The old duplex stood solemn and silent, its weathered walls soaking in the somber atmosphere of the night. It wasn't much to look at—a structure that had stood for decades, with cracked paint and a roof that had seen better days. But tonight, under the flickering glow of the yellow lightbulbs strung outside on the veranda, it became something sacred. A temple of loss. A quiet sanctuary for grief. 

Nze's body lay still in the center of the veranda, dressed impeccably in one of Eli's old suits—a charcoal gray that hung too loosely on the young man's frame, a tragic reminder that this wasn't how life was supposed to go. The suit had been tailored for the living, not a boy whose story ended too soon.

The coffin—a polished wooden box Eli had built with his own hands—seemed like it carried the weight of the world. And maybe it did. Eli had crafted it for himself and Naomi, a gesture meant to be practical, forward-thinking even. He never imagined it would hold Nze, his sister Rebecca's son, the last hope for their family's legacy.

The cougars who had shifted into human form lingered around the veranda, their faces solemn, their voices low and muffled. They stood in clusters, their eyes darting toward Eli, who had become the epicenter of all this heartbreak. Some murmured words of consolation; others just clasped his shoulder in silent solidarity. They weren't just witnesses tonight—they were a community stitched together by shared sorrow. 

Naomi sat on a faded chair, her frame trembling as the neighbors, women with lined faces and crumpled handkerchiefs, tried to console her. Tears streaked down her cheeks in glistening rivulets, and her voice caught in her throat each time she tried to speak. She would steal glances at the coffin, at Eli, and then at Bee, who sat far off on the steps, a quiet observer, a shadow on the periphery of this unfolding tragedy. 

Bee was dressed in a simple black dress, borrowed from Naomi. It felt foreign against her skin, like a costume for a life she wasn't meant to play. Gone were her signature crop tops and baggy jeans—her armor against the world. Now, stripped of her usual identity, she felt exposed. She stared at Nze's lifeless form, her chest tight, her mind tangled in knots of guilt and helplessness. 

The night air was heavy with the scent of freshly turned earth and the faint metallic tang of sorrow. Eli, with his hands calloused from years of crafting wood, had dug the grave himself, his movements precise but mechanical. The six-foot hole gaped open in the backyard, a wound carved into the earth. Ebuka, a spare parts dealer Bee vaguely recognized from town, had lent his strength alongside a few other men, their muscled arms taut under the strain of shovels. They worked in grim silence, their task as much a ritual as a labor. 

It was 2AM, and the neighborhood was unusually still. Not the kind of stillness that comes with peace, but the kind that feels like the world itself is holding its breath. No dogs barked. No cars rumbled past on the distant road. Even the wind seemed to pause, as if unwilling to disturb the fragile threads holding this moment together. 

Bee's gaze met Naomi's across the veranda. For a moment, there was no sound, no movement—just two women connected by a shared understanding of pain. Naomi's eyes, swollen and red, held a question Bee couldn't answer, a plea Bee couldn't fulfill. And then Naomi looked away, dabbing at her tears with the edge of her sleeve, her shoulders shaking softly. 

Bee clenched her fists, fighting the urge to run. To be anywhere but here. This wasn't her grief to claim—she knew that. But it had tethered itself to her all the same, winding its way through her chest like a vine. She would stay. At least until Nze was buried. 

The night stretched on, dense and unrelenting, like the weight in Bee's chest. Naomi's footsteps were soft, almost hesitant, but Bee heard them anyway. She didn't look up. 

"Bee," Naomi said, her voice low and tired, the kind of tone that carried more questions than words. "What happened?" 

Bee exhaled slowly, as though the air in her lungs had been waiting for that question to escape. She wiped at her face, though she wasn't sure if the dampness on her skin was sweat, tears, or both. 

"Everything happened," Bee said, finally glancing at Naomi. "And it's all my fault." 

Naomi sat beside her, her presence calm and grounding, though her eyes betrayed a deep grief. She said nothing, waiting for Bee to fill the silence. 

Bee stared at the dirt-streaked tips of her sneakers, the borrowed dress pulling tight across her knees. "Nze came looking for me. But my brother was angry, Naomi. So angry. Arthur...he didn't see any kind of future between Nze and me. He—" She stopped, her throat closing. "Arthur let the leopards loose. He wanted to scare him off. But they didn't stop." 

Naomi stiffened beside her, the sharp intake of her breath audible even in the heavy night air. "Arthur did what?" 

Bee's hands balled into fists. "They didn't stop," she repeated, her voice cracking. "They killed him, Naomi. They tore him apart. And I—I just stood there. I couldn't do anything." 

Naomi's face contorted with shock and sorrow, her lips trembling.

"And then," Bee continued, forcing the words out as if saying them fast enough could make them hurt less, "Nyamekye came. They saw what happened. Nyamekye said they could bring him back. She promised. All I had to do was lure Iza to them—Obioma's niece. She's a blood witch." 

Naomi pulled back slightly, studying Bee as though trying to piece together this impossible puzzle. "And you did it?" 

Bee nodded, shame painting her face. "I did it. I got Iza to them. I don't even know if it worked. I haven't heard from them since. No word. No updates. Nothing." 

Naomi's hands shook as she reached for Bee's. "Do you think they can bring him back?" 

Bee looked away, her voice small. "I don't know, Naomi. I don't know anything anymore." 

The sound of the family priest calling for the burial ceremony cut through the night, his voice strong yet solemn. Naomi stood, pulling Bee up with her. "Come on," she said, her grip firm. "We have to see this through." 

The small gathering moved toward the freshly dug grave, the weight of the moment pressing on every chest. The priest began the prayer, his words carried by the wind. "May this soul find rest," he intoned, his voice steady as the coffin, simple but elegant, was prepared for lowering. 

Eli's face was carved in stone, his grief visible only in the tautness of his jaw. Naomi stood next to him, clutching a handkerchief to her mouth as silent tears streamed down her face. Bee lingered at the edge of the group, her heart a maelstrom of guilt and dread. 

The men—Ebuka among them—lifted the coffin carefully. It swayed slightly in their hands as they began to lower it. That was when it started. 

A low, rhythmic thudding. 

The first sound was faint, a soft knock that could have been mistaken for an echo of the priest's voice. But then it grew louder. A deep, guttural growl followed. Gasps rippled through the crowd as the coffin shook violently, the lid rattling as if it were alive. 

"Drop it!" one of the men yelled, his voice breaking in terror. 

They did. The coffin hit the ground with a loud thud, and the scratching inside became frantic. 

"No—" Naomi began, but the words were swallowed by a sharp, splintering crack. The lid burst apart, shards of wood flying in all directions. 

And then it emerged. 

A sleek, black were-panther leapt out, its form massive and gleaming under the faint moonlight. It was unlike anything anyone had ever seen. Bigger than any werecat, its muscles rippled beneath its onyx fur, its eyes glowing with an eerie, red light. It moved with a deadly grace, its head low, its lips curled back to reveal fangs that gleamed like knives. 

The world seemed to hold its breath. Naomi's hand clutched Eli's arm so tightly her nails dug into his skin, but he didn't notice. No one moved. No one spoke. 

The beast turned slowly, its gaze scanning the crowd until it found Bee. 

Bee's breath hitched as their eyes met. For a moment, everything fell away—the fear, the guilt, the grief. It was just her and the creature, the boy she had once known buried somewhere within the beast's red gaze. 

"Nze," she whispered, though she knew he couldn't hear her. 

The were-panther growled low, a sound that vibrated through the air, through her chest, through her very soul. And in that moment, Bee wasn't sure if she was looking at salvation or destruction.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚

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