The scorching water pounds against my shoulders, washing sweat and grit down the drain. My muscles burn from the workout, every strike and lift still echoing in the ache of my body. I let the heat dig into the soreness, forcing it deeper, daring it to break me.

Pain means I pushed hard enough. Pain means I’m still getting stronger. That’s the only measure that matters. Around here, if you fall behind, you don’t just get overlooked—you get eaten alive.

I tip my head back, closing my eyes as the spray beats against my face. For a few seconds, it’s just water and heat and the sound of my own breathing. No shouting, no sparring rings, no sidelong looks waiting to trip me up. Just quiet.

It’s almost enough to let me forget. Almost.

But the silence never lasts long in this place.

The locker room door slammed open, the sound sharp against the tiled walls. Two sets of footsteps echoed inside, heavy and careless. My body tensed instantly. I twisted the water off, the sudden silence ringing in my ears, then crouched low in the stall, muscles coiled tight.

The footsteps drew closer, slow but steady, until they stopped just a few feet away.

Then a voice I knew all too well cut through the quiet. Orin.

“You saw her this morning, didn’t you?” His tone was sharp, laced with that smugness he wore like a second skin. “Walking in with her nose buried in some pathetic book, like she’s too good to bother with the rest of us.”

A second voice—one of his lackeys—snickered. “What about her?”

Orin scoffed, the sound echoing off the lockers. “I’m sick of watching her strut around like she doesn’t notice me. Like she’s above me. I’ll fix that. Tomorrow, during drills—I’ll knock her on her ass in front of everyone. Make her choke on her own arrogance.”

The lackey laughed again, meaner this time. “You think she’ll cry?”

“She will when I’m done,” Orin said, his voice dropping low and venomous. “I’ll break her down, humiliate her so badly even her precious brother won’t be able to piece her back together. Let’s see how untouchable she looks then.”

My hands curled into fists against the slick tile, every instinct screaming to step out, to put him through the wall for even saying her name. But I forced myself to stay crouched in the shadows of the stall. Moving now meant exposing myself.

A locker clanged open, the metallic echo bouncing through the room. Rustling followed—books, gear, something shoved carelessly into a bag.

The lackey spoke again, his voice low. “What about her brother? You know he won’t just sit back if you go after her.”

Orin snorted, the sound dripping with contempt. “Ryden? He’s nothing. All fists and no brains. He hides behind her magic because he’s got nothing of his own worth showing. Let him try to play the hero—maybe I’ll knock him down too, to remind everyone where he belongs.”

The lackey chuckled nervously. “You really think you can take him?”

Orin slammed the locker shut with a sharp bang. “I don’t think. I know. He’ll fold the second he sees his sister fall. That’s the fun part—watching them break together.”

Their laughter echoed in the empty room, grating in my ears until my jaw ached from clenching it.

The footsteps started up again, moving toward the door. The hinges groaned, then snapped shut behind them, leaving only silence and the faint drip of water from the shower-head above me.

I exhaled slowly, forcing the tension from my fists before I cracked the tile. My whole body buzzed with the urge to go after him, to tear that smug smile off his face. But not yet.

Not until it counted.

Once the door slammed shut behind them, signaling they’d left, I pushed out of the stall. The tiles were cold under my bare feet as I toweled off and pulled on my clothes from earlier. My mind replayed every word I’d overheard, sharper than the ache still in my muscles.

Darla didn’t need to know. Not yet. If I told her, she’d be on high alert, picking fights before Orin even made his move. Better to keep quiet and handle it myself.

I made my way down the hall, ignoring the stares and glares that followed me like shadows. People edged out of my path, some leaping to the side of the corridor as if I carried a plague. It was nothing new.

Turning a corner, I spotted Darla leaning against the wall, her book tucked under her arm as she chatted with a slightly less furious Bella. Looked like Darla had managed to calm her down—at least a little. Their conversation was cut short the moment I reached them.

Darla’s eyes locked onto mine. One look, one beat of silence, and I told her without words that I’d make it up to her later.

“Damn right you will,” she muttered under her breath.

“Ugh, you two and your silent language,” Bella huffed, rolling her eyes before turning her glare on me. She crossed her arms tightly across her chest. “Speaking of—you’re in big trouble, Ryden. You realize that, don’t you?”

I scratched the back of my neck, unsure of what to say. I’d always liked Bella—strong, kind, beautiful. More than that, she was the only friend Darla had.

