Three months earlier…
The sun poured through the tall windows of the high school, casting geometric patterns across the dull tile floors of the third-floor science wing. It should've been a normal Tuesday. Just another day of dragging themselves through homework, lukewarm cafeteria pizza, and the occasional rogue paper airplane.
But normal was never in the cards for the quintuplets.
Especially not when Forrest got bored.
"Opal!" he whisper-shouted from the back of the classroom.
She didn't look up from her notebook. "No."
"You didn't even let me say anything yet!"
"I didn't need to."
Forrest slid dramatically into the chair beside her, half-laying across the desk like a man in a perfume commercial. "Hear me out. I added Pop Rocks to my soda and now I'm vibrating at a frequency only dogs can hear."
Opal raised an eyebrow. "And the science teacher hasn't banned you from class why?"
"Because I'm his favorite."
From across the room, Mr. Greeley yelled without looking up, "No, Forrest, you're not."
"Told you," Opal muttered.
Meanwhile, across the hall in history class, Ash leaned casually against a row of lockers, arms folded, one eyebrow arched just right. His silver eyes sparkled with mischief and confidence in equal measure as he chatted with Emma Tresswell, the junior who somehow still blushed every time he smirked.
"…So after practice I ended up running three extra laps just to work off the adrenaline," Ash was saying, his voice low and easy. "Coach was impressed. Said I had Alpha-level stamina."
Emma giggled, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Wow. That's… really impressive."
Ridge, walking by, groaned audibly. "Your flirting gives me secondhand cardiac events."
Ash didn't even blink. "You're just mad because your love life is a tragic poem."
"And yours is a soap opera starring your ego," Ridge shot back.
Ash grinned. "Still pulling better ratings, though."
Back in the library, Brooks was deep in an academic black hole. His glasses were halfway down his nose, his expression laser-focused on a worn copy of Lycanthropic Lineage: A Study of Ancient Bloodlines. At least four different colored highlighters were in play, and a stack of post-it notes taller than most of their classmates towered beside him.
Ridge dropped into the seat across from him with a sigh. "Brooks, it's lunch. Come eat. Or blink. Or live."
"One second," Brooks mumbled, flipping a page. "Did you know the gene expression for enhanced auditory perception spikes right before a first shift? I think I'm getting that. I heard Forrest sneeze from two classrooms over."
"That wasn't a sneeze," Ridge said. "He tried to blow up a bag of chips by sitting on it."
Brooks didn't even look up. "Honestly… not surprising."
Ridge pinched the bridge of his nose. "If I don't graduate with some kind of therapy stipend for being related to you people, I'm suing."
Just then, Forrest burst through the library doors.
"Okay, okay, hear me out!" he announced to no one in particular. "What if—what if—we convince the lunch staff to add chili dogs to the menu and name them after me?"
"Absolutely not," Opal said, entering just behind him.
"I've earned this," Forrest declared. "People need to taste my legacy."
"You literally caused a fire drill last week because you wanted to see if glitter was flammable," Ridge snapped.
"It's not my fault it burned so beautifully," Forrest said with a wistful sigh.
Brooks leaned over to Opal and whispered, "Did you see what he wrote on the bathroom wall this morning?"
She shook her head.
Brooks handed her a photo he'd taken for "documentation." It read:
"If you're reading this, you've just walked into destiny. Or the wrong bathroom. Either way—welcome."
Underneath it was a crude doodle of a wolf howling at a burrito.
Opal snorted. "He's unhinged."
Forrest, sensing he was being discussed, whipped around. "I am the wind beneath your wings. You're welcome."
"Please stop talking," Ridge said, sliding a book over his face.
The school bell rang, and like a wave crashing on the shore, the chaos scattered into the hallway. The five of them drifted into the current of students, swept toward lockers and afterschool plans, casual banter and scribbled tests. Just another day. Just another Tuesday.
Opal lingered behind the others, one hand tracing the metal edge of her locker, her eyes scanning the hallway, watching her brothers bicker, tease, and argue like they always had.
There was something sacred in the noise of it all. In the way Brooks rolled his eyes but still handed Forrest a granola bar. In how Ash ruffled Ridge's hair just to provoke him, and how Ridge kicked him in the shin in return. How Forrest sprinted ahead only to stop, wait, and walk beside them again like he hadn't just nearly taken out three freshmen.
They were loud. They were messy.
But they were together.
Opal smiled faintly.
And then her expression shifted, something solemn slipping behind her eyes.
She leaned her head back against the locker and whispered to no one—
"This is not how I thought our eighteenth birthday would go."
The hallway outside the library bustled with end-of-day chatter—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, voices rising in layered laughter. Opal hung back just far enough to watch her brothers unravel into their usual chaos.
