Freya found it difficult to get through the days that followed after. While grieving the loss of her mother, she helplessly watched her little brother turn into someone much more mature. How could someone's spirit be vanquished within days, she wondered.

The effects of war.

But it hadn't been a war. It had almost been the beginning of the end but still, not a war.

Her own spirit was dismal, a barely existing candle on a window sill as the storm cleared. Freya made breakfast though she didn't have the appetite for it. But she made it anyway so that some sort of normalcy was restored, like having breakfast would help her forget that the only family she had left was her empty shell of a brother.

She put the plate down on the dining table. They were in yet another stranger's house until they could be relocated. For so long, they had been abandoned as people were killed and left to rot in the streets. Freya had found that, over time, she'd forgotten the government even existed. Those who could escape, did. While those who couldn't... Well, they clearly didn't.

But with Ace dead and the possibility that the apocalypse was over before it truly begun, what was left of the military, was back and keen on setting things back to the way they were. Like nothing had ever happened.

Freya stood up and arched her back, stretching as the morning light poured into the room.

Greg screamed from inside one of the rooms. Freya turned and made her way to him. To them, things could never go back to how they were. She opened the door, gently. Looking inside, she saw Greg moving his arms and his legs jerking around as he fought the darkness that visited him in his nightmares. She sighed and crept up beside him, putting her palm over his cold and clammy forehead.

"Shhh," she began to coo.

Greg stirred before finally opening his eyes. He sucked in a breath, hoisting himself up with his elbow before sitting up finally.

"What?" he groggily mumbled.

"Are you okay?"

Greg was too disoriented to reply immediately, staring into empty space for a while before finally blinking.

"I made breakfast," Freya moved along.

"Okay," Greg said, already getting out of bed.

"I'll see you in the dining room then?"

Greg brushed his hair back with his fingers. "I'm not hungry."

Freya looked down at the mattress for a moment, "Are you sure? You barely had any dinner..."

Greg shook his head, "No, it's fine. I'll be there in a while."

He left the room after that to use the bathroom while Freya quietly returned to the dining room. She pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. In the distance, she could hear them. Turning, she held the curtain away from the window so she could see the helicopter circling above.

"Sorry," Greg said, walking into the room. "You should have started without me."

Freya looked down at the cold food, "No, it's okay. I wanted us to eat together."

Greg hesitated but sat down, nevertheless.

"You've just been out so much-"

"Yeah, I just need the time alone," he explained, monotonously. "To process things."

"Yeah," she mumbled to herself, sliding his plate towards him.

She took her plate and broke a piece of bread, eating it mindlessly. They both finished their food in silence, Greg finishing much earlier than she did. She watched him leave after cleaning his plate and twenty minutes later, he was out of the house with his backpack.

Freya retired to the sofa and stared outside through the window, listening to slow whistle of a helicopter in the distance.

Greg settled down in a local park. He was lucky that it didn't smell as bad as it did a few days ago. They had started cleaning out the streets as an initiative to restore the world. Greg looked around himself. It was hard not to see the decomposing bodies around him or think he smelled old blood dried on the park bench.

He couldn't see the world the way he once did.

Unzipping his backpack, he pulled out a heavy purple journal and put it on his lap. The sun reflected on the gold designs that lettered the spine and front. He remembered it sticking out of Ace's collection, apart from the fact that it had especially sat on his desk, Greg knew he couldn't leave it behind before escaping from his house.

He hoped the prisoners were doing okay. With relocation happening, they would be in safe hands and on the road to building up their lives again. Greg opened the journal to the first page and ran his fingers across the paper. He wasn't sure how to rebuild his life, not after everything he had witnessed, not after losing both his parents.

Killing Ace hadn't been as satisfying as he thought it would be. He was left feeling hollow, questioning the meaning of life itself. What was his place in the world he wondered, now knowing about the existence of werewolves, witches and warlocks.

For now, he would learn his spells in the park. He would test what he learnt on plants and strange small animals he found nearby. But he wouldn't go home before dark because he had nothing to talk about with his sister. For now, new spells would do, at least to keep his mind away from the void that was eventually going to grow within him.

