MOONBOUND: THE HUMAN HEART

The envelope arrived on a Tuesday.

Not by mail. Not by courier. It was simply there, resting on my pillow when I came home from school, as if someone had been sitting in my room, waiting for me to leave, waiting for the perfect moment to slip it into my life like a knife between ribs.

I stared at it for a full minute before touching it.

The paper was thick, almost leathery, the color of old ivory. No return address. Just my name, written in elegant silver ink: Ela Demir.

"Ela! Dinner's ready!" My mother's voice floated up from the kitchen, carrying the familiar warmth of cumin and simmering tomatoes.

"Coming!" I called back, but I didn't move.

I picked up the envelope. It was heavier than it looked. Something shifted inside-not paper, something denser. My fingers trembled as I slid my thumb under the seal.

The wax broke with a soft crack.

Inside was a single card, embossed with the image of a crescent moon and a howling wolf. The text was formal, almost archaic:

Silvermoon AcademyEst. 1487

Dear Ela Demir,

You have been selected for admission to Silvermoon Academy, effective immediately. Your unique heritage qualifies you for enrollment under the Sacred Blood Accord. Transportation has been arranged for Friday evening. A representative will meet you at the address below.

Failure to appear will result in automatic forfeiture of your birthright.

We await your arrival.

-Headmaster Aldric Vane

I read it three times.

Then I laughed.

It had to be a joke. Some elaborate prank cooked up by the kids at school who thought it was funny to leave notes in my locker about how much space I took up, how my thighs didn't fit in the desk chairs, how my face was the reason boys looked away.

But this didn't feel like their handwriting. This didn't feel like a joke at all.

"Ela!" My mother's voice was sharper now. "The food is getting cold!"

I shoved the card back into the envelope and hid it under my pillow. Then I went downstairs and ate my mother's lentil soup and tried to pretend my heart wasn't pounding.

Dinner was the usual performance.

My father asked about my grades. I said they were fine. My younger brother, Deniz, kicked me under the table and I kicked him back. My mother talked about her friend's daughter who had just gotten engaged to a nice boy from a nice family and wasn't that lovely?

The unspoken question hung in the air: When will you be normal, Ela? When will you lose weight, find a boyfriend, stop reading so much, stop being so... much?

I didn't answer. I never answered.

Instead, I cleared the dishes, kissed my mother's cheek, and went back to my room.

The envelope was still there.

I sat on my bed and pulled it out again. This time I noticed something I'd missed before-a faint scent clinging to the paper. Pine trees. Snow. And something else, something wild and animal, like the moment before a storm breaks.

I held it to my nose and inhaled.

What is this?

The address at the bottom was real. A street in Kadıköy, near the ferry docks. I knew the area. Old buildings, narrow alleys, the smell of sea salt and fish.

Friday evening.

That was three days away.

I put the envelope back under my pillow and tried to sleep.

The nightmares started that night.

I dreamed of running through a forest I'd never seen, trees so tall they swallowed the sky. My feet were bare, my legs pumping, my breath ragged. Something was chasing me. Something huge. Something hungry.

I could hear its footsteps behind me, feel its breath on my neck.

And then I woke up.

But I wasn't alone.

The window was open.

I never opened my window. My room faced the street, and the noise from the traffic below was unbearable. But there it was, wide open, the thin white curtain billowing inward like a ghost.

And sitting on my windowsill was a wolf.

Not a dog. Not a stray. A wolf-massive, gray-furred, with eyes the color of burning amber. It was easily the size of a small horse, its shoulders level with my desk, its head tilted as it watched me with an intelligence that made my blood freeze.

I opened my mouth to scream.

Nothing came out.

The wolf blinked. Slowly. Deliberately. Then it lowered its head, and I swear to God, it nodded at me. Like it was acknowledging me. Like it was saying yes, you see me, this is real.

And then it was gone.

One moment it was there, filling my window frame with its impossible size. The next, the curtains fell still, and the room was empty.

I scrambled to the window and looked out.

The street was quiet. No cars. No people. No wolf.

But there, on the fire escape, was a single footprint. Too large for any dog. Too deep for any animal that should exist in Istanbul.

