The gate loomed above us like the jaw of some ancient beast.

Black iron, twisted into the shapes of wolves mid-howl, their metal mouths frozen open in eternal silence. Beyond it, a driveway stretched into darkness, lined with trees that seemed to lean inward, watching.

Lukas had already stepped off the bus. He didn't look back at me. Didn't need to. His warning still buzzed in my ears like poison.

You should be afraid.

I grabbed my suitcase and followed.

The building emerged from the fog like a ghost taking shape.

Gothic. Massive. The kind of architecture that belonged in old European paintings-spires that pierced the clouds, arched windows glowing with amber light, stone walls covered in climbing ivy that looked centuries old. A clock tower rose from the center, its face illuminated by the moon, the hands frozen at midnight.

Silvermoon Academy.

The name was carved into a stone arch above the main entrance, the letters filled with what looked like real silver.

I stopped walking. My suitcase wheels caught on a crack in the cobblestone path, and I just... stood there. Staring.

This wasn't a school. This was a cathedral. A fortress. A place that had existed for centuries before I was born and would exist for centuries after I was dust.

"First time?"

The voice came from behind me. I turned.

The girl from the bus-the one with the braided blonde hair and the porcelain face-was looking at me with an expression I couldn't read. Not friendly. Not hostile. Curious, maybe.

"Yeah," I said. "Is it that obvious?"

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You're the only one who brought a suitcase like that."

I looked down at my bag. Cheap nylon. Bright purple. A gift from my mother two birthdays ago, already fraying at the seams.

Around me, other students were unloading sleek black luggage-leather, metal corners, monograms I couldn't read. One boy carried nothing but a small wooden chest engraved with runes.

"Oh," I said.

"Yeah," the girl replied. "Oh."

She walked away without introducing herself. I watched her go, her silver uniform jacket catching the light, and felt something heavy settle in my stomach.

I didn't belong here.

I'd known that before I got on the plane. But now, standing in the shadow of this impossible building, surrounded by students who moved like they'd been born to walk these grounds, the truth hit me like a physical blow.

What am I doing here?

The orientation was held in the Great Hall.

I'd never seen anything like it.

The ceiling was so high it disappeared into shadow. Chandeliers made of antlers and black crystals hung from invisible chains, casting pale light across rows of wooden benches. A massive fireplace dominated one wall, large enough to stand inside, flames roaring despite the fact that no one had added wood since I'd arrived.

And everywhere-everywhere-were eyes.

Hundreds of them. Blue, brown, green, gray, amber. Some human. Some not. They watched me as I walked in, as I found a seat in the very back row, as I tried to make myself small.

It didn't work.

Whispers followed me like a shadow.

"Is that her? The human?"

"I heard she doesn't even know what she is."

"Pathetic. She won't last a week."

"Look at her. She's so... soft."

That last one came from a boy with sharp cheekbones and a cruel smile. He was sitting three rows ahead, but he turned around to look at me as he said it, his eyes dragging over my body like he was cataloging every flaw.

I looked away.

My face was burning. My hands were shaking. I pressed them between my thighs to hide the tremors.

Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't let them see you cry.

Headmaster Aldric Vane stood at the front of the hall.

He was old-older than anyone I'd ever seen. His hair was white as snow, his face lined like ancient parchment, but his eyes... his eyes were young. Sharp. Gold-flecked and alive in a way that made my skin crawl.

He didn't use a microphone. He didn't need to. When he spoke, his voice filled every corner of the hall, vibrating in my chest like a second heartbeat.

"Welcome," he said, "to Silvermoon Academy."

The room fell silent. Even the flames in the fireplace seemed to still.

"For three centuries, this institution has trained the finest young shifters in the world. Here, you will learn control. You will learn strength. You will learn what it means to carry the blood of the wolf."

His gaze swept across the room-and stopped on me.

I felt it like a hand around my throat.

"This year," he continued, "we welcome an unprecedented class. Students from seventeen countries. Bloodlines that span continents. And one student who carries no wolf blood at all."

The whispers exploded.

"I told you. Human."

"Disgusting. She shouldn't be here."

"How did she even get in?"

Headmaster Vane raised his hand. Silence fell again.

