The audience quieted as a tall man in a dark blue suit and white shirt stepped onto the stage from behind the curtains. The spotlight reflected off his rectangular glasses, hiding his eyes. Like a TV star, he strode to the wooden podium with a microphone and waved a greeting to the arriving guests. As soon as he smiled, applause broke out from the back rows, which I joined out of politeness rather than respect, as I hardly knew anything about the man on stage. If not for the photographs on the university's homepage, I would have had to guess his status.
"Good evening, dear friends!" The man, standing at the microphone, spread his arms as if trying to embrace the entire hall. "My name is Pavel Pavlovich Pankratov, and I am pleased to welcome new applicants and their parents to the Kserton State Institute. For the past thirty years, I have served as rector of this, I dare say, outstanding institution. Within our walls, great minds grow strong, and coal turns into diamonds before facing the harsh but fair world."
Pavel Pavlovich's inspiring speech was interrupted by the loud bang of the heavy door at the hall entrance, followed by a quiet giggle and a hissing sound in the distance. Curious, I, like others, turned toward the source and saw Stanislav and Artur, who hadn't even had time to check their coats.
"It is very pleasant to see so many inspired and youthful eyes striving for knowledge," the rector continued as the brothers hurried to the empty seats in the back row. "Education at our university rests on three pillars, as the ancients believed, which maintain balance in the world. They are called discipline, mutual support, and order. By joining our institute's family, applicants will discover new horizons of knowledge and self-realization through the abundance of faculties and programs, which department heads will explain in more detail. But before I leave, I want to announce the following: the doors of my office are always open to those wishing to engage in active and socially beneficial activities aimed at the institute's welfare. Office hours can always be confirmed with my secretary, Olga Mikhailovna."
Despite his advanced age, the rector descended the steps briskly to applause, buttoned his jacket, and soon sat in his reserved seat in the front row.
While the new speaker waited for a presentation to appear on the screen covering the far wall, I took the opportunity to look for Stas, but even with my werewolf vision, finding Smirnov in the crowd of strangers was difficult. Giving up, I took out my phone and texted him:
A: Where did you leave Rostov?
The two checkmarks indicating the message had been read appeared quickly, but there was no reply. When I stopped waiting and locked my phone, preparing to focus on the economics faculty speech, the phone vibrated.
S: She probably won't come today.
A: What, did the talk go badly?
S: Something like that. For her, at least.
A: I hope you didn't eat her? :D
S: That's more your department now ;)
Stas's joke sent a shiver down my spine. He would reply too. Well, I started it.
A: How did it go?
S: Not now, okay? I don't want to recount it in messages.
A: You're not obliged to tell me anything anyway.
The phone went silent. So we weren't that close if Stas politely avoided the topic, citing a vague "later." The sting of distrust bit sharply, like a snake, and I spiraled into thoughts that I had misunderstood everything. What if Stas didn't value me the way I did him? What if, in his mind, we were never friends, just acquaintances forced together by coincidences and misfortune? In a city where vampires, werewolves, and who knows what else lived among humans, mythical creatures could create a safe circle in which, with some exceptions, they could reveal their true selves. Doomed, never choosing friends. Bound by a chain of birthright and blood. Bastards created by foolish witch magic. I had never looked at friendship with the Smirnov family as inevitability rather than a choice of the heart.
How could I have been so blind? Diana's kindness, Stas's care, and even Violetta's voice of reason had turned from sincerity into mere formal handouts for a weak, frightened girl who was only beginning to discover herself and the true nature of things. It was so bitter that my eyes stung with hot tears. They wanted to spill out at the worst possible moment and in the wrong place. I forced myself to stay seated instead of rushing, out of habit, to the girls' restroom, simply because I had no idea where it was located in the institute. Like Pavlov's dog, honestly: the slightest tear, and I would bolt.
Pulling the sleeves of my hoodie down to the tips of my fingers, I gripped the soft, cool fabric. The new tactile sensation calmed me slightly, as if helping to cool the fire inside, but it was still not enough to soothe my soul.
"He doesn't love you," Kaandor whispered in my ear, and I flinched, not expecting the creature to return. "And he never will."
"You don't know that," I murmured, barely moving my lips, hoping it would be enough for my dark companion, but instead, I drew the attention of Violetta and Diana, who immediately turned to me, frowning.
"Did you say something?"
"No," I lied, and Diana scrutinized my face even more closely. Kaandor laughed sharply in my subconscious, turning my sadness into rage, making my hands itch to run along the flawless concrete walls of the hall, painted in a pleasant powdery shade.
"There is no sadder tale in the world than the song of a she-wolf's unrequited love for Nosferatu," Kaandor said in an intentionally theatrical tone, and I was ready to swear that he had begun to waltz inside the prison of my mind, which had forever locked him in, as I hoped, without a chance to materialize.
"Tick-tock, tick-tock," he said cheerfully.
"Ow!" My claws pricked my skin painfully, and the people nearby turned toward me. Their displeased faces demanded to know why I was disturbing the presentation, seeing only an ordinary high school girl before them, and I forced a smile, quietly muttering, "Sorry, sorry."
In horror, I realized that another wave of attention was about to sweep over me in the crowded hall, and, of course, I was in the front rows.
"Our institute has a philology faculty, as well as journalism, for those who want to work with the power of words," the presenters continued, and my inner thoughts were interrupted by Dasha, who sat up straight and moved to the edge of her chair, trying to be closer to the stage. Her future looked clear and simple. I even envied her, understanding that every victory of hers had been earned through sleepless nights with textbooks and flawless completion of assignments. Her intelligence and knowledge were the result of effort, not innate talent or a special memory. Dasha's perseverance impressed me, and at the same time, I wondered: how would she have acted if she were in my shoes? Would she still pursue her carefully planned path, perhaps one she had charted as early as fourth grade? I would never know the answer, simply because, fortunately for Dasha, she would never face the chain of changes that had fallen to me. If only someone could truly understand me and serve as an example—but even my father could not. Neither he nor Denis Drozdov could. They knew about the legacy that haunted the family. They had time to prepare for changes, which could pass them by or be inherited. The news fell on me like a snowball, sweeping me far from my familiar life and leaving hope behind.
"In addition to the exam results, applicants to these faculties must write a motivation letter and come to write an essay on a given topic within a limited time. The schedule will be posted on the university website no later than a month before the planned date," the presenters continued.
"You can't get rid of what is already part of you."
"Shut up!"
"Miss, what do you think you're doing?" a woman in the chair in front of me exclaimed in indignation. Instantly reacting, Viola grabbed the collar of my hoodie and forced me to stand, hastily trying to lead me out of the hall. She pushed me toward the aisle along the wall, and each touch reverberated inside me like a heartbeat:
Thump. Thump. Thump-thump.
A dark haze clouded my eyes, but I tried to stay steady. Stepping forward grew harder with every move. I feared that a misstep would make me fall on some of the applicants, and who knew where a claw might strike.
Just don't hurt anyone. Just don't hurt anyone, I kept repeating to myself, trying to drown out Kaandor's gleeful tirades as he reveled in my weakening will.
My phone vibrated, and in a moment of clarity, I unlocked the screen, hoping to see a message from Vladimir: if only my father could come to his senses right now, when I so desperately needed another werewolf by my side. Mentally, Kostya might not understand the choices and reconciliation with his daughter's natural nature, but Dad knew better than anyone what could keep the beast inside. I would have given anything for someone to be there with me safely—even if there was a risk of turning into a dog without the chance to revert. Better a kennel than hands in blood, especially when it involves loved ones.
Viola and Diana risked themselves trying to get me through the long hall to the frosty winter air. But instead of a saving message from my father or Vladimir, I saw a notification that the phone was back in network coverage, followed by a message from Stas, which should have arrived back in the hall but, for some unknown reason, came only now:
S: "Alright, don't sulk like that. I can see everything from the back row. So, Tanya and I talked, and I explained again that I'm not looking for a serious relationship. She thought there was love between us, can you imagine? Complete nonsense))) I'm too young to play games like that. I don't need anyone. Especially 'forever and ever.'"
The doors to the street swung open, and the wind hit my face. Tiny flakes of snow stung my cheeks like a slap, along with the last sentence from the message.
"Nobody needs me," spun in my head, and a sharp pain pierced between my shoulder blades, as if someone had gently thrust a knife into my back, then twisted the blade several times, savoring the process.
"She needs to be taken away," Viola grabbed me by the waist and headed toward the parking lot. "And fast."
"I'll do it," Diana intercepted my hand, and for a moment I noticed Violet frowning disapprovingly.
"You're not a hunter," Viola tried to say as gently as possible, and it was clear how much effort it cost her to change her tone, just not to accidentally offend Diana.
"Let her be. She's my friend."
"Not the right time for heroics. What will you do if she tries to turn on you in the car like last time, only this time she succeeds?"
Diana's face twitched ever so slightly, as if the risks Smirnova was ready to embrace without hesitation hadn't occurred to her before.
"I'll walk," I offered an alternative, seeing the forest nearby. It was good that there were so many patches of forest everywhere in Xertoni where locals didn't go. Perhaps that was why my father had spent his entire conscious life here: unable to avoid his turning, he ran into the forest. Quite convenient, when you think about it.
"Not a chance," Viola snorted and zipped up her jacket when the university doors opened. The more you act like a normal person, the longer your secret stays safe.
But first Arthur appeared in the doorway, and behind him, Stas—whom I least wanted to see right now.
"Fine, you win," I said quickly, just wanting to get out of there and avoid talking to unsuspecting Stanislav. He shouldn't see what state I was in. I didn't have the energy to invent any remotely convincing excuse to explain my sudden mood change around him, so the only option left was to run away cowardly, holding onto Diana's hands.
"Let's go. Quickly."
No persuasion was needed. Brushing my bangs from my eyes, Diana walked briskly toward the car, pulling me along. She even opened the passenger-side door and waited for me to sit before closing it, as if afraid I might change my mind at the last second and bolt into the forest.
But behind my impulsive offer, the downsides of my plan were actively forming in my mind. After all, this forest was right next to the institute, packed with young talents who would be easy prey if Kaandor took the upper hand over me. I couldn't allow that, though the temptation to unleash the power that made my fingertips burn was strong. To give in to temptation and see what would happen, remembering Denis's stories. If Maria hadn't bound my power with a spell before birth, would I speak of the wolf side the same way Denis did? I fear I'll never know, and I can only wonder how life might have turned out if I had trusted nature from the start, rather than following someone else's path against my own essence.