Days passed by without anyone noticing. The silence was finally broken by the arrival of Greg's birthday. Freya, despite the sadness she carried, felt it important to do something for Greg. The morning of his birthday was grim, raining heavily through the night up until after breakfast.

The siblings left the house with slightly heavy hearts to where they had buried their parents. Burying their mother wasn't as awful, Freya felt, as much as it was to have to retrieve their father from the tree where he hung.

But it had been important for her to bury them properly, to give them a final resting place where she could visit them and leave flowers whenever she could. Greg approached the marked gravesites slowly, after his sister and knelt down beside her.

He put the lavender down on the dirt.

Anything else would have felt too obnoxious or extravagant. The pair were silent, each talking to their guardians inside their heads. Above them, the leaves moved as left over rain droplets descended. Freya hugged her knees, looking at the hand made signs, wishing she could give them better headstones.

"I'm ready to go," Greg stood up.

Freya took a moment longer before getting up as well. "Wait, where are you going?" she asked, seeing Greg turn to leave.

"Home," he drawled.

"No, it's your birthday," she smiled a little.

"And?"

"I thought we could go and have brunch," she told him, putting her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

"You brought food?"

"Yeah," she half smiled. "Come on, it'll be nice."

Greg looked to the side, feeling slightly inconvenienced that he couldn't go and practice his magic. But for his sister's sake, he had to at least pretend to be mildly enthusiastic.

"Yeah, sounds great," he agreed.

They took the car and stopped near the house in an open field where horses once grazed. Freya carried out the basket of food from the back of the car and climbed the fence. Greg followed and both of them settled on a bench that was still wet.

Greg winced as he sat on it, feeling his trousers soak in the water immediately.

Freya pulled out some stacked sandwiches and a bottle of juice. She set a container of biscuits and two muffins before taking out the thermos of tea as well.

"Wow," Greg mumbled.

"Sorry I couldn't get a whole cake," she apologised. "I hope you like the muffin."

"Nah, it's great," he replied, unwrapping the sandwich and taking a bite.

Freya nodded slightly and unwrapped hers as well. In the distance, they were oblivious that a red truck drove towards their house.

•

Back at their house, Tristan stood in front of the fence, his hand on the wood and a cigarette in the other. Billy watched him from the car and finally joined him. Tristan offered him his cigarette without looking away from the house.

"I saw them on the way here," Billy commented, taking the cigarette from him.

Tristan remained silent.

"You can't keep doing this, Tristan," Billy said with a sigh. "You can't keep following her like this, it'll drive you insane."

"What else am I supposed to fucking do?"

"Move on, man," he replied with a shrug.

Tristan snorted, "Easy for you to say, you don't know what it's like."

"She's a human, Tristan. For Christ's sake," Billy said, looking at him. "You should have told her the minute you knew who she was."

Tristan shook his head, staring at the house.

"She's my fucking mate," Tristan said, taking the cigarette back from Billy. "I can't move on."

Billy watched him, knowing that he could never leave his mate so he wasn't surprised when Tristan said he couldn't either. "Too much shit has already happened though."

Tristan took a smoke, "I get it, I fucked up real bad."

Billy stayed quiet, folding his arms over his chest.

"She's all I think about, Billy," he said, looking at his beta. "And that won't ever change."

"What do you intend to do? Stalk her for the rest of her life?"

"She needs time," Tristan said after a while.

Billy decided to keep his mouth shut. He just didn't see it happening. Some people were just incompatible, destined for two separate paths. Looking at Tristan, he knew that he'd become obsessed with following Freya instead of facing reality.

With the pack house still being rebuilt, Tristan found that he had more time to think about Freya and often wondered if she thought about him, too.

"We should go before someone sees us, we look like fucking creeps," Billy said before walking back to the car.

Tristan threw his cigarette on the ground and pressed the sole of his boot on it before following Billy to the car.

He'd give her time and when things blew over, he'd come back.