"Ela Demir is here under the Sacred Blood Accord," he said. "Her presence is not a mistake. It is not an accident. She has as much right to be here as any of you."

He paused.

"Whether she has the strength to stay-that remains to be seen."

The rest of orientation passed in a blur.

Rules. Schedules. House assignments. Something about lunar cycles and monthly rites and forbidden territories I was definitely going to accidentally wander into.

I didn't retain any of it.

All I could feel were the eyes. Always the eyes. Boring into the back of my head, sliding across my skin like insects.

When the headmaster finally dismissed us, I grabbed my suitcase and fled.

The dormitory was called Moonshadow Hall.

It was smaller than the main building, older, tucked behind a grove of birch trees that glowed white in the darkness. The windows were narrow, the stone walls covered in moss, and the door groaned when I pushed it open like it was complaining about having to let me in.

My room was on the third floor. Number 317.

I climbed the stairs-no elevator, of course-and fumbled with the key until the lock clicked open.

The room was small but beautiful.

A single bed with dark gray sheets. A wooden desk beneath a window that faced the forest. A wardrobe carved with wolf motifs. A fireplace that was already lit, casting warm shadows across the floor.

Someone had left a plate of food on the desk. Bread, cheese, an apple, a glass of water.

I sat down on the bed and stared at it.

They expect me to fail.

That's what the headmaster meant. That's what the whispers meant. They didn't think I belonged here, and they were waiting for me to prove them right.

I picked up the apple. Took a bite.

It was the sweetest thing I'd ever tasted.

I must have fallen asleep.

I didn't remember lying down, but suddenly I was horizontal, my cheek pressed against the rough fabric of the pillow, my shoes still on, my suitcase still open on the floor.

The fire had died down to embers.

The room was cold.

And someone was watching me.

I felt it before I opened my eyes-that primal awareness, the same one that had woken me the night the wolf appeared at my window. A presence. Heavy. Hungry.

I opened my eyes.

He was standing in the doorway.

Not Lukas. Someone else. Someone taller, broader, darker. His hair was the color of winter wheat, almost white-blonde, falling across a face that looked like it had been carved from ice and anger. High cheekbones. A jaw sharp enough to cut. Lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line.

But it was his eyes that stopped my heart.

Blue.

Not the soft blue of summer skies. Not the warm blue of shallow seas.

Ice blue. The blue of glaciers. The blue of something ancient and cold and utterly without mercy.

He was looking at me like I was a bug he wanted to crush.

I sat up so fast my head spun.

"Who are you?" I asked. My voice came out smaller than I wanted. Smaller than I was.

He didn't answer. Just stood there, filling the doorway with his impossible height, his arms crossed over a chest that strained the fabric of his black uniform.

"Wrong room," I tried again. "You must have the wrong-"

"You're the human."

His voice was low. Rough. Accented-Russian, maybe, or something close to it. And flat. Completely flat, like he was stating a fact he found personally offensive.

"I-yes. I'm Ela."

"I know who you are."

He took a step into the room.

I pulled my knees to my chest, pressing myself against the headboard. Every instinct I had was screaming at me to run, but there was nowhere to go. He was between me and the door.

"You shouldn't be here," he said.

"That's what everyone keeps telling me."

"Everyone is right."

He took another step. The firelight caught his face, and I saw something move beneath his skin. A ripple. A shift. Like his bones were rearranging themselves under his flesh.

My breath caught.

"What are you?" I whispered.

He stopped two feet from the bed. Looked down at me. And for a moment-just a moment-something flickered in those ice-blue eyes. Something almost human.

Then it was gone.

"Stay out of my way," he said. "Stay out of everyone's way. And maybe-maybe-you'll survive the semester."

He turned and walked out without closing the door.

I sat there, shaking, listening to his footsteps fade down the hallway.

Nikolai.

I didn't know his name yet. But I would. I would learn it the way you learn the shape of a knife that's been pressed against your throat.

I couldn't sleep after that.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the way he'd looked at me. The contempt. The warning. The something else underneath, the thing that had flickered and died before I could name it.

The fire had gone out completely now. The room was dark except for the moonlight filtering through the window.

