There were days when Lina could pretend she was just another senior at Wolfpine High.
Today wasn't one of them.
She sat in the back of homeroom, staring at her notebook, the same sentence scrawled five times over in the margins:
You dreamed it. You imagined it. It's not real.
The mark on her shoulder begged to differ. It had faded to a dull glow now, but it hadn't disappeared. Not after the dream. Not after the claw marks. Not after her mother's haunted whisper: "It's begun."
No amount of caffeine or eyeliner could hide the fact that she hadn't slept much. Or that something inside her skin still felt… wrong. Like she was a puzzle being forced into the wrong box.
"Lina?" came Ms. Carver's voice.
"You're needed in the office."
Lina blinked.
"Did I do something?"
Ms. Carver shook her head.
"They didn't say. Just that it was urgent."
Urgent. Great.
She snatched up her bag—kind of more like yanked it, honestly—and strode down the hallway, doing her best to act like she didn't notice the whispers trailing after her.
Typical small school drama, right? Everyone knows everyone, and the Ashfords? Oh, man. Their name was everywhere. Some folks straight-up idolized them; others… let's just say, kept their distance for a reason. Not always the best reasons either.
The front office? Smelled like a weird mix of dusty encyclopedias and that gross hot plastic whiff you get from overworked printers.
Mr. Lantry was posted up behind the counter, looking like he hadn't had his coffee yet, forced a tight little smile.
"Lina. Glad you could make it. We got a new kid—thought you could show him the ropes."
She blinked, caught off guard.
"New kid? In the middle of the year?"
"He's already got a schedule," Mr. Lantry replied, eyes flicking past her.
"Ah—speak of the devil—here he comes."
She spun around and—bam. Froze.
Dude was tall. Not just regular tall, but that kind of tall where you wonder if he hits his head on doorframes. Shoulders like he could bench-press a truck.
He wore a battered black jacket, dark jeans, boots that probably had stories of their own. Hair a mess, but like, on purpose?
And his eyes—seriously, they looked like twilight caught in a bottle.
But here's the kicker—it wasn't his looks that did her in. It was this weird, sharp jolt in her chest. Like, hey, I know this guy. Not from here. Not from school. Somewhere else. Somewhere that made the hairs on her arms stand up.
He met her gaze dead-on. For a split second, it was like the rest of the world just noped out.
His jaw tightened. He stared at her, eyebrows scrunched, like her face was a riddle he'd nearly cracked once but just couldn't place.
"Rafe Calder," Mr. Lantry announced, all official.
"Transferred in from out of district."
Rafe. Oh, that name.
It sent a shiver running up her spine.
She'd heard it before, whispered in those old training circles. He was supposed to be important. Supposed to be gone—like, gone gone. Alpha heir.
Yeah, her pulse was basically trying to punch its way out of her chest now.
"Lina?" Mr. Lantry again, totally oblivious.
"Mind showing Rafe around?"
She managed a nod, probably way too stiff to look normal.
Rafe didn't bother with hellos or anything. He just walked past her, slow and heavy, like he was already running through a checklist in his head.
She trailed after him.
The hallway felt narrower than usual. Total silence.
Finally, Lina coughed, trying to lighten the mood.
"So… welcome to Wolfpine. Hope you're into tiny towns and cafeteria food that might actually be meat. No promises."
Rafe didn't even crack a grin. Just stared ahead, voice flat as a pancake:
"This isn't a town. It's a cage."
Wow. Someone's auditioning for Most Dramatic Transfer Student.
She shot back,
"You always this sunny on your first day?"
His answer was ice-cold.
"No. I'm not here to make friends."
"Right," she said, the sarcasm automatic.
"Because that worked out so well in every teen supernatural drama ever."
That earned the barest twitch of his lip. Not a smile—just… acknowledgment.
They rounded the corner toward the science wing, and she slowed as they reached the stretch of lockers by the back stairwell.
Alright, here's how I'd spin that—bit more bite, bit less polish:
It all went sideways right there. No warning, no dramatic music—just Rafe, dead in his tracks.
Dude spun around and stared straight at her shoulder, like he'd spotted a ghost or something. Or, you know, the edge of her shirt—slipped down just enough to flash that weird little crescent mark, the color of half-burnt embers.
Lina jerked back, nerves on edge.
"What's your problem—?"
He closed the gap—way too fast, way too close. Grabs her arm—not yanking, but not exactly gentle either. Kinda desperate, if you asked her.
She froze. Seriously, what else could she do?
He shoved her sleeve up, and BAM. Full mark on display.
Then—nothing.
Dude just stopped. Like someone hit pause on his brain.
His breath got weird, tight.
Face didn't budge, but his whole vibe? Stiff as a board.
Fingers shaking, like he'd touched a live wire.
"You're not supposed to have that," he said, with a rough voice.
Lina's stomach rumbled.
"What? What the hell are you talking about?"
He stared her down, eyes like a midnight storm. No warmth, no mercy—just fury.
"You're not supposed to exist."
And just like that, he let go. Walked off, didn't look back.
Left her standing there, heart in her throat, world officially upside down.