I closed the window. Locked it. Double-locked it.

Then I pulled the envelope out from under my pillow and read the letter again.

Failure to appear will result in automatic forfeiture of your birthright.

Birthright.

I didn't know what that word meant. I didn't know what Silvermoon Academy was, or why they wanted me, or how a wolf had found my window on the fourth floor of an apartment building in a city of fifteen million people.

But I knew one thing.

I was going to find out.

The next two days were a blur.

I told my parents I'd been invited to a special summer program abroad. A scholarship. Full ride. They didn't believe me at first-why would they? I was the quiet daughter, the overweight daughter, the one who spent weekends with her nose in a book instead of at parties.

But I'd always been a good liar when I needed to be.

"England," I said. "It's an exchange program. Very competitive. They only take top students."

My father's mustache twitched. "Since when are you a top student?"

"Since always. You just never asked."

That shut him up.

My mother cried. Not because she was proud-because she was suspicious. She hugged me too tight and whispered in my ear, "You're hiding something, Ela. You've been hiding something since the day you were born."

I pulled away. "I'm not hiding anything."

But we both knew that was a lie.

Friday evening came faster than I wanted.

I packed a single suitcase-jeans, t-shirts, a hoodie, my toothbrush. Nothing fancy. I didn't know what to expect, but I figured I could buy whatever I needed when I got there.

The address in Kadıköy turned out to be a travel agency. A dusty storefront wedged between a tea shop and a pharmacy, its windows papered over with faded posters of places I'd never been.

I walked in.

A woman sat behind the counter. She was beautiful in a sharp, dangerous way-high cheekbones, silver-streaked black hair, eyes the color of honey. She didn't smile.

"Ela Demir," she said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

"Your flight leaves in two hours. You'll change planes in Munich, then take a private charter to the academy."

"Where is the academy?"

The woman's lips curved. "Somewhere you've never heard of. Somewhere that doesn't appear on any map."

She handed me a ticket. First class. The airline logo was one I didn't recognize-a crescent moon inside a circle, the same symbol from the envelope.

"Any questions?" she asked.

A thousand. But I only asked one.

"Was that wolf at my window yours?"

The woman's smile didn't waver, but something flickered in her eyes. Respect, maybe. Or warning.

"You'll understand soon enough," she said. "Now go. Your future is waiting."

The flight to Munich was uneventful.

I sat in my first-class seat, ate the complimentary meal, and tried not to think about the fact that I was flying to a mysterious school based on a letter that had appeared on my pillow like magic.

The private charter was different.

Small plane. Maybe twelve seats. Dark leather, tinted windows, the smell of pine and snow-the same scent from the envelope. I was the only passenger.

The flight attendant was a man with a scar running down his cheek and hands that looked like they'd broken bones. He brought me water and didn't speak.

I stared out the window as the lights of Istanbul faded behind me.

What am I doing?

But I already knew the answer.

I was running. From my family's expectations. From the kids who called me names. From the mirror that showed me a body I'd been taught to hate.

I was running toward something I didn't understand.

And that was better than staying still.

The plane landed somewhere dark.

No airport. No runway lights. Just a stretch of tarmac that appeared out of nowhere, surrounded by trees so tall they swallowed the stars.

I grabbed my suitcase and stepped off the plane.

The air was cold. Colder than Istanbul. Colder than Munich. It smelled of earth and pine and something metallic, like blood frozen in snow.

A bus was waiting for me. Old, black, with the crescent moon symbol on the side. The driver didn't look at me as I climbed aboard.

There were other people on the bus.

A girl with braided blonde hair and a face like a porcelain doll. A boy with dark skin and a silver ring through his nose. A pair of twins, red-haired and freckled, who whispered to each other in a language I didn't recognize.

None of them looked at me.

None of them spoke.

I found an empty seat near the back and sat down, clutching my suitcase like a lifeline.

The bus pulled away from the plane and into the darkness.

The boy sat down next to me somewhere between the forest and the mountains.

I hadn't seen him board. He was just there suddenly, sliding into the seat beside me like he'd been there all along.

He was beautiful.

