The halls of Moon Blast High School still echoed with the devastation that had taken place six days ago. The walls were the same, the floors were the same, but there was a notable difference that couldn't be described with simple words.
The ease with which the full-blooded wolves used to walk had been shattered. Everyone was on edge, looking over their shoulders and wondering if they would be next. The feeling of invincibility had been washed off their skin so thoroughly that the pups didn't know what to do with themselves.
A tall, broad-shouldered Warrior stood guard in the hall of the West Wing, his eyes scanning every student that passed. He watched as Diamond, one of the defective girls, walked over to George. The boy was still heavily bandaged and had to use a cane just to get around. Large, jagged wounds covered the entirety of his face, neck, and back. There was a constant coppery scent in the air when he passed you—the smell of blood that had yet to stop oozing.
"It's an even day! Are you going to be okay?" Diamond's hand reached out to touch his shoulder, only to pause in mid-air. It seemed like every inch of him was still covered in open sores, and she wasn't exactly sure where there was a safe place to rest her hand. Pulling her hand back, she let it fall to her side as she stared at the young boy who no longer held the innocence of a child. It even felt a bit foolish to call him a young boy when he had committed the acts of a man. Killing wasn't something that children were supposed to do.
George's chapped lips creased into the barest of smiles as his cold eyes settled on Diamond for just a moment.
The surrounding students felt a wave of dread settle in their stomachs as they watched the two defectives speak. They could hear every word, but that didn't matter. They wondered if they were plotting something—if one of them would be the target this time.
"You don't need to keep asking. I feel great!" George said. He had thought regret would settle in. Maybe it would take hours or days, but as each day passed, he only felt more solid. His strength had not waned for a moment. He felt powerful—the kind of power that you only get by being a king, the one who got to call the shots and make every decision. No one picked on him or any defective anymore. The other students barely looked his way, and when they did, it was with fear and suspicion. He wasn't sure if he had made anything better, but in a way, it wasn't worse. Because at least no one would dare to fuck with them again. Not openly. And not without wondering if they would make it out alive.
Just as a third defective started to walk over to the duo, the Warrior made his presence known. His imposing body, towering high above the children, took a heavy, notable step towards them. It was a clear indication that their gathering was no longer acceptable.
The defectives moved in small, isolated groups now, their heads lowered. They knew the new rules. If too many gathered—more than two—a Warrior would immediately detach from the wall and stride toward them, not speaking, but radiating a threat until the group dissolved. In every corridor, classroom, entrance, and exit—even the rooftop—there was not an inch of the school that didn't have a Warrior guarding the floor. They were maintaining not just safety, but a forced civility. These were now different times.
Phil tilted his head to the side as he received a mental message from the STS main hub. It was time to go back; another team would take their place in the outer perimeter of the high school.
Once back in the ST'S main area, Phil felt his shoulders relax slightly. The high school felt like the worst place on Earth to be. Every second was tense, and every sound felt like a potential calamity. The kids were on edge, and it made it far harder for the guards to simply do their jobs, with any erratic shift causing an uproar.
Luckily for them, they only had one defective in their ranks currently, and she was exceptionally dangerous. But with only one of her around, she could do very little damage. He watched in frustration as Luca jogged beside her on the track, his pace evenly matched with her own. It was an obvious decision to stay at her side. Phil shook his head, turning away toward the sleeping quarters.
Trinity's mind raced every second. She'd barely been able to sleep anymore. She felt as if life was so far out of her control that she didn't know how to bring it back. The guards that had followed her father's instructions were reassigned, no longer there to protect her from everyone else—or to protect her from herself. She hadn't thought she would feel so alone once they were gone, but she didn't really have anybody. She was stuck training with a teacher that no longer actually tried to teach her. Anything she would learn, she would have to learn on her own now.
Luca sped up, overtaking Trinity as he extended his hand to make her stop running. He was careful not to touch her. She seemed even more on edge than usual, which made sense, but she wouldn't speak to him at all. It wasn't just their last fight hanging in the air; it was everything. His father had aligned the defectives against everyone else, and he did not know how to reach out to her. At some point, he had to admit to himself it wasn't just that he found her attractive that brought him near her. He had actually listened and gotten to know her, and even in the small amount he had, it was enough. He wanted to know more. But it was like he was just so far away that she would never let him get anywhere near her.
"Drink some water!" His tone was hard and clipped, but she listened, and that was all that mattered.
Trinity stared back into his eyes. She couldn't help the fact that he smelled like his dad. Every time she breathed in, it was like the Alpha was sitting right beside her at that table. Even though she knew she shouldn't, she resented Luca because of his father. He wasn't the same, but she wasn't sure he was much different. At this point, she didn't feel the need to figure it out. There were just too many things running through her mind, and this was something that just didn't matter.
