-Julien Grayson:
The last class of the day ended slowly.
Students gathered their things, chairs scraping softly against the floor while quiet conversations filled the studio. The late afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows, turning the dust in the air golden. I stayed seated for a moment longer, looking down at the sketchbook resting on the table in front of me.
My first day at the university was over.
It felt strange how quickly it had passed.
Not because anything exciting had happened—nothing really had—but because everything had felt new. Every hallway, every professor, every classroom. My mind still felt full of unfamiliar faces and names.
I closed my sketchbook slowly and slipped it into my bag.
"Leaving already?"
I looked up to see Maren leaning against the table beside me, her arms loosely crossed. Kieran stood next to her, hands in the pockets of his jacket, while Lila adjusted the strap of her tote bag.
"Yeah," I said as I stood up. "It's a bit of a drive back home."
Maren tilted her head slightly. "The pink motorcycle, right?"
I nodded.
Kieran chuckled. "Man, that's cool. I knew it was yours the second I met you."
"Yeah," I chuckled, "The color and the Hello Kitty stickers give it away," I said simply, slinging my bag over my shoulder.
We walked together out of the classroom and down the hallway. The building had grown quieter now, most students already leaving. Our footsteps echoed softly against the polished floor as the warm glow of sunset stretched through the windows.
When we reached the main entrance, we stopped.
"Well," Maren said, smiling. "First day survived."
I smiled back faintly. "Thanks for helping me today."
"Of course," she said. "See you tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow."
Kieran gave me a small nod. "Ride safe."
"Always do."
I stepped away from them, walking toward the parking lot while the evening air brushed against my face.
The sky had started turning orange and violet, the sun dipping low behind the distant hills. A gentle breeze moved through the rows of parked cars, carrying the faint scent of asphalt and warm metal.
My motorcycle waited near the far edge of the lot.
The matte pink body reflected the fading sunlight, vibrant, almost too cute to belong there between all those black and boring colored cars. I ran my hand along the seat before swinging a leg over it.
The engine roared to life beneath me, the vibration traveling through the frame and into my body.
For a moment, I just sat there, listening to the sound.
Then I pulled onto the road.
The ride home usually helped clear my mind. The wind against my jacket, the steady rhythm of the engine, the open stretch of road—it always gave me space to breathe.
But today my thoughts kept circling back to the same thing.
The rogue.
The conversation in the cafeteria.
Bloodthirsty.
Strong enough to kill over a hundred wolves.
I tightened my grip on the handlebars slightly.
The road curved toward the forest that surrounded our territory. Tall trees stretched on both sides, their branches forming dark shapes against the fading sky.
As I paced by the border of our pack lands, I slowed the bike slightly.
The checkpoint was visible from a distance.
Normally, there were a few guards posted there.
Today, there were many more.
I counted at least a dozen wolves in human form standing along the perimeter. Some paced slowly, others stood with their arms crossed, their eyes scanning the tree line.
Their posture wasn't relaxed.
It was tense.
Too tense.
One of the guards noticed me approaching and stepped forward slightly before recognizing me. His shoulders eased a little, and he gave a respectful nod as I smiled and nodded back.
But even then, I could smell it.
Anxiety.
It hung thick in the air.
Something about it made my stomach twist.
I didn't stop. I kept riding.
I pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine.
The sudden silence felt heavy.
I removed my helmet and ran a hand through my hair before getting off the bike. Gravel crunched under my boots as I walked toward the front door.
As soon as I stepped inside, I heard voices.
My parents.
They were in the living room.
"…we can't keep losing guards like this," Papa's voice said quietly.
My chest tightened.
"I know," Pops replied, his tone softer but strained. "But what choice do we have?"
I froze in the hallway.
"Every time we post more wolves at the border, he just kills them," Papa continued, frustration creeping into his voice. "He doesn't even hesitate."
"He's not normal," Pops said quietly. "There's something wrong with him."
My heart started beating faster.
"…we don't even know what rank he is," Papa said. "Nothing about him makes sense."
I stepped into the room.
Both of them looked up immediately.
The moment they felt my presence, their conversation stopped.
And then, just like that, their expressions changed.
Their worry disappeared behind warm smiles.
"Julien," Pops said gently. "You're home."
I crossed my arms slowly.
"How long were you standing there?" Papa asked.
"Long enough. What's going on?"
They exchanged a glance.
"Nothing," Pops said lightly, trying to sound casual. "Everything's fine. Just pack matters."
I looked at them both, my eyes narrowing slightly.
"Can you stop doing that?"
"Doing what?" Papa asked.
"Pretending everything's okay."
The room went quiet.
I took a slow breath.
"People outside our pack know about the attacks," I continued. "Students at my university were talking about it today."
Both of them looked surprised.
I shook my head.
"So don't tell me everything's fine when it clearly isn't."
Pops sighed softly and sat down on the couch.
"Julien…"
"I'm not a kid," I said quietly. "I think I should know what's going on."
Papa rubbed the back of his neck, tension visible in his posture.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Finally, Pops exhaled slowly.
"The rogue is… strong," he admitted.
"How strong?"
Papa's jaw tightened slightly.
"Too strong."
I frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"It means we don't know what he is," Papa said bluntly.
I blinked.
"What?"
"We've never seen power like that before," Pops explained. "Every time he appears near the border, the guards try to stop him."
"And?"
Papa's voice dropped.
"The second he sees them… he kills them."
A chill ran down my spine.
"Every time?" I asked quietly.
"Yes."
"And then?"
"He leaves," Pops said. "Just like that."
Silence settled in the room.
I struggled to process the image forming in my mind.
"So… have you tried talking to him?" I asked.
Papa let out a tired breath.
"How do you talk to someone who slaughters everyone the moment he sees them?"
I didn't have an answer.
"We don't know who he is," Pops added quietly. "We don't know his motives. We don't know where he came from."
Papa looked toward the window, his expression dark.
"All we know," he said slowly, "is that he keeps coming back."
The weight of those words settled heavily in the room.
And for the first time since I'd heard about the rogue…
I truly understood how serious this was.