The town looked like it had been stitched together with salt and rust.
Wooden buildings leaned against each other like tired old men. Nets hung from fences like ghostly spiderwebs. Every door had chipped paint, and every window had something watching from behind it.
I followed Margot through the winding streets, a wicker basket swinging from one hand. The hem of her coat trailed over the cobblestones, and she walked like she had nowhere to be but was always on time anyway.
I walked half a step behind her, trying not to stare.
But they stared at me.
Not everyone. But enough.
A woman paused while hanging fish. A group of older men on crates fell quiet when we passed. A little boy peered out from a windowsill, sucking his thumb.
None of them looked angry.
Just curious. Confused.
Like I was the wrong kind of story walking through their pages.
"Do they always do that?" I muttered.
Margot didn't turn. "Do what?"
"Look like they've never seen a person walk before."
"You're not from here," she said simply. "And they notice things."
I frowned. "But I'm human now. Aren't I?"
Margot looked at me then, one brow raised. "Are you?"
I blinked. "You told me—"
"I told you to blend," she said, smirking. "Not that you're blending."
I huffed and followed her through the open-air market.
It smelled... complicated. Salted fish, seaweed, bread dough, coal smoke. Someone was roasting chestnuts nearby. My nose twitched constantly, trying to separate it all.
I'd never realized how much I relied on wolf-scent to tell me what was safe and what wasn't. Now everything just... clashed.
We stopped at a vegetable cart. Margot picked through carrots without saying a word.
"Don't look nervous," she said under her breath.
"I'm not nervous."
"You're clenching your jaw like you're about to fight a cabbage."
I snorted. "I hate this."
"Good," she said. "You'll stop caring what they think sooner."
The shopkeeper — an old man with a glass eye and sea-stained knuckles — squinted at me but said nothing. He took Margot's coins and wrapped our things in brown paper.
No words. No smiles. But no threats either.
Just silence.
We moved on.
The bakery was the only place that felt halfway warm.
It was small, crowded, and smelled like butter and cinnamon. I nearly melted on the spot. The windows fogged with steam, and the woman behind the counter gave me a genuine, open smile.
"New face," she said cheerfully. "Welcome."
Margot said nothing. Just pointed to a loaf and slid a coin across the counter.
"Name's Clara," the woman said, handing me a wrapped bun along with the bread. "You look like you needed something sweet."
I blinked. "Thank you."
Clara winked. "Come back tomorrow. I'll have honey rolls."
Margot was already halfway out the door.
I followed, biting into the bun as I walked.
"I like her," I said.
"She talks too much," Margot replied.
"You think everyone talks too much."
She didn't deny it.
We took the long way back, past quiet houses and clotheslines dancing in the wind. Far in the distance, the sea stretched out like silver glass.
I shifted the basket in my arms. "How long have you lived here?"
Margot didn't answer right away.
Then: "Long enough to be tolerated. Not long enough to be forgotten."
"That sounds exhausting."
She gave me a dry smile. "It's safer than being remembered for the wrong things."
I walked in silence after that, boots crunching over gravel.
The breeze changed. I could smell the tide again, stronger this time. It tugged something in my chest I didn't have a name for yet.
I didn't belong here.
But I wasn't sure I belonged anywhere else, either.
-----------------------------------------
The basket was lighter than yesterday.
Bread. Dried lavender. Salt blocks....Again!
Simple things.
Margot had given me a list, a few coins, and a grunt that might've meant "Don't get into trouble." And for the first time since arriving, I was walking the cobbled street alone.
The town felt different today.
Softer, maybe. Less like it was watching me. Or maybe I was just walking taller.
The baker, Clara, smiled wide when I stepped in. "She sent you again? That woman doesn't like my rolls—she just wants an excuse to send you out."
I laughed and shook my head. "She doesn't like excuses. Or sweet things."
"Well," Clara winked, handing over a fresh loaf wrapped in paper, "you look like someone who needs both."
I thanked her and moved on, weaving through the small side streets toward the herbalist's stall. The air smelled like warm grass and crushed lemon peel. Someone was stringing laundry across a line overhead — floral sheets snapping like sails.
And without thinking... I hummed.
Just a little.
A tune I didn't recognize. Low, smooth, haunting. The kind of sound that came from the back of the throat and sat in the air like a shimmer.
I stopped when I realized I was doing it.
But someone had already heard.
"Excuse me—wait."
I turned, startled.
A man in a light gray coat was weaving through the crowd toward me, long strides, black leather satchel slung over his shoulder. His hair was dark and slicked back, his eyes sharp, like he'd already filed away a hundred details about me before he even smiled.
"Sorry," he said, holding out a hand. "I didn't mean to startle you. I just—were you humming just now?"
My fingers curled tighter around the basket. "Maybe."
His smile widened. "It was beautiful. The tone. The color in it. You've had training?"
I blinked. "Training?"
"In voice," he said quickly. "Singing. Stage. Opera, maybe? Are you from the conservatory up north?"
"No," I said, confused. "I—I'm not from here."
He seemed intrigued by that. "Even better. You're untrained. Raw." He reached into his satchel and pulled out a crisp card. "Elias Carter. I scout for the Bellrow Talent Guild. Vocal, performance, musical arts. We host winter showcases, competitions, the works."
I stared at the card in my hand. I hadn't even said yes.
"I'm not..." I shook my head. "I don't sing. Not really."
He chuckled. "I think the sound you made might disagree. Come by the guildhouse. One song. That's all I ask."
"I don't know," I said softly.
He stepped back, sensing my unease. "No pressure. But voices like yours don't come often. And they don't stay hidden forever."
With that, he nodded once and disappeared into the crowd.
I stood there for a long second, the card cold between my fingers.
I folded the card and tucked it into my coat.
And walked home fast.