Ash was leaning casually against the lockers again—because of course he was. His sleeves were rolled up just enough to show off his forearms (accidentally-on-purpose, Opal was sure), and Emma Tresswell had practically sprouted hearts in her eyes.
Opal pretended to dig something out of her bag, purely so she could listen.
"So, um," Emma said, brushing a strand of perfectly curled blonde hair behind her ear, "your birthday's coming up."
Ash raised an eyebrow, full of practiced charm. "Is it?"
Emma giggled. "You know it is. The whole school's talking about that party Luna Lila throws every year for the heirs."
Ash tilted his head. "Oh, that little thing."
"She always goes all out, right?" Emma asked, her voice laced with excitement. "Like, ballroom glamour? Floating lanterns? Live music? I heard last year she imported orchids from Greece."
"True," Ash said smoothly. "And the year before that, she had a fire dancer from Paris. I'm still not sure that guy was entirely sober."
Opal, still pretending to dig through her bag, rolled her eyes so hard she nearly sprained something.
Emma clasped her hands together. "So, like… I was wondering if maybe… I could be your date?"
Ash didn't miss a beat. "Emma, if you show up in that red dress you wore to spring formal, the party might actually implode from your entrance alone."
Opal made an audible gagging sound. Ash smirked. Emma giggled.
Just down the hall, Forrest slammed his locker shut and yelled, "BREAKING NEWS: I've decided to arrive to our birthday party on the back of a live swan!"
Brooks, walking past with a stack of textbooks, didn't even blink. "Swan-based transportation is impractical and ethically questionable."
"I'm naming her Lady Quackington," Forrest added, unbothered.
"Swans don't quack," Brooks said without missing a beat.
"She will."
Opal shook her head. "You're all insane."
Ridge appeared beside her with a bored sigh. "What's new?"
They hadn't even known where the party would be yet—probably the Grand Hall, with its glass ceiling and Moon Goddess statue, lit up by thousands of soft white lights. Opal could already see it: guests in shimmering dresses and pressed suits, trays of sparkling cider, and her brothers absolutely bathing in the attention.
Ash would be front and center, giving a speech no one asked for.
Forrest would try to spike the punch and likely get tackled by Ridge halfway through.
Brooks would awkwardly hover by the refreshment table, explaining to someone why the color of the moon that night had astrological significance.
And Opal?
She'd find the darkest corner in the whole place. Maybe under the dessert table. Or in a supply closet with a book and a noise-canceling spell.
That's what she thought eighteen would look like.
Laughter. Light. Family. Music.
Now
The clearing was quiet.
Too quiet.
No glittering chandeliers. No imported orchids. No Lady Quackington.
Only wind, trees, and the thick ache in their chests.
Opal sat cross-legged in the grass, the morning sun barely clearing the treetops. Her knees were hugged tight to her chest, her crescent moon bracelet dull in the light. A breeze rolled through the clearing, catching her hair and the edge of her sweater.
Brooks sat beside her, sketching symbols in the dirt with a stick—not even aware of what he was drawing. Ash stood a few paces away, arms folded, gaze locked on the distant ridge. Ridge paced slowly in a circle, not saying a word.
And Forrest…
Forrest lay flat on the grass, arms flung out wide, staring up at the sky like he was expecting it to suddenly burst into fireworks.
"Happy birthday to us," he muttered. "We are officially adult werewolves. All five of us. Just like Mom always dreamed."
No one spoke.
Then, "I was gonna bring party hats," Forrest added. "Y'know. As a joke."
Ash let out a sound that was half laugh, half sigh.
"Bet the cake would've been amazing," Ridge said quietly.
"Dad would've cried the whole time," Opal added, managing a smile.
Brooks looked up. "Do you think they're thinking about us? Right now?"
"Of course," Ash said. "They never stopped."
Silence settled again.
And then, Opal spoke softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"This isn't how I thought our eighteenth birthday would go."
For a moment, no one replied.
Then Forrest rolled onto his side and said, "I blame you. You didn't bring snacks."
Opal blinked. "Excuse me?"
"If you had brought birthday cupcakes," he said solemnly, "the universe might've rewarded us with a portal back to the real party."
Brooks snorted. "That's not how portals work."
Ash turned and smirked. "Pretty sure Forrest is the reason the universe said, 'No gifts this year.'"
"Okay, rude," Forrest said, sitting up and brushing dirt off his back. "I am a delight and you're lucky to have me."
"We are," Ridge said, quietly but sincerely.
They looked at each other for a moment—these five siblings, bruised but not broken. Their party was dirt and sunlight, silence and memories. But they were still here.
Still together.
No fireworks. No floating lanterns.
Just them.
And that… was enough.