Fear changed the unclaimed.
It crept into their eyes, their voices, the way they moved through the academy like shadows that no longer waited for permission.
After Ivy and Darian's bond shattered, something ancient and unstable woke within Romance Academy. The magic no longer hummed gently through the halls—it throbbed, uneven and restless, as if the school itself sensed the imbalance.
Lyra felt it everywhere.
Girls stopped walking alone. Bonded mates rarely separated. Even laughter sounded strained, forced. And the unclaimed—those without soulmates—no longer hid their intentions behind charm or patience.
They were running out of time.
"They've realized something," Kael said one evening as they stood at the edge of the training grounds, watching students spar under warded lights. His voice was low, tense. "If bonds can break… then fate isn't absolute. And desperation makes people reckless."
Lyra watched an unclaimed wolf train harder than necessary, his strikes wild, fueled by rage rather than control. "They don't just want love anymore," she whispered. "They want certainty. Power. Belonging—at any cost."
That night, the first rule was broken.
A bonded girl named Maris was cornered in the eastern corridor by two unclaimed males. They didn't touch her—not directly. Instead, they whispered doubts into her mind, circling her slowly, pressing on her fears.
"What if he leaves you first?"
"What if you're not enough?"
"What if the bond breaks and you're alone?"
By the time a prefect intervened, Maris was shaking, her bond flickering weakly with panic.
The punishment was swift—but not enough.
Because the message was clear.
Words could wound just as deeply as claws.
The next morning, Headmistress Selvara addressed the academy, her expression carved from stone. "Any unclaimed student found deliberately destabilizing a bond will face expulsion."
The crowd murmured.
But Lyra saw it—the way some unclaimed students exchanged glances. Cold. Calculating.
They weren't afraid of punishment anymore.
They were afraid of never being chosen.
Later that day, Lyra was alone in the greenhouse, tending to moonbloom flowers for her potion class. The air was calm, fragrant, deceptively peaceful.
Then the wards flickered.
Her wolf snapped to attention.
"Lyra," a voice said softly behind her.
She turned.
It wasn't Aiden.
It was Marek.
His eyes were darker now, hollowed by sleepless nights and resentment. "You're lucky," he said quietly. "Do you know that? You didn't earn your bond. It just… found you."
"Step back," Lyra said, keeping her voice steady.
"I won't hurt you," he replied. "Not like that. But you need to understand something." He took a slow step closer. "If fate can be broken… it can be reshaped. And some of us are done waiting to be unwanted."
The air grew heavy. The moonbloom petals curled inward, reacting to the tension.
"You're becoming dangerous," Lyra said.
Marek smiled sadly. "We already are."
Before she could react, the wards flared back to life and Kael burst into the greenhouse, power radiating from him like a warning storm.
Marek retreated instantly, melting into the shadows.
Kael pulled Lyra into his arms, his grip tight—not possessive, but afraid. "They're pushing boundaries," he said. "Testing how far they can go without crossing into open war."
Lyra pressed her face against his chest, heart racing. "They won't stop, Kael. Not now. Not after seeing a bond die."
"No," he agreed grimly. "They're evolving."
Across the academy, the unclaimed gathered in secret—forming alliances, sharing forbidden texts, whispering about forcing resonance, about rituals meant to bend bonds instead of waiting for them.
Love was no longer the prize.
Control was.
And as Lyra looked out over Romance Academy that night, the moon stained red by cloud and magic, she realized the truth:
The unclaimed weren't just rivals anymore.
They were becoming a threat powerful enough to tear the academy—and every heart within it—apart.