That was the first thought that cut through my fear. Not handsome. Beautiful. Blonde hair, almost white, falling across his forehead. Eyes the color of summer grass. A sharp jaw, full lips curved in a smile that didn't reach his gaze.

He was wearing a black uniform I'd never seen before-a tailored jacket with silver buttons, a white shirt underneath, the collar unbuttoned just enough to show the hollow of his throat.

"I'm Lukas," he said. His voice was warm, accented in a way I couldn't place. German, maybe. Or Dutch. "And you're Ela."

It wasn't a question.

"How do you know my name?"

He shrugged, that smile still playing on his lips. "I know a lot of things, Ela Demir. I know you're from Istanbul. I know you're seventeen. I know you think you're human."

My heart stopped.

"What did you say?"

"I said-" He leaned closer, close enough that I could smell him. Pine. Snow. The same wild scent from the envelope. "-you think you're human. But you're not. And everyone at Silvermoon Academy is going to want a piece of you."

I pulled back. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"No," he agreed, his green eyes tracing my face like he was memorizing it. "You don't. But you will."

The bus rumbled on. The other passengers didn't turn around. Didn't react. It was like they couldn't hear us, like we were in our own little bubble of tension and secrets.

"Why are you telling me this?" I whispered.

Lukas tilted his head. For a moment, the smile vanished, and I saw something else underneath. Something hungry. Something patient.

"Because I want you to know," he said softly, "that when everything falls apart-and it will-you'll remember who warned you first."

The bus slowed.

Through the window, I saw lights. Buildings. A gate made of black iron, twisted into shapes that looked like wolves howling at a moon that wasn't there.

Silvermoon Academy.

Lukas stood up. He offered me his hand, but I didn't take it.

"One more thing," he said, his voice dropping to barely a whisper.

I looked up at him.

He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear, his breath warm against my skin.

"You should be afraid, Ela. You should be very, very afraid."

The gate loomed above us like the jaw of some ancient beast.

Black iron, twisted into the shapes of wolves mid-howl, their metal mouths frozen open in eternal silence. Beyond it, a driveway stretched into darkness, lined with trees that seemed to lean inward, watching.

Lukas had already stepped off the bus. He didn't look back at me. Didn't need to. His warning still buzzed in my ears like poison.

You should be afraid.

I grabbed my suitcase and followed.

The building emerged from the fog like a ghost taking shape.

Gothic. Massive. The kind of architecture that belonged in old European paintings-spires that pierced the clouds, arched windows glowing with amber light, stone walls covered in climbing ivy that looked centuries old. A clock tower rose from the center, its face illuminated by the moon, the hands frozen at midnight.

Silvermoon Academy.

The name was carved into a stone arch above the main entrance, the letters filled with what looked like real silver.

I stopped walking. My suitcase wheels caught on a crack in the cobblestone path, and I just... stood there. Staring.

This wasn't a school. This was a cathedral. A fortress. A place that had existed for centuries before I was born and would exist for centuries after I was dust.

"First time?"

The voice came from behind me. I turned.

The girl from the bus-the one with the braided blonde hair and the porcelain face-was looking at me with an expression I couldn't read. Not friendly. Not hostile. Curious, maybe.

"Yeah," I said. "Is it that obvious?"

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You're the only one who brought a suitcase like that."

I looked down at my bag. Cheap nylon. Bright purple. A gift from my mother two birthdays ago, already fraying at the seams.

Around me, other students were unloading sleek black luggage-leather, metal corners, monograms I couldn't read. One boy carried nothing but a small wooden chest engraved with runes.

"Oh," I said.

"Yeah," the girl replied. "Oh."

She walked away without introducing herself. I watched her go, her silver uniform jacket catching the light, and felt something heavy settle in my stomach.

I didn't belong here.

I'd known that before I got on the plane. But now, standing in the shadow of this impossible building, surrounded by students who moved like they'd been born to walk these grounds, the truth hit me like a physical blow.

What am I doing here?

The orientation was held in the Great Hall.

I'd never seen anything like it.

The ceiling was so high it disappeared into shadow. Chandeliers made of antlers and black crystals hung from invisible chains, casting pale light across rows of wooden benches. A massive fireplace dominated one wall, large enough to stand inside, flames roaring despite the fact that no one had added wood since I'd arrived.

