us if we lingered too long. Riven moved first, her braid brushing over her shoulder as she headed toward the door without a

word.

I followed, tucking the book tight against my chest. My heart was pounding so hard it almost drowned out the faint hum of the

runes as I slid the rogue key back into the lock. It turned with a reluctant groan, and the door cracked open just wide enough for us

to slip through.

The hallway outside was dark and still, but I didn’t trust it. Every shadow looked sharper, every flicker of torchlight felt like it might suddenly catch us. I pocketed the key quickly and whispered, “Go.”

We didn’t run, but we walked fast enough that it may as well have been the same thing. Our footsteps echoed softly against the stone, quick and nervous. Every time the floor creaked, my stomach dropped. I half–expected to hear someone shout behind us, or

feel a hand clamp down on my shoulder.

But no one came. No one stopped us.

By the time we slipped into the safety of our dorm room and shut the door behind us, my whole body sagged like it had been strung too tight for too long. I let out a breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding.

The book was still in my hands, its weight heavy and unyielding. My fingers ached from clutching it so hard, and when I finally set it down on my desk, I noticed my hands were trembling.

Not just from the cold of the east wing. Not just from exhaustion.

From fear. Pure, sharp, undeniable fear of being caught. Of what would’ve happened if we had been.

I sank onto the edge of my bed, scrubbing both hands over my face before letting them fall into my lap.

I changed into my pajamas quickly, not bothering to fold the clothes I tossed onto the chair. The others did the same, moving around in hushed silence, the adrenaline of what we’d just done still hanging in the air like smoke. No one said much–just the shuffle of fabric, the soft creak of bedsprings.

The room was quiet except for the soft breathing of the others as they settled into their own beds. At some point, Mira whispered

something about my hands still shaking, but I just mumbled that I was fine. Whether she believed me or not, she didn’t press.

1/2

12:07 Thu, Jan 29 GB G.

Chapter 115

The exhaustion came fast and heavy. My eyes drifted shut before I realized it, and soon I was sinking.

$ .88%Ė

The corridors of the East Wing were colder than I remembered. My bare feet pressed against the stone floor, each step sending a

chill crawling up my legs. The torches along the walls burned weakly their flames guttering as though they were struggling for air.

I tightened my grip on myself and moved forward, heart thudding. I wasn’t sure why I was back here, only that I had to be.

Something was pulling me deeper, the silence heavy and expectant, Ike the air itself was holding its breath.

Then I heard it.

My name.

Aurenya.

It wasn’t loud–it was quieter than a whisper–but it brushed against my ear so close, so real, that I flinched and turned sharply. The

hallway behind me was empty.

Swallowing hard, I forced myself to keep going, the runes etched into the walls shifting as I passed them. At first they looked like

random symbols, curling and jagged, but then… I recognized them. Half–shapes I’d seen in the Latin book. Except here, they moved

on their own, twitching and reforming into something I almost understood, but not quite.

That’s when I saw it.

The book.

It wasn’t on a shelf, or on the pedestal where it belonged. It was lying in the middle of the floor like someone had placed it there deliberately. Its cover was faintly glowing, old leather cracked and rough, and across the front my name gleamed as if freshly

carved: Wells, A. – Provisional.