I should close the curtains.

I should lock the door.

I should do a lot of things.

Instead, I just lay there, frozen, waiting for morning.

The bed shifted.

I sat up, heart hammering.

Something was wrong. Something was in the bed with me. Something cold and wet and-

I threw back the covers.

And screamed.

The sound tore out of my throat before I could stop it, raw and animal, bouncing off the stone walls.

There was a wolf in my bed.

Not a full-grown wolf. Not the massive gray beast from my window in Istanbul.

A pup. A baby wolf, its fur still soft and dark, its eyes still closed.

Its throat had been cut.

Blood soaked my sheets, dark and thick, spreading across the mattress like spilled wine. The pup's body was still warm. Still limp. Still fresh.

Someone had put it here while I was asleep.

Someone had watched me lie next to a dying animal and done nothing.

I scrambled off the bed, stumbled backward, hit the wall. My legs gave out. I slid to the floor, my hands pressed over my mouth, my whole body shaking.

The door was still open.

The hallway was dark.

And somewhere in the shadows, I heard a sound.

Laughter.

Soft. Distant. Cruel.

I pressed my back against the wall and pulled my knees to my chest, and for the first time since I'd arrived at Silvermoon Academy, I let myself cry.

Not because I was scared.

Because I finally understood.

This wasn't a school.

This was a battlefield.

And someone had just drawn first blood.

I didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the pup. Its tiny body. Its sl*t throat. The way its blood had spread across my sheets like something alive, reaching for me, claiming me.

But when the morning light finally crept through my window, I looked at the bed.

The sheets were clean.

No blood. No fur. No body.

Just crisp white linen, freshly washed, folded neatly over a mattress that showed no sign of what had happened just hours ago.

I stood there for a long time, staring.

Had I imagined it?

No. I hadn't imagined the cold wetness against my leg. I hadn't imagined the scream that had torn from my throat. I hadn't imagined the laughter from the hallway.

Someone had been here.

Someone had cleaned up their mess.

And that someone wanted me to question my sanity.

A uniform was laid out on my desk.

Gray jacket with silver buttons. White blouse. Black skirt that fell just above the knee. Knee-high boots made of soft leather that molded to my calves like they'd been custom-made.

No note. No explanation.

I put it on.

The fabric was heavier than it looked, warm despite its thinness. When I moved, I could feel something shift against my skin-runes, maybe, or symbols sewn into the lining. Protective magic.

Or maybe I was imagining things now.

Maybe the wolf pup had been a hallucination.

Maybe the boy with ice-blue eyes had been a dream.

Maybe I was losing my mind.

The dining hall was worse than the Great Hall.

Bigger. Louder. More crowded.

Hundreds of students sat at long wooden tables, laughing, talking, throwing food across the aisle at each other. The ceiling was painted with a mural of wolves running across a moonlit sky, their eyes following me as I walked.

I kept my head down. Found an empty seat at the end of the farthest table. Sat down without looking at anyone.

"What's a human doing at Silvermoon?"

The voice came from my left. A girl with cropped black hair and a nose ring was staring at me like I'd just crawled out of a sewer.

"I'm a student," I said.

"Students have wolf blood." She leaned closer, sniffed. "You don't. So what are you?"

I didn't have an answer.

She laughed-a short, sharp sound-and turned back to her friends. They whispered behind their hands. Pointed. Stared.

I stared at my plate.

Bread. Cheese. Some kind of roasted meat I didn't recognize. It smelled good, but my stomach was too tight to eat.

"Heads up. The alphas are coming."

The whisper rippled through the hall like wind through grass. Heads turned. Conversations stopped. Even the girl with the nose ring shut her mouth.

I looked up.

Four boys were walking through the center of the dining hall.

They moved like they owned the place. Because they did.

The first one I recognized immediately. Lukas. The blonde from the bus. He was smiling that same empty smile, his green eyes sweeping across the room like he was cataloging every face. A girl reached out to touch his arm as he passed. He didn't acknowledge her.

The second one was new.

Dark skin. Close-cropped black hair. A silver ring through his left nostril that caught the light. He wasn't as tall as Lukas, but he moved with a quiet grace that made him seem larger than he was. His eyes were brown-warm brown, like coffee with cream-and they found me immediately.