And everywhere-everywhere-were eyes.

Hundreds of them. Blue, brown, green, gray, amber. Some human. Some not. They watched me as I walked in, as I found a seat in the very back row, as I tried to make myself small.

It didn't work.

Whispers followed me like a shadow.

"Is that her? The human?"

"I heard she doesn't even know what she is."

"Pathetic. She won't last a week."

"Look at her. She's so... soft."

That last one came from a boy with sharp cheekbones and a cruel smile. He was sitting three rows ahead, but he turned around to look at me as he said it, his eyes dragging over my body like he was cataloging every flaw.

I looked away.

My face was burning. My hands were shaking. I pressed them between my thighs to hide the tremors.

Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't let them see you cry.

Headmaster Aldric Vane stood at the front of the hall.

He was old-older than anyone I'd ever seen. His hair was white as snow, his face lined like ancient parchment, but his eyes... his eyes were young. Sharp. Gold-flecked and alive in a way that made my skin crawl.

He didn't use a microphone. He didn't need to. When he spoke, his voice filled every corner of the hall, vibrating in my chest like a second heartbeat.

"Welcome," he said, "to Silvermoon Academy."

The room fell silent. Even the flames in the fireplace seemed to still.

"For three centuries, this institution has trained the finest young shifters in the world. Here, you will learn control. You will learn strength. You will learn what it means to carry the blood of the wolf."

His gaze swept across the room-and stopped on me.

I felt it like a hand around my throat.

"This year," he continued, "we welcome an unprecedented class. Students from seventeen countries. Bloodlines that span continents. And one student who carries no wolf blood at all."

The whispers exploded.

"I told you. Human."

"Disgusting. She shouldn't be here."

"How did she even get in?"

Headmaster Vane raised his hand. Silence fell again.

"Ela Demir is here under the Sacred Blood Accord," he said. "Her presence is not a mistake. It is not an accident. She has as much right to be here as any of you."

He paused.

"Whether she has the strength to stay-that remains to be seen."

The rest of orientation passed in a blur.

Rules. Schedules. House assignments. Something about lunar cycles and monthly rites and forbidden territories I was definitely going to accidentally wander into.

I didn't retain any of it.

All I could feel were the eyes. Always the eyes. Boring into the back of my head, sliding across my skin like insects.

When the headmaster finally dismissed us, I grabbed my suitcase and fled.

The dormitory was called Moonshadow Hall.

It was smaller than the main building, older, tucked behind a grove of birch trees that glowed white in the darkness. The windows were narrow, the stone walls covered in moss, and the door groaned when I pushed it open like it was complaining about having to let me in.

My room was on the third floor. Number 317.

I climbed the stairs-no elevator, of course-and fumbled with the key until the lock clicked open.

The room was small but beautiful.

A single bed with dark gray sheets. A wooden desk beneath a window that faced the forest. A wardrobe carved with wolf motifs. A fireplace that was already lit, casting warm shadows across the floor.

Someone had left a plate of food on the desk. Bread, cheese, an apple, a glass of water.

I sat down on the bed and stared at it.

They expect me to fail.

That's what the headmaster meant. That's what the whispers meant. They didn't think I belonged here, and they were waiting for me to prove them right.

I picked up the apple. Took a bite.

It was the sweetest thing I'd ever tasted.

I must have fallen asleep.

I didn't remember lying down, but suddenly I was horizontal, my cheek pressed against the rough fabric of the pillow, my shoes still on, my suitcase still open on the floor.

The fire had died down to embers.

The room was cold.

And someone was watching me.

I felt it before I opened my eyes-that primal awareness, the same one that had woken me the night the wolf appeared at my window. A presence. Heavy. Hungry.

I opened my eyes.

He was standing in the doorway.

Not Lukas. Someone else. Someone taller, broader, darker. His hair was the color of winter wheat, almost white-blonde, falling across a face that looked like it had been carved from ice and anger. High cheekbones. A jaw sharp enough to cut. Lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line.

But it was his eyes that stopped my heart.

Blue.

Not the soft blue of summer skies. Not the warm blue of shallow seas.

