The Hyde let out a guttural roar and sprang forward.
Oliver met it head-on.
The two collided with a heavy thud, both immediately grabbing for leverage rather than landing clean, cinematic blows.
It looked more like two angry animals trying to overpower each other.
The Hyde snapped its jaws at Oliver’s shoulder while clawing at him with both hands.
Oliver shoved it away, only for the creature to immediately lunge back, wrapping an arm around him as they crashed into the forest floor.
They rolled through dirt and fallen leaves.
Oliver forced the Hyde off him with sheer strength, but before he could regain his footing, the creature tackled him again.
“What the hell—”
They slammed into a tree together.
The Hyde growled, trying to sink its teeth into Oliver’s neck.
Oliver caught its jaw with both hands, straining to keep the snapping mouth inches from his face.
“…Seriously?”
He shoved with everything he had, forcing the Hyde backward.
The creature skidded across the leaves before dropping onto all fours, circling him with a low growl.
Oliver spat dirt from his mouth.
“I’ve had fights with stray dogs that looked more organized than this.”
The Hyde threw back its head and let out one final roar.
Then it turned and disappeared into the darkness of the forest.
Oliver stayed where he was, listening carefully.
His enhanced hearing stretched through the woods, searching for heavy footsteps or another growl.
Nothing.
The sounds of the forest slowly returned — wind through the trees, insects chirping, leaves rustling under small animals.
He let out a breath and leaned against the nearest tree, one hand clutching his stomach.
“I think I swallowed a bug,” Oliver groaned, bending forward.
“Something definitely crawled into my mouth during that fight.” He spat onto the ground several times and wiped his lips.
“I’m disgusted.”
Wednesday watched him with the same blank expression she always wore.
“Is that the only thing you’re capable of feeling after being attacked by a monster?”
“I think swallowing a bug during a fight is a perfectly valid reason to be disgusted.”
“If anything, the homicidal monster should concern you more.” She glanced toward the direction the Hyde had fled.
“Humans willingly consume a remarkable number of disgusting things every day. Compared to the average diet, a single insect is relatively unremarkable.”
Oliver stared at her.
“…That’s not helping.”
“I wasn’t trying to.”
Oliver grimaced and rubbed his stomach.
“I still want to throw up.” He looked at her.
“So… you still want to leave?”
Wednesday looked at him as if he’d asked whether gravity was optional.
“Why would I?”
“You wanted to leave Nevermore an hour ago?”
“That was before new three variables presented themselves.” She raised one finger.
“First, a prophecy identifies me as the catalyst for Nevermore’s destruction.” A second finger.
“Second, there’s a homicidal creature roaming these woods. I was raised on autopsy reports and monster lore. Encountering one in its natural habitat is preferable to reading about it.”
She says that like she’s discussing birdwatching.
“And the third?” Oliver asked.
“If I already knew, it wouldn’t qualify as a variable.” She shifted her gaze toward Rowan’s unconscious body.
“Our immediate concern is explaining why he’s unconscious and why we’re standing over him.”
“So you have a plan?”
“I intend to tell the truth.”
Oliver stared at her.
“…That’s your plan?”
“The truth is consistently dismissed as fiction. Human beings have an unfortunate dependence on comforting lies. It’s one of their more predictable flaws.”
***
Wednesday recounted everything to Principal Weems while Rowan was being loaded into the ambulance on a stretcher.
When she finished, Weems stared at her for a long moment.
“Wednesday,” she said at last, “do I look like I was born yesterday?”
Wednesday examined her face with clinical attention.
Oliver closed his eyes.
She’s doing it again.
Weems pinched the bridge of her nose.
“That wasn’t the question.”
“It was the one you asked.”
“The point,” Weems said, patience thinning, “is that your story is impossible to believe.”
“Truth isn’t obligated to be believable.” Wednesday turned and pointed at Oliver without hesitation.
“There was a witness. Him.”
Every pair of eyes shifted to Oliver.
He blinked.
“…Seriously?”
“You were present for the entire incident. That qualifies you as a witness.”
Oliver let out a weary sigh.
I wish she’d stop volunteering me for things.
Weems’ gaze settled on him.
“Mr. Oliver. Is there any truth to Miss Addams’ story?”
Oliver looked from Weems to Wednesday.
Wednesday’s expression remained completely impassive.
She wasn’t asking him to lie.
She fully expected him to tell the truth.
Whether anyone believed it was an entirely different matter.
Oliver told the truth.
It didn’t go well.
Not only did it fail to earn him any credit, but it somehow made things worse.
Instead of being believed, Principal Weems concluded that both he and Wednesday would benefit from mandatory sessions with Dr.
Kinbott.
Apparently, witnessing a monster was less believable than two teenagers sharing the same delusion.
Oliver wasn’t sure what offended him more — the accusation or the therapy.