By the time we finally reached the volleyball court, nearly our entire grade had already filled the bleachers. In the front row, seated shoulder to shoulder, were the girls from the team, all wearing identical uniforms: white numbered jerseys trimmed with dark blue stitching and tight, dark-blue shorts. Some were drinking from plastic sports bottles bearing the team's logo; others leaned toward one another, talking quietly—no doubt discussing strategy.
I almost immediately figured out which of our classmates had dared to challenge them. Six boys were warming up on their side of the court, grinning smugly and tossing crude, mocking jokes back and forth—some of them downright vulgar, the kind you wanted to scrub from your memory as quickly as possible. Among those six, I recognized a boy I'd stood beside in the principal's office last year, back when Tatyana had spread rumors about me throughout the school.
Oh yes. Both Stas and I were definitely going to enjoy watching that arrogant idiot get thoroughly humiliated—and his ego neatly clipped along with it. Too bad I hadn't brought popcorn.
"I don't see Tanya," I remarked, turning to Viola. "Didn't you say she went to the court earlier?"
"I did. It is strange she's not here yet. If there's one thing about her, it's that she always wants to be the center of attention."
"With shorts like those, it's pointless to compete," Dasha said, nodding toward the volleyball players.
"They're just uniforms," I shrugged.
"The guys would disagree," Viola smirked, openly pointing at the boys in the stands who were staring unabashedly at the team. "Even the wrestlers are impressed."
"At least they're not saying anything stupid. Just admiring quietly—fair enough. You can tell they're better raised than our boys."
"If Artur looks at them like that, I'll rip his head off."
"I doubt he even notices anyone but you."
Viola shot me a pleased sideways glance, barely suppressing her smile, but said nothing.
"Is yours here yet?" she asked Dasha, who was shielding her eyes from the sun, trying to scan the stands.
"Doesn't look like it. Though his friends are definitely already here."
"Then let's grab seats while we still can. There aren't many left."
Dasha and I followed Viola up the side aisle to the third row, directly behind the volleyball players—a stretch that was still unoccupied. Our classmates had taken over the entire right side, while the wrestlers sat at the very top, spread along the back row. Surprisingly quiet boys—if I hadn't noticed them earlier, I might not have realized they were even here. The same couldn't be said for our classmates, whose laughter rang out constantly. Some were even placing bets, inviting us to join, but the three of us declined. The outcome seemed obvious enough: the professional volleyball players were going to wipe the floor with the smug boys—if only to punish them for claiming volleyball wasn't a real sport.
Viola sat down beside me in the very center of the long bench, and I quickly shifted away. She raised an eyebrow in confusion.
"What's that about? I don't think I've attacked you today."
"You haven't," I agreed. "You've actually been surprisingly kind. But someone asked me to save him a seat."
Viola cautiously checked what Dasha was doing—she was still chatting with a boy who was weaving through the crowd, urging people to place bets. Once Viola was sure Dasha wasn't paying attention, she leaned closer to me and gestured for me to do the same. Curious, I complied. What was she about to say?
"I'm sorry," she whispered, "if I've been a little… hostile toward you lately."
"It's fine," I waved it off quickly. "I'm not upset."
She caught my shoulder and pulled me closer.
"Let me finish."
Viola avoided my gaze. Her lips parted and closed again, as though she were carefully weighing each word. Personal confessions did not come easily to her; they never had. Cutting truths about others was one thing, but laying bare her own soul—peeling away layers of armor one by one—was something else entirely.
"When Olga turned away from us, I was scared," she said at last. "Max and I had already lost our parents." A sad smile touched her lips. "Even the coven rejected us. And only recently did we begin to feel…" She hesitated, and I tried to help.
"Alive?"
Viola shook her head and finally looked at me. In her eyes, pain pooled like a dark lake.
"No. Needed. This family is all I have left. And you… you were a threat."
I swallowed hard. I understood her far too well. I had thought the same of myself—kept my distance from others, just in case, hoping disaster would pass them by if I stayed away. It hadn't worked. My strength had always lived in my attachment to others, in the warmth of their hands.
A wolf cannot survive without a pack. I knew that now.
"Why do you say were?" I asked quietly. "Has something changed?"
"It has." Her voice was steady. "After the incident at the pool, I followed you. I thought it was time to end everything." She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. "Max convinced me to wait outside the door. To let Stas—stubborn idiot that he is—handle it himself."
The realization hit me like lead in my veins. Viola had intended to kill me. The hunter who tracked those deemed too dangerous for the human world had already passed judgment—and yet, she had stayed her hand.
"I heard everything," she went on. "How you tried to push Stas away. How you held yourself together, giving him time—though he never knows when to stop. That's when I understood something about you."
"What?" I managed, even as alarm flared inside me. It isn't easy to sit calmly beside someone who had nearly decided to end your life.
"You know exactly how dangerous you are," she said. "And more importantly—you don't want to hurt anyone."
"Wasn't that obvious from the start?"
She looked genuinely surprised.
"No. You seemed careless. You returned to school so quickly after the hospital, went to the open day without hesitation. It was reckless, risky, selfish. But you endured. Even after you turned, you didn't kill Nik. And then—you restrained the wolf inside you to save Stas."
"So that's it?" I let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "You just decided to believe in me after two moments? I'm sorry, but in both cases, the thanks belong to Stas, not me."
Viola tilted her head and put on an exaggeratedly innocent expression, as if to say really?
"Haven't you figured it out yet?" she asked softly, almost tenderly, taking my hand in hers. "You love Stas. Love him enough that you'd rather die yourself than let his world fall apart."
"Did he tell you that?"
She waved the question away.
"Please. Who needs puppy-eyed confessions from boys? I know my brother well enough to read between the lines."
"So you don't know, then?"
"Know what?" she asked—but I never got the chance to answer.
Stas was already climbing the steps toward us.
"Speak of the devil," Viola murmured, sliding along the bench to give him my seat. In an instant, her attention shifted to poor Dasha, who was still trying—politely but desperately—to refuse a bet while a classmate continued to pester her. One sharp glare from beneath Viola's brows was all it took. The boy immediately pretended someone had called him and made a hasty retreat.