Ice blue. The blue of glaciers. The blue of something ancient and cold and utterly without mercy.

He was looking at me like I was a bug he wanted to crush.

I sat up so fast my head spun.

"Who are you?" I asked. My voice came out smaller than I wanted. Smaller than I was.

He didn't answer. Just stood there, filling the doorway with his impossible height, his arms crossed over a chest that strained the fabric of his black uniform.

"Wrong room," I tried again. "You must have the wrong-"

"You're the human."

His voice was low. Rough. Accented-Russian, maybe, or something close to it. And flat. Completely flat, like he was stating a fact he found personally offensive.

"I-yes. I'm Ela."

"I know who you are."

He took a step into the room.

I pulled my knees to my chest, pressing myself against the headboard. Every instinct I had was screaming at me to run, but there was nowhere to go. He was between me and the door.

"You shouldn't be here," he said.

"That's what everyone keeps telling me."

"Everyone is right."

He took another step. The firelight caught his face, and I saw something move beneath his skin. A ripple. A shift. Like his bones were rearranging themselves under his flesh.

My breath caught.

"What are you?" I whispered.

He stopped two feet from the bed. Looked down at me. And for a moment-just a moment-something flickered in those ice-blue eyes. Something almost human.

Then it was gone.

"Stay out of my way," he said. "Stay out of everyone's way. And maybe-maybe-you'll survive the semester."

He turned and walked out without closing the door.

I sat there, shaking, listening to his footsteps fade down the hallway.

Nikolai.

I didn't know his name yet. But I would. I would learn it the way you learn the shape of a knife that's been pressed against your throat.

I couldn't sleep after that.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the way he'd looked at me. The contempt. The warning. The something else underneath, the thing that had flickered and died before I could name it.

The fire had gone out completely now. The room was dark except for the moonlight filtering through the window.

I should close the curtains.

I should lock the door.

I should do a lot of things.

Instead, I just lay there, frozen, waiting for morning.

The bed shifted.

I sat up, heart hammering.

Something was wrong. Something was in the bed with me. Something cold and wet and-

I threw back the covers.

And screamed.

The sound tore out of my throat before I could stop it, raw and animal, bouncing off the stone walls.

There was a wolf in my bed.

Not a full-grown wolf. Not the massive gray beast from my window in Istanbul.

A pup. A baby wolf, its fur still soft and dark, its eyes still closed.

Its throat had been cut.

Blood soaked my sheets, dark and thick, spreading across the mattress like spilled wine. The pup's body was still warm. Still limp. Still fresh.

Someone had put it here while I was asleep.

Someone had watched me lie next to a dying animal and done nothing.

I scrambled off the bed, stumbled backward, hit the wall. My legs gave out. I slid to the floor, my hands pressed over my mouth, my whole body shaking.

The door was still open.

The hallway was dark.

And somewhere in the shadows, I heard a sound.

Laughter.

Soft. Distant. Cruel.

I pressed my back against the wall and pulled my knees to my chest, and for the first time since I'd arrived at Silvermoon Academy, I let myself cry.

Not because I was scared.

Because I finally understood.

This wasn't a school.

This was a battlefield.

And someone had just drawn first blood.

I didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the pup. Its tiny body. Its sl*t throat. The way its blood had spread across my sheets like something alive, reaching for me, claiming me.

But when the morning light finally crept through my window, I looked at the bed.

The sheets were clean.

No blood. No fur. No body.

Just crisp white linen, freshly washed, folded neatly over a mattress that showed no sign of what had happened just hours ago.

I stood there for a long time, staring.

Had I imagined it?

No. I hadn't imagined the cold wetness against my leg. I hadn't imagined the scream that had torn from my throat. I hadn't imagined the laughter from the hallway.

Someone had been here.

Someone had cleaned up their mess.

And that someone wanted me to question my sanity.

A uniform was laid out on my desk.

Gray jacket with silver buttons. White blouse. Black skirt that fell just above the knee. Knee-high boots made of soft leather that molded to my calves like they'd been custom-made.

No note. No explanation.

I put it on.

The fabric was heavier than it looked, warm despite its thinness. When I moved, I could feel something shift against my skin-runes, maybe, or symbols sewn into the lining. Protective magic.

Or maybe I was imagining things now.

Maybe the wolf pup had been a hallucination.

Maybe the boy with ice-blue eyes had been a dream.

Maybe I was losing my mind.

The dining hall was worse than the Great Hall.

Bigger. Louder. More crowded.

Hundreds of students sat at long wooden tables, laughing, talking, throwing food across the aisle at each other. The ceiling was painted with a mural of wolves running across a moonlit sky, their eyes following me as I walked.

I kept my head down. Found an empty seat at the end of the farthest table. Sat down without looking at anyone.

"What's a human doing at Silvermoon?"

The voice came from my left. A girl with cropped black hair and a nose ring was staring at me like I'd just crawled out of a sewer.

"I'm a student," I said.

"Students have wolf blood." She leaned closer, sniffed. "You don't. So what are you?"

I didn't have an answer.

She laughed-a short, sharp sound-and turned back to her friends. They whispered behind their hands. Pointed. Stared.

I stared at my plate.

Bread. Cheese. Some kind of roasted meat I didn't recognize. It smelled good, but my stomach was too tight to eat.

"Heads up. The alphas are coming."

The whisper rippled through the hall like wind through grass. Heads turned. Conversations stopped. Even the girl with the nose ring shut her mouth.

I looked up.

Four boys were walking through the center of the dining hall.

They moved like they owned the place. Because they did.

The first one I recognized immediately. Lukas. The blonde from the bus. He was smiling that same empty smile, his green eyes sweeping across the room like he was cataloging every face. A girl reached out to touch his arm as he passed. He didn't acknowledge her.

The second one was new.

Dark skin. Close-cropped black hair. A silver ring through his left nostril that caught the light. He wasn't as tall as Lukas, but he moved with a quiet grace that made him seem larger than he was. His eyes were brown-warm brown, like coffee with cream-and they found me immediately.

He didn't look away.

The third one walked like he didn't care about anything.

Messy dark hair, falling across his forehead. A leather jacket over his uniform, zipped halfway, showing a t-shirt underneath with a band logo I didn't recognize. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, his eyes half-closed like he was bored out of his mind.

And the fourth-

The fourth was him.

The boy from my doorway. The one with ice-blue eyes and the face carved from winter.

He wasn't looking at me. He wasn't looking at anyone. His jaw was set, his hands clenched at his sides, his whole body radiating a voltage of pure, unfiltered hostility.

The four of them reached the center of the hall and stopped.

Lukas raised his hand.

The room went silent.

"Good morning, Silvermoon," he said, his voice carrying without effort. "As you all know, the trials begin next week. Four alphas. One throne." He smiled, showing teeth. "May the best wolf win."

A cheer went up. Students pounded the tables. Someone howled.

I watched the other three alphas. The dark-skinned one was still looking at me. The bored one had closed his eyes completely. And the ice-eyed one-

He was looking at me now.

And he looked furious.

The dark-skinned alpha found me after breakfast.

I was walking back to my dorm, trying to memorize the path, when he fell into step beside me like he'd been there all along.

"You're Ela."

Not a question. Just like Lukas on the bus.

"I'm Kai," he said before I could respond. "Kai Wilder. I'm sorry about how people are treating you."

I stopped walking. "You're sorry?"

He stopped too, turning to face me. Up close, his eyes weren't just brown. They were flecked with gold, like sunlight through autumn leaves. And his face-his face was kind. Genuinely kind, not the performative kindness I'd learned to recognize in people who wanted something.

"Silvermoon isn't easy for anyone," he said. "But for someone like you..." He trailed off, searching for words. "It's going to be harder than you think."

"Someone like me," I repeated. "You mean human."

"I mean alone."

The word hit harder than I expected.

I looked down at my boots. "I'm used to being alone."

"I don't think you are," Kai said quietly. "I think you've been alone for so long you've forgotten what it feels like to not be."

I didn't know what to say to that.

He didn't wait for an answer. He just nodded once, turned, and walked away.

I stood there for a full minute, watching him go.

Kai Wilder.

The first person at this school who hadn't looked at me like I was a disease.

Lukas cornered me in the library.

I'd gone there to hide-to find a quiet corner where no one could stare at me, whisper about me, throw things at me. But the moment I walked through the door, he was there, leaning against a bookshelf like he'd been waiting.

"Ela." That smile. That empty, beautiful smile. "You look lost."

"I'm fine."

"Are you?" He pushed off from the shelf and walked toward me, slow and easy, like a wolf circling prey. "Because from where I'm standing, you look like someone who just realized they've made a terrible mistake."

"I haven't made a mistake."

"No?" He stopped inches from me. Close enough that I could smell him-pine and snow and something darker underneath. "Then why are you hiding in the library instead of eating lunch? Why are your hands shaking? Why do you look like you haven't slept in days?"

I stepped back. "That's none of your business."

"Everything at Silvermoon is my business." He tilted his head, studying me. "I told you on the bus, Ela. You should be afraid. But you should also know-" He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers brushing my skin. "-not everyone here wants to hurt you. Some of us want to help."

"Like you?"

"Especially me."

He smiled again, and this time there was something real underneath it. Something hungry. Something patient.

Then he walked away, leaving me standing in the stacks with my heart pounding and my skin burning where he'd touched me.

I met Thorne in the courtyard.

He was sitting on a stone bench, alone, sharpening a knife with a whetstone. The blade caught the sunlight, throwing silver flashes across his face.

He didn't look up when I approached.

"You're Thorne," I said.

"Congratulations. You can read name tags."

I blinked. "I-"

"Look, human." He finally looked up, and his eyes were gray-dark gray, like storm clouds. "I don't care who you are or why you're here. I don't care about your problems, your feelings, or your inevitable breakdown. Just stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours."

He went back to sharpening his knife.

I stood there for a moment, waiting for something else. A joke. An explanation. Anything.

Nothing.

"Okay," I said finally. "I'll stay out of your way."

"Good."

I turned to leave.

"And Ela?"

I looked back.

Thorne's gray eyes met mine. For just a second, the coldness cracked, and I saw something underneath. Something tired. Something broken.

"The pup in your bed," he said quietly. "That wasn't a threat. That was a promise. Leave before they make good on it."

He stood up, pocketed his knife, and walked away without another word.

The sun was setting by the time I made it back to Moonshadow Hall.

I was exhausted. Emotionally drained. Every interaction today had been a battle-against whispers, against stares, against the constant weight of not belonging.

I just wanted to sleep.

But when I reached the bottom of the stairs, he was there.

Nikolai.

Standing in the shadows of the staircase, his arms crossed, his ice-blue eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath catch.

"Not you again," I said.

He didn't respond. Just kept staring.

"What do you want?" I tried to sound braver than I felt. "If you're going to threaten me, just do it and leave me alone."

He moved.

So fast I didn't see it. One moment he was ten feet away. The next, he was right in front of me, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his body, could see the tiny scar above his left eyebrow, could count the flecks of darker blue in his irises.

I froze.

He leaned down.

And inhaled.

Right next to my neck. Right where my pulse hammered against my skin. His nose brushed my throat, and I felt his breath-warm, uneven, almost shaky.

"What are you-"

"Your scent," he murmured.

His voice was different now. Rougher. Lower. Like the words were being dragged out of him against his will.

"Why does it smell so familiar?"

My heart stopped.

He pulled back just enough to look at my face. His eyes were wild. Confused. Hungry. The same look I'd seen in the wolf at my window-the one that had nodded at me like it knew something I didn't.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I whispered.

"Liar."

He stepped back. Then another step. Then another, his hands opening and closing at his sides like he was physically restraining himself.

"I can't-" He shook his head, jaw clenching. "I can't be near you."

"Then don't be."

"You think I have a choice?"

His voice cracked on the last word.

Then he turned and walked away.

Not slowly. Not casually. He fled. His long legs eating up the distance, his shoulders rigid, his hands shoved into his pockets like he was trying to keep them from reaching for me.

I watched him go until the shadows swallowed him.

And I stood there, in the dark, with my hand pressed to my throat where his breath had touched my skin.

His scent.

Why does it smell so familiar?

I didn't have an answer.

But something told me I was going to find out.

And I wasn't going to like it.