He didn't look away.

The third one walked like he didn't care about anything.

Messy dark hair, falling across his forehead. A leather jacket over his uniform, zipped halfway, showing a t-shirt underneath with a band logo I didn't recognize. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, his eyes half-closed like he was bored out of his mind.

And the fourth-

The fourth was him.

The boy from my doorway. The one with ice-blue eyes and the face carved from winter.

He wasn't looking at me. He wasn't looking at anyone. His jaw was set, his hands clenched at his sides, his whole body radiating a voltage of pure, unfiltered hostility.

The four of them reached the center of the hall and stopped.

Lukas raised his hand.

The room went silent.

"Good morning, Silvermoon," he said, his voice carrying without effort. "As you all know, the trials begin next week. Four alphas. One throne." He smiled, showing teeth. "May the best wolf win."

A cheer went up. Students pounded the tables. Someone howled.

I watched the other three alphas. The dark-skinned one was still looking at me. The bored one had closed his eyes completely. And the ice-eyed one-

He was looking at me now.

And he looked furious.

The dark-skinned alpha found me after breakfast.

I was walking back to my dorm, trying to memorize the path, when he fell into step beside me like he'd been there all along.

"You're Ela."

Not a question. Just like Lukas on the bus.

"I'm Kai," he said before I could respond. "Kai Wilder. I'm sorry about how people are treating you."

I stopped walking. "You're sorry?"

He stopped too, turning to face me. Up close, his eyes weren't just brown. They were flecked with gold, like sunlight through autumn leaves. And his face-his face was kind. Genuinely kind, not the performative kindness I'd learned to recognize in people who wanted something.

"Silvermoon isn't easy for anyone," he said. "But for someone like you..." He trailed off, searching for words. "It's going to be harder than you think."

"Someone like me," I repeated. "You mean human."

"I mean alone."

The word hit harder than I expected.

I looked down at my boots. "I'm used to being alone."

"I don't think you are," Kai said quietly. "I think you've been alone for so long you've forgotten what it feels like to not be."

I didn't know what to say to that.

He didn't wait for an answer. He just nodded once, turned, and walked away.

I stood there for a full minute, watching him go.

Kai Wilder.

The first person at this school who hadn't looked at me like I was a disease.

Lukas cornered me in the library.

I'd gone there to hide-to find a quiet corner where no one could stare at me, whisper about me, throw things at me. But the moment I walked through the door, he was there, leaning against a bookshelf like he'd been waiting.

"Ela." That smile. That empty, beautiful smile. "You look lost."

"I'm fine."

"Are you?" He pushed off from the shelf and walked toward me, slow and easy, like a wolf circling prey. "Because from where I'm standing, you look like someone who just realized they've made a terrible mistake."

"I haven't made a mistake."

"No?" He stopped inches from me. Close enough that I could smell him-pine and snow and something darker underneath. "Then why are you hiding in the library instead of eating lunch? Why are your hands shaking? Why do you look like you haven't slept in days?"

I stepped back. "That's none of your business."

"Everything at Silvermoon is my business." He tilted his head, studying me. "I told you on the bus, Ela. You should be afraid. But you should also know-" He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers brushing my skin. "-not everyone here wants to hurt you. Some of us want to help."

"Like you?"

"Especially me."

He smiled again, and this time there was something real underneath it. Something hungry. Something patient.

Then he walked away, leaving me standing in the stacks with my heart pounding and my skin burning where he'd touched me.

I met Thorne in the courtyard.

He was sitting on a stone bench, alone, sharpening a knife with a whetstone. The blade caught the sunlight, throwing silver flashes across his face.

He didn't look up when I approached.

"You're Thorne," I said.

"Congratulations. You can read name tags."

I blinked. "I-"

"Look, human." He finally looked up, and his eyes were gray-dark gray, like storm clouds. "I don't care who you are or why you're here. I don't care about your problems, your feelings, or your inevitable breakdown. Just stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours."

He went back to sharpening his knife.

I stood there for a moment, waiting for something else. A joke. An explanation. Anything.

Nothing.

"Okay," I said finally. "I'll stay out of your way."

"Good."

I turned to leave.

"And Ela?"

I looked back.

Thorne's gray eyes met mine. For just a second, the coldness cracked, and I saw something underneath. Something tired. Something broken.

"The pup in your bed," he said quietly. "That wasn't a threat. That was a promise. Leave before they make good on it."

He stood up, pocketed his knife, and walked away without another word.

The sun was setting by the time I made it back to Moonshadow Hall.

I was exhausted. Emotionally drained. Every interaction today had been a battle-against whispers, against stares, against the constant weight of not belonging.

I just wanted to sleep.

But when I reached the bottom of the stairs, he was there.

Nikolai.

Standing in the shadows of the staircase, his arms crossed, his ice-blue eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath catch.

"Not you again," I said.

He didn't respond. Just kept staring.

"What do you want?" I tried to sound braver than I felt. "If you're going to threaten me, just do it and leave me alone."

He moved.

So fast I didn't see it. One moment he was ten feet away. The next, he was right in front of me, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his body, could see the tiny scar above his left eyebrow, could count the flecks of darker blue in his irises.

I froze.

He leaned down.

And inhaled.

Right next to my neck. Right where my pulse hammered against my skin. His nose brushed my throat, and I felt his breath-warm, uneven, almost shaky.

"What are you-"

"Your scent," he murmured.

His voice was different now. Rougher. Lower. Like the words were being dragged out of him against his will.

"Why does it smell so familiar?"

My heart stopped.

He pulled back just enough to look at my face. His eyes were wild. Confused. Hungry. The same look I'd seen in the wolf at my window-the one that had nodded at me like it knew something I didn't.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I whispered.

"Liar."

He stepped back. Then another step. Then another, his hands opening and closing at his sides like he was physically restraining himself.

"I can't-" He shook his head, jaw clenching. "I can't be near you."

"Then don't be."

"You think I have a choice?"

His voice cracked on the last word.

Then he turned and walked away.

Not slowly. Not casually. He fled. His long legs eating up the distance, his shoulders rigid, his hands shoved into his pockets like he was trying to keep them from reaching for me.

I watched him go until the shadows swallowed him.

And I stood there, in the dark, with my hand pressed to my throat where his breath had touched my skin.

His scent.

Why does it smell so familiar?

I didn't have an answer.

But something told me I was going to find out.

And I wasn't going to like it.

The combat training arena was a nightmare.

A massive circular pit sunk into the ground, lined with stone bleachers that rose toward the ceiling like the tiers of an ancient colosseum. The floor was packed dirt, stained dark in places I didn't want to think about. Weapons hung on the walls-swords, daggers, staffs, things I couldn't name-all of them gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights.

And standing in the center of it all was Instructor Morwen.

She was tall. Broad-shouldered. Her gray hair cropped short, her face a roadmap of old scars. When she smiled, it looked like she was imagining all the ways she could kill you.

"Welcome," she said, her voice carrying through the arena without a microphone, "to your first combat trial."

The students around me shifted nervously. There were maybe forty of us, standing in loose clusters on the arena floor. Most of them were already in athletic gear-tight leggings, tank tops, bare feet. I was still in my uniform, because no one had told me to dress differently.

"At Silvermoon," Morwen continued, "we do not coddle. We do not wait. We throw you into the fire and see if you emerge as ash or as steel."

She walked along the edge of the pit, her boots leaving prints in the dirt.

"Today's exercise is simple. One on one. No weapons. No shifting. Just you, your opponent, and the will to win."

My stomach dropped.

One on one?

I looked around at the other students. They were stretching, cracking their knuckles, exchanging confident smirks. A girl with a shaved head and arms covered in tattoos was doing lunges, her muscles rippling under her skin.

I couldn't fight. I'd never thrown a punch in my life. The closest I'd come to violence was when I'd pushed a boy in fifth grade for pulling my hair, and even then I'd apologized immediately.

"Ela Demir."

Morwen's voice cut through my panic.

I looked up. She was staring directly at me.

"You're first."

The other students climbed the bleachers.

I stood alone in the pit, my arms wrapped around myself, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my teeth.

