Leke was still laughing, nudging Tolu in the ribs. "I'm telling you, man, if Coach doesn't give you a spot in the starting eleven after today, I'll go on strike."
Tolu chuckled, wiping sweat from his forehead with the edge of his jersey. He opened his mouth to reply—
"Hi."
The voice came sharp and clear behind them. Both boys flinched, spinning around. Ore stood there, her school uniform neat despite the afternoon heat, a small smile tugging at her lips as if she'd been watching them longer than she should have.
"Jeez, Ore," Leke muttered, clutching his chest. "You almost gave me a heart attack. You can't just sneak up on people like that."
Tolu blinked at her, still catching his breath. "What are you doing here?"
Ore tilted her head, eyes flicking between them. "Watching. You two looked pretty serious out there." Her gaze lingered on Tolu just a second longer than normal, and though she smiled, there was something curious in her expression—like she was studying him.
Leke, oblivious, grinned. "You saw that goal, right? My guy here's turning into a machine. I told him he's starter material."
Ore chuckled softly but didn't answer. Instead, she crossed her arms and leaned against the fence, eyes still locked on Tolu.
Leke just grinned, standing and waving them off. "Go on, I'll be here. Don't take too long."
Ore tilted her head and pointed at Tolu. "Come here."
Tolu moved over, shoulders still warm from the game. His voice was cautious. "I'm guessing you watched because of yesterday."
She stepped close enough to touch his cheek, thumb brushing the corner of his eye. "I just want to make sure you're okay. Make sure you don't lose control." Her hand lingered. "I have a feeling you're… special."
Tolu swallowed. "Me? Or the wolf?"
She smiled—soft, half teasing, half serious. "Both."
She let her fingers trail down his arm, then pulled back a little and glanced down at his boots. "I watched your game. You weren't using… powers. That's good. You were just using increased baseline strength and better reflexes."
"So when do I go for training next?" he asked.
"You're my responsibility," Ore said. "So I'll train you. After school today."
Tolu hesitated. "They think I'm unstable."
"Don't think about that," Ore said, straightforward. "Focus on the training."
He looked at her, quieter. "I kept hearing you marked me."
Ore's smile curved. "It's a way to declare—makes other wolves back off. Any female wolf catching my scent on you knows you're taken." She leaned in, eyes bright. "Do you want to know if I left my scent on you?"
Tolu blinked. "Oh. So do you have my—"
She cut him off with a chuckle and a playful roll of her eyes. "You're a newborn. You don't even know how to smell yourself properly yet. But if it makes you feel better—" she stepped closer, voice low, "—you're the only wolf I have eyes for."
Tolu's grin was slow and real. Leke called from the bleachers, oblivious: "Hurry up, lovers! Practice waits!"
They both laughed, and Ore fell into step with him as they headed back toward the field—Tolu already thinking about drills, and something else he couldn't name that had settled, quietly, under his ribs.
The lunch bell eventually rang, sharp and final, pulling students back toward the classrooms. Conversations cut short, laughter faded into the hallways, and soon the school fell back into its usual rhythm.
For Tolu, the rest of the day passed without any real hitches—just the steady drone of teachers, the scratch of pens against notebooks, and the occasional glance out the window when his mind drifted.
When the final bell rang, the school erupted with relief. Backpacks zipped, chairs scraped, and voices filled the air as everyone spilled into the corridors.
Near the lockers, Amaka appeared with a bright smile, tugging at Leke's sleeve. "Come on, you promised," she said, pulling him along before he could even wave goodbye.
Tolu just chuckled, shaking his head at the sight. He adjusted his bag over his shoulder—only to catch Ore waiting for him by the gate, her stance casual but her eyes sharp.
"Ready?" she asked, falling in step beside him.
Tolu smiled faintly. "Training, right?"
"Mm-hmm," Ore said, giving him a sideways glance. "You didn't think I'd forget, did you?"
Together, they left the bustle of students behind, heading toward something far less ordinary than homework and after-school hangouts.
A storm-slicked night pressed against the windows of the mansion at the edge of town. In a dim, wood-paneled room, five men gathered around an old oak table — four middle-aged faces lined by years of worry, and one younger man, gaunt and restless, in his twenties. The glow from a single lamp threw their shadows long and thin across the floor.
Jide, who sat at the head of the table, folded a sheet of paper in his hands as if it were hot. He cleared his throat before he spoke. "I just got word from Jide," he began, voice low. "Their numbers — they're far more than we estimated. Nearly twice ours."
A man to his right rubbed his temples. "Even with recruitment," he said, blunt, "the chance of winning looks thin."
A tired silence fell over the room. Outside, rain drummed on the roof.
The young man leaned forward, eyes bright with urgency. "Why not contact the other families?" he asked. "Uncle Jide — this isn't something we can afford to ignore."
Jide let out a long, weary sigh. "For all we know, the other families are legend," he said. "After the split two centuries ago, we lost each other. I've scoured the old texts looking for leads — everything goes cold. Dead ends. We're effectively on our own."
Another man at the table tried to steady the mood. "At least the coven's with us," he said. The word offered a small, brittle comfort; hope, however slender, warmed the room.
Jide folded his paper flat and set it on the table, eyes hard with decision. "Then we have to move," he said. "Call a meeting — three days before the next full moon. We'll gather what resources we can, train whoever we can, and prepare for what's coming. This won't be a skirmish. It's a war."
The younger man swallowed, nodding. "We'll need every hand and every secret we can find."
Outside, the rain picked up as if answering the plan, and inside the mansion the five men bent over maps and old ledgers — the first steps toward rallying the few allies they had left.
Jide rose from his chair and walked to the tall window, palms pressed to the cool glass. Outside, the sky was a black sheet mottled with clouds; the moon was a pale promise somewhere beyond them. He didn't turn when he spoke, his voice low and certain.
"We may not have started this war," he said, "but we will finish it."
Behind him, the others took that vow into the silence like an oath. The younger man's jaw clenched; the man who'd tried to steady the mood nodded once, stubborn. The lamp hummed. Rain glazed the panes. For a long moment none of them moved — then, one by one, they reached for maps, letters, and the little reliquaries pooled on the table like excuses for courage.
Jide's hands were steady on the wood as he faced them again. "Send the messengers at dawn. Tell the coven to ready their wards and appease their gods— for we are at war."
They left the room with the urgency of people who'd just crossed a threshold; footsteps faded down the corridor, plans already forming into action. Jide stayed by the window a little longer, watching the storm ride the horizon, feeling the cold resolve settle into his bones.