“I really do want to know how you got that fast,” Kylie says, still trailing me as we leave the training grounds. “Your moves are better than some I’ve seen at the warrior camps back home.”

Her words make me glance at her skeptically, eyebrows raised. She’s probably just being nice.

“Uh, thanks. I just... train a lot, that’s all,” I say vaguely. I’m not ready to tell her about getting my wolf early—that’s part of why I’m so fast, and not exactly common knowledge.

Most kids get their wolves between sophomore and junior year. Leo and the other ranked boys—Aaron, Ryan, Ethan, and Devin—all got theirs freshman year, which is normal for powerful wolves. I, however, got mine at the end of eighth grade. It freaked me out at first. I may have beta blood, but I’m not exactly treated like a ranked member. When I told Delta Kyle, he took me straight to Luna Ava, who has been helping me ever since.

“Hey, Selene!” Delta Kyle jogs toward us, holding something small in his hand.

I tense as he approaches. “Your shirt rode up during sparring,” he says quietly. “Looks like you opened one of your injuries again.”

Kylie’s golden eyes flick between us curiously. I meet Kyle’s gaze with a steady look, silently begging him not to have this conversation in front of her.

I take the small container of healing cream from him. “Thanks, Delta. Is there anything else?” My voice is flat, hoping he’ll drop it.

He crosses his muscular arms over his chest, towering over me with that trademark Delta stare. The problem? It works on everyone—except me.

“Not now, okay? I promise I’ll explain later,” I say through the mindlink.

Kyle’s sharp eyes narrow, but he gives me a reluctant nod. “Fine. But if I find out who’s doing this, there will be hell to pay.”

“That’s exactly why you won’t find out,” I reply firmly. “You have bigger things to worry about than high school bullies. Besides, they’re weak—so weak they resort to using silver powder.”

Kyle’s growl rumbles through the air, his Delta aura radiating out like a tidal wave. Every non-ranked wolf nearby ducks their heads in submission, instinctively tilting their chins to the side. Even Kylie dips her eyes respectfully, though her chin remains lifted—a subtle defiance. I blink. What’s her rank? Most wolves can’t fight off that level of power.

Kyle’s voice is low and dangerous. “Silver powder? That’s not bullying, Selene. That’s torture. You need to tell me who did this—now.”

I shake my head. “No. I’ve handled it, and if you step in, it’ll only make things worse. I’m already a target. The last thing I need is for them to think I’m weak because someone had to fight my battles for me.”

Kyle’s jaw clenches, but I turn on my heel before he can respond, heading straight for the locker rooms. Kylie follows without a word, not mentioning the scene we just caused.

Inside, I grab my shower stuff and head for the farthest cubicle, pulling the curtain shut behind me. I always change in private—I can’t risk anyone seeing the bruises or scars on my body. Especially not the lashes on my back, still healing painfully slow thanks to the silver Stacey used on them.

The hot water stings as it hits the open wounds, turning the streams pink with blood. I grit my teeth against the pain, grateful for the privacy to wash away both the physical and emotional weight of the day.

When I’m done, I reach blindly out from behind the curtain for my towel, wrapping it tightly around myself before daring to step out.

“Damn it, Kylie!” I jump, clutching my towel as she leans casually against the wall, grinning like she hasn’t just scared the life out of me.

“You forgot this.” She dangles the container of healing cream between her fingers. “You might need help applying it—some of those cuts are in hard-to-reach places.”

I glare at her, but she just twirls her finger, motioning for me to turn around like the discussion is over.

“I’m helping you, Selene,” she says firmly. “You can make this easy, or I’ll do it anyway. Your call.”

Her voice leaves no room for argument. Sighing, I loosen my towel, exposing my back. The fifteen lashes crisscross my skin, some old and faded, others fresh and angry.

If Kylie is surprised or disgusted, she doesn’t show it. She works in silence, gently applying the cream to each wound. “This might help with the scar tissue, but I can ask my parents for something stronger—”

“No.” My response is immediate. “I’ve got it under control. Thanks, though.”

She glances at me briefly, clearly unconvinced, but she doesn’t push. “If you say so.” With a shrug, she changes the subject. “So… think you can show me around the school? I’m going to need a tour guide.”

Her abrupt shift catches me off guard, and I blink at her, thrown by how easily she shifts from one topic to the next.

“Uh, sure,” I mumble, reaching for my clothes. “Let me get dressed first.”

Kylie doesn’t take the hint to leave, so I awkwardly wriggle into my clothes under the towel, feeling her amused gaze on me the entire time.

Once we’re both ready, we head out of the locker room and walk the short distance to the school building. The air between us is easy, even though I’m not used to having someone willingly walk beside me.

At the front office, I introduce her to the secretary, who gives her a schedule, locker number, and combination.

We still have 45 minutes before class, so I lead her through the hallways, showing her the layout of the school. It’s strange—most students go home after training, but I’ve found lingering with Kyle or hiding in the locker room gives me a brief reprieve from Stacey’s antics.

As we walk, I discover that Kylie and I share a few classes. She’s a year older, like the guys, but I’ve been placed in some advanced courses. In my school, “advanced” just means “the next grade up.”

“At least we have the first two classes together,” she says brightly, her voice full of unbridled optimism. “That’ll make things more fun.”

“You’ll have to point out who’s who—who to avoid, who’s worth knowing.”

I laugh under my breath. “I don’t think I’m the right person for that. I tend to keep my head down and stay out of everyone’s way.”

Kylie huffs but doesn’t argue. We reach our first class, and I lead her to the back of the room, where I always sit. She follows without hesitation, dropping her bag beside mine as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I stare at her for a moment, still adjusting to the novelty of someone voluntarily choosing to be around me.

Maybe—just maybe—things are about to change.