Morwen gestured to the opposite side of the arena. A door opened, and a girl walked through.

She was beautiful in a sharp, predatory way. Long black hair pulled into a high ponytail. Almond-shaped eyes the color of honey. A body that looked like it had been sculpted for combat-lean, muscular, balanced.

I recognized her. She'd been at the table next to mine in the dining hall. The one who'd laughed when the girl with the nose ring called me a human.

"Freya," Morwen announced. "Wolf-born. Third-generation Silvermoon legacy. Undefeated in junior sparring."

Freya smiled. It was the smile of someone who enjoyed causing pain.

"And Ela," Morwen continued. "Human. No combat experience. No wolf blood. No chance."

The bleachers erupted in laughter.

I felt my face burn.

"Begin," Morwen said.

Freya didn't rush.

She walked toward me slowly, deliberately, like she had all the time in the world. Her eyes swept over me-my soft stomach, my thick thighs, my trembling hands-and her smile widened.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'll make it quick."

I backed away. "I don't want to fight you."

"That's not how this works."

She lunged.

I didn't even see the punch coming. Her fist connected with my ribs, and the air exploded out of my lungs. I stumbled sideways, gasping, my hand pressed to my side.

"One," Freya said.

She hit me again. This time my jaw. My head snapped back, and I tasted blood.

"Two."

Another punch. My stomach. I doubled over, retching.

"Three."

She grabbed my hair and yanked my head up so I was looking at her face. Up close, her eyes weren't honey-colored. They were yellow. Like a wolf's.

"Stay down," she whispered. "And maybe I'll stop."

I should have stayed down.

But something inside me-something small and stubborn and furious-refused.

"No," I choked out.

Freya's smile vanished.

She threw me to the ground and kicked me. Hard. Right in the ribs again. I heard something crack.

The bleachers were cheering.

I curled into a ball, my arms over my head, trying to protect myself. But Freya kept kicking. Kept hitting. Kept hurting me.

"Get up, human."

"She can't even defend herself."

"Pathetic."

The words blurred together. The pain blurred together. Everything went hazy, like I was watching myself from far away.

And then-

Something shifted.

It started in my chest.

A heat. Small at first, like a coal buried in ash. Then it spread-through my ribs, down my arms, up my throat. It burned, but it didn't hurt. It felt like waking up. Like remembering something I'd forgotten.

My eyes opened.

Freya was standing over me, her fist raised for another blow.

But I wasn't afraid anymore.

I was angry.

The heat exploded.

Freya flew backward.

Not stumbled. Not fell. Flew-like she'd been hit by a truck. Her body crashed into the wall of the arena twenty feet away, and she hit the stone with a sickening crunch.

Silence.

Absolute, complete silence.

I pushed myself up on shaking arms. My ribs still hurt. My jaw still throbbed. But my eyes-my eyes felt different. Brighter. Sharper.

Someone on the bleachers whispered, "Her eyes are glowing."

I looked down at my reflection in a puddle of water on the arena floor.

They were right.

My irises were burning gold.

"What the hell was that?"

"She threw Freya across the room without touching her."

"Humans can't do that."

"She's not human."

The whispers crashed over me like waves. I staggered to my feet, my legs unsteady, my whole body trembling.

Instructor Morwen was staring at me. For the first time, she didn't look confident. She looked uncertain. Worried.

"Ela Demir," she said slowly. "Report to the headmaster's office. Immediately."

"But I didn't-"

"Now."

I didn't argue.

I turned and walked toward the exit, every eye in the arena following me. My boots left prints in the dirt-the same dirt stained with my blood, with Freya's blood, with the evidence of something I didn't understand.

As I reached the door, I looked back.

The bleachers were full of shocked faces. Freya was being helped to her feet by two other students, her nose bleeding, her eyes wide with fear.

Fear of me.

And standing at the very top of the bleachers, separate from everyone else, was Nikolai.

He wasn't shocked.

He wasn't scared.

He was watching me with those ice-blue eyes, his jaw tight, his hands clenched at his sides.

And as our gazes met, his lips moved.

I couldn't hear him. Too many people were talking, too many voices overlapping.

But I could read his lips.

