Chapter 11: Puzzle Pieces

Angel chewed her sandwich slowly, her jaw working on autopilot while her mind wandered elsewhere. The noise of the dining hall ebbed and flowed like waves crashing in the distance, laughter, spells, utensils scraping against conjured plates, but it all faded into a blur.

Until her eyes caught them.

The werewolf pack.

They were hard to miss. Five in total, clustered around one of the longer center tables, their energy loud and unfiltered. They laughed with their mouths wide open, teased each other with full plates, and tore into thick cuts of charred meat like they hadn’t eaten in days. Feral joy radiated from them, raw, unashamed.

But as Angel watched, something clicked in her mind.

Her gaze narrowed.

Each of them wore the same style of jacket: rugged black leather, lined with faint silver threading along the collar and cuffs. It wasn’t just fashion, it was a mark. A crest. Maybe of the pack. Maybe a family symbol. Maybe something else entirely.

They all wore one.

Except him.

The one who had sniffed her out days ago. The one who had looked twice when others didn’t.

And the one who had left something behind.

There he was, sitting at the edge of the table, part of the group, but slightly apart. His tray was piled with food, his forearms bare where the sleeves had been rolled up past the elbows. No jacket in sight.

Her breath caught.

So… it was his.

Her eyes drifted back to the jacket sitting beside her on the bench. She reached out, fingers lightly brushing the worn material. The texture matched. The stitching matched. And now that she paid attention, so did the scent, pine, char, something wild and earthy.

There was no mistaking it.

It belonged to him.

Angel frowned slightly, chewing slower, more thoughtful.

Why?Why would he give it to me?Out of everyone here?

He barely knew her. He hadn’t spoken to her once, not properly. And the last time they crossed paths, he’d seemed suspicious of her scent. Not warm. Not cruel, but not exactly friendly either.

So then… why?

Kindness?

Pity?

Or something deeper, some instinct he didn’t even understand himself?

Her fingertips pressed into the thick leather. It was heavy, and strangely comforting. Like a shield she hadn’t known she needed.

Angel wasn’t used to people protecting her. Not here.Not in this academy of monsters and secrets.Not even in the life before, when things had started to fall apart.

A tightness crawled up her throat.

She swallowed it down with another bite of sandwich.

Across the hall, the werewolf, him, laughed again at something a packmate said. His head tilted back, his mouth stretched in a grin, the others shoving him playfully.

But then, his gaze shifted.

For just a moment, his golden eyes landed on her.

Right on her.

Angel’s heart skipped.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Didn’t move.

But he saw her.

Saw the jacket folded neatly beside her. Saw her hands on it.

And in that split second, something subtle passed between them. A silent acknowledgment.

Recognition.

Acceptance.

Almost… calm.

Then, just like that, he turned back to his friends, laughing again, as if nothing had happened.

Angel exhaled slowly.

He knows.

Not everything. Maybe not even much.

But enough.

And, for now, that was more than she expected from anyone in this place.

***

Angel closed her lunch box with a quiet click, her fingers trembling just slightly as they sealed the lid. The last bite of her sandwich lingered on her tongue, but her mind was far from food now. Her eyes dropped once more to the jacket resting beside her, a borrowed warmth from someone unexpected.

It felt heavier now than it had in the forest.

Like a question she didn’t have the courage to ask.

She stood slowly, gathering the jacket into her arms, cradling it like something precious she didn’t understand. The bustling dining hall stretched before her, a sea of magical beings, strange dishes, and creatures who didn’t know, who couldn’t know, what she really was.

And yet, she stepped forward.

Each footfall toward the center table felt like stepping into a territory she had no right to enter. The werewolf pack was still loud, laughing between bites and trading jokes like they didn’t have a care in the world. Their rough camaraderie echoed through the hall.

But he saw her first.

He sat at the edge, half-focused on a conversation when his head lifted. His golden eyes found hers in an instant, bright and sharp even under the flickering floating lanterns. His posture stilled, just slightly. Not tense, not alarmed.

Just… alert.

The rest of the pack noticed her too. The laughing slowed. The shoving quieted. A few curious glances were thrown her way.

Angel didn’t give herself the chance to hesitate.

She walked up, heart hammering, and stopped just short of their table. Her fingers gripped the jacket tighter before she held it out with both hands, voice small but steady.

"This is yours,...i believe" she said, her tone formal and clipped, but honest. "And… thanks."

The werewolf blinked. Once. Twice.

And before he could respond, she turned on her heel and fled.

Out of the dining hall. Past students. Through the corridor. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but her chest felt oddly lighter, as if some silent weight had been lifted by the mere act of giving it back.

She didn’t see tge werewolf’s expression.

Didn’t stay long enough to hear what came next.

---

Back at the Werewolf Table

The werewolf stared after her, the jacket now resting on the table in front of him. His fingers hovered over it before he slowly pulled it closer. The fabric was still warm from her touch, faintly smelling of crushed leaves and something human hidden behind layers of magic.

He didn’t speak at first.

But his packmates were already watching him with grins and raised brows.

“Ciro (Tsi-ro),” one of them drawled, a dark-haired wolf with a gleam in his eye. “You giving your jacket to witches now?”

Ciro didn’t even blink. “She was asleep outside. It was cold. I’m not a monster.”

Another packmate snorted. “You are a monster.”

He shrugged, rolling his eyes. “Not that kind.”

The teasing continued, a few elbows nudged his way, but Ciro ignored them. He didn’t rise to their jabs. Didn’t bother explaining further.

He looked down at the jacket again, fingers tracing a fold in the leather, and just for a moment,

He smiled.

Small. Faint.

But real.

—To be Continued—