They’d met when we were younger, spending most of their time together. Bella and her mom used to come by Akari’s flower shop to help out. Back then, Aven was still serving in the military, gone more often than not, and Akari had her hands full with the two kids she’d taken in. Extra help was always welcome.

“You can’t keep fighting people, Ryden.” Bella jabbed a finger against my chest, her semi-sharp nails digging just enough to make her point. “At this rate, they’ll hand you worse punishments than cleaning the school toilets.”

I sighed, giving her a short nod. If she was mad enough to half-shift, it had to be serious.

“He’s sorry, Bell,” Darla said, bumping her shoulder into Bella’s. “Besides, half the fights he gets into are warranted. Not everyone sees us the way you do. We have to stand up for ourselves when it’s necessary.”

Bella met her gaze, the two of them sharing a long, heavy look. Slowly, the fight drained out of her. She sighed, shoulders loosening, and pulled Darla into a hug.

“I know. Doesn’t mean I don’t worry.” Her voice softened, almost breaking. “I hate that they treat you so differently.”

Darla went stiff as a board in her arms. After a long second, she shoved lightly at Bella’s shoulder and stepped back, grimacing. “Alright, that’s enough of the Hallmark moment. People are staring, and I have a reputation to uphold. Can’t have them thinking I actually like you or something.”

Bella swatted at her with a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

Darla smirked. “No, I’m efficient. Less hugging, more glaring. Keeps the weak ones confused.”

I shook my head, biting back a grin as Bella groaned and muttered something about the two of us being hopeless.

By the time the academy bells tolled, the three of us had gone our separate ways—Bella still fussing about my temper, Darla pretending she didn’t care, and me stuck in the middle of both.

Classes weren’t much of a reprieve. If anything, they pressed down harder, the weight of eyes always following.

Darla had fallen asleep again, cheek pressed to her folded arms, her book lying forgotten on the desk. A small strand of hair slipped loose from her bun, rising and falling with every slow breath. She looked peaceful in a way she rarely ever allowed herself to be when awake.

Bella sat directly in front of her, posture perfect, back straight, scribbling notes like the world depended on it. Every word the teacher spoke, she captured. It was almost painful to watch the way she attacked each page as though missing a single detail would be her downfall. That was Bella—always chasing perfection, always carrying weight that wasn’t hers alone.

But diligence didn’t guarantee anything. Not here.

The fae had their courts, the witches their covens, the vampires their bloodlines, even the nightbound their ancient prophecies to cling to. All of them carried legacies, shields of reputation that gave them space to stumble without being cast out.

Shifters? We had no such safety net. One mistake, one slip, and it was carved into your skin for everyone to see. That’s why Bella worked so hard. That’s why Darla pretended not to care. That’s why I fought.

The scrape of the classroom door cut through the silence, and every head turned. A woman entered, tall and elegant, her presence quiet but commanding. Aerisyl Callisto.

Silver-white hair, threaded with faint blue undertones, spilled over her shoulders like moonlight on ice. Frost clung to the very tips, as if the air bent colder just for her. Her eyes were a pale, glacial blue, crystalline flecks catching the light when she blinked. She moved modestly, her robes concealing her figure, though it somehow made her impossible to ignore.

Her voice was soft when she spoke to our teacher, reserved, almost hesitant—like she’d rather the words stay unspoken. But that softness carried weight. The sort that drew attention without asking for it.

Our teacher leaned in as she murmured something too low for us to catch. A silence stretched. Then his expression shifted, lips pressed into a tight line. His gaze flicked to Darla and me before he nodded once.

“The Elders,” he said, voice clipped. “They want to see you. Both of you.”

The room buzzed instantly, whispers rising like the hum of bees.

“They’re finally getting expelled,” someone muttered from the back.

“Or worse,” another voice whispered, sharp and eager. “Maybe the Elders are tired of keeping them around.”

A boy near the window leaned toward his friend, his tone low but dripping with disdain. “They don’t even shift. Should’ve been tossed out years ago.”

His friend snorted. “Then why do the Elders care so much? Doesn’t make sense.”

I sat there, jaw tight, letting the words slide over me like stones. It was the same poison we’d heard a thousand times, just sharper now, hungrier.

Beside me, Darla stirred, blinking groggily awake as if the tension itself had shaken her out of sleep. She caught my eye, confusion flashing across her mismatched gaze. I didn’t need words to answer.

This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t good.