"She's not human."

The hallway outside the arena was empty.

I leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor, my head between my knees, my whole body shaking.

What had just happened?

One minute I was being beaten into the ground. The next, I was throwing a girl across a room with nothing but my mind.

Her eyes are glowing.

I lifted my head and looked at my reflection in the metal panel of a door.

My eyes were brown again. Normal. Human.

But I knew what I'd seen. What they'd all seen.

Something was inside me. Something powerful. Something that didn't belong in a human body.

And now everyone knew it.

The headmaster's office was at the top of the clock tower.

I climbed the stairs slowly, each step sending a jolt of pain through my ribs. I was pretty sure at least one of them was cracked. Maybe more.

The door was oak, carved with the same wolf-and-moon motif as everything else in this place. I knocked.

"Enter."

Headmaster Vane was sitting behind a massive desk, his gold-flecked eyes fixed on me. He didn't look surprised to see me. He didn't look angry.

He looked tired.

"Sit down, Ela."

I sat.

"You're wondering what happened in the arena," he said.

"That's one way to put it."

He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "What you experienced today is called a manifestation. It happens when a dormant bloodline awakens under extreme stress."

"Dormant bloodline." I repeated the words like they were in a foreign language. "I'm human."

"You thought you were human." He paused. "You are not."

My hands started shaking again. "Then what am I?"

Headmaster Vane was quiet for a long moment. Then he opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a photograph. Old. Yellowed at the edges. He slid it across the desk toward me.

I picked it up.

It was a picture of a woman. Young. Beautiful. Dark hair, dark eyes, a smile that was both warm and sad.

My mother.

But not my mother as I knew her. This woman was wearing a Silvermoon Academy uniform.

"You're lying," I whispered.

"I never lie, Ela. It's inefficient." He leaned forward. "Your mother was a student here, thirty years ago. She was also human. And she also manifested."

I stared at the photograph. At my mother's face. At the uniform she'd never mentioned, the school she'd never named, the life she'd hidden from me.

"She never told me."

"Of course she didn't. She was trying to protect you."

"From what?"

Headmaster Vane's eyes met mine.

"From the truth," he said. "The truth that you carry wolf blood. That you are the descendant of an ancient line of shifters thought to be extinct. And that there are people in this academy-powerful people-who would kill to have you."

The room spun.

I gripped the edges of my chair.

"Ela." His voice was softer now. Almost gentle. "Your mother left this place because she fell in love with someone she shouldn't have. A wolf. A man whose blood now runs through your veins."

My father.

The man my mother never talked about. The man whose picture didn't exist anywhere in our apartment. The man I'd assumed was dead or a deadbeat or both.

"He's here," I said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

"Is he the one who sent the invitation?"

Headmaster Vane didn't answer.

But he didn't have to.

I already knew.

I don't remember leaving the office.

I don't remember climbing down the tower stairs, or walking across the courtyard, or unlocking the door to my room.

But suddenly I was there, sitting on my bed, the photograph of my mother clutched in my hands.

She was trying to protect you.

From what? From who?

A knock on my door made me jump.

"Go away."

The door opened anyway.

Nikolai stood in the doorway. His ice-blue eyes were softer than before. Not warm-never warm-but less hostile. Almost... concerned.

"I saw what happened," he said.

"Congratulations. You have eyes."

He stepped inside. Closed the door behind him.

"You need to understand something, Ela." His voice was low. Careful. "What you did today-throwing Freya like that-it's not normal. Even for shifters."

"I know."

"No." He shook his head. "You don't. That kind of power... it's not just rare. It's dangerous. To you. To everyone around you."

I looked up at him. "Are you scared of me, Nikolai?"

His jaw tightened.

"Yes," he said quietly. "And so should you be."

He turned and walked to the door. Paused with his hand on the knob.

"The others are going to come for you now. The ones who saw. The ones who heard." He looked back at me over his shoulder. "They're not going to want to be your friend, Ela. They're going to want to use you."

"And what do you want?"

He was silent for a long moment.

Then he opened the door and walked out without answering.

But before he left, I saw something in his eyes.

Something that looked almost like fear.

Not fear of me.

Fear for me.