Grabbing one of the bottles of water at the side of the track, Trinity took a long swig, brushing loose tendrils of black hair away from her face.
Luca watched as sweat trailed down her body and her throat bobbed with each chug of water. He decided it wouldn't hurt to ask. "What happens on even days? To you!" His voice was low as he walked closer to her, stopping only a hair's breadth away.
"Ask your father!"
Her eyes were so hollow now. His father wasn't just known for his physical strength; he was mentally just as strong, which made him that much more dangerous. When he attacked you, if your body was something he couldn't break, he would shatter your mind instead.
"I have! But he lies. You won't!"
Placing her water back on the ground, Trinity just stared at him. She wondered why he cared, why he wanted to know. What would it matter if he even knew? "It doesn't matter!"
"My father likes to break people mentally. You're not weak, but you were mentally fragile. And I'm sure he knows it!" His words were meant to serve as a warning as he got back on the track and continued to run.
Trinity's blue eyes followed him as his words settled in her chest. He definitely knew his father. But Luca was wrong. Trinity's mind was her best weapon because it had been broken so many times before. Her body was only catching up to where her mind had always been.
Jess sat slightly apart. The others, having experienced the sudden, brutal power of their inner wolves, now carried themselves differently. The transformation was beautiful, and in its beauty, it had left her behind. She no longer felt like she was a part of the group.
"Don't worry! You know I won't let anything happen to you," Ryan said as he walked past Jess so he could spar with Timothy. She kept biting her lip, looking lost and sad.
Jess gave him a tight smile, saving her thoughts. He was still acting like normal, but she felt this barrier between them—the line between broken things and the refurbished. Ryan was a wolf, Mona was a wolf, Timothy was a wolf, and Trinity was still something remarkable. Everyone had changed except her. She was stagnant, and she couldn't help the jealousy or how left behind she felt.
Mona gave Jess a small, awkward smile. Things were so different now. It was hard to be around Jess; it was like looking at a stranger. Mona had never understood it before—how parents could reject their children, saying it just didn't feel right—but now she understood. Jess smelled like a human, like a stranger. Every memory Mona had with her was perfectly intact, but this feeling inside of her told her that something was wrong. Jess wasn't who she thought she was. She felt so foreign that Mona wanted to recoil in discomfort. It was a constant struggle to smile and stay near her when the sensation she gave off was pure unease. She was trying to work through it, but it was hard. Her senses were still going haywire, and everything was new, yet the one person she thought might feel familiar felt the strangest of all.
"Don't worry, I won't really hurt you. Obviously. We're friends!" Mona laughed uncomfortably as she raised her sword.
Jess wanted to throw her blade down. She wanted to ask why it was so hard, why Mona was being so weird. Yes, she hadn't changed into a wolf, but it didn't mean she was so far behind the rest of them, or that they needed to treat her like a broken little doll. It made her angry—the way Mona now babyed her. It was so blatant and disrespectful. Yet, what could she say? She didn't want to be even more alone. She still had Noah, but even that felt strained. This conflict had made them all so careful.
Looking past Mona, she saw her brother Johnny. He gave her a tight smile as he started to walk over towards her, but she shook her head subtly, warning him to stay away. His feet faltered before his smile dropped and his shoulders sagged. He didn't come closer, but he never stopped looking toward her. She had to be the one to look away. Her parents had been right all those months ago—she would drag down her siblings. At this moment, she was glad that she did not know her younger sister in the slightest. Lily was a practical stranger to her. Jess found herself forgetting what the girl even looked like most of the time.
Planting her feet on the practice field, the thin patches of dead, brown grass crunching beneath her boots, Jess lunged forward. Her breath came in ragged, desperate gasps. She had lost her earlier spar and was already exhausted, but her pride kept pushing her, refusing to let her give up or give in.
Her plain steel longsword, heavier than she liked, flashed in an overhead arc aimed for Mona's shoulder. It was a predictable, clumsy attack fueled more by frustration than training.
Across from her, Mona sidestepped with effortless grace. She held her own sword loosely, almost negligently, blocking Jess's heavy blow not with a parry, but with a simple, casual deflection that sent a jarring vibration up Jess's arms. The resulting clang echoed across the field. Mona couldn't believe she used to be weaker than Jess, and now it felt as if she were battling a child. She understood the difference in strength and power between herself now versus what she used to be, and it made her feel pity for Jess. Because even though Mona was still getting used to what she was, Jess wasn't any different at all.
Mona smiled, a small, bright gesture that only amplified Jess's fury. "Easy there, Jess! You'll wear yourself out. Maybe try using your footwork?"
Jess felt a fresh wave of heat flood her face—partly from exhaustion, partly from embarrassment. Mona's demeanor wasn't just calm; it was condescending. She hadn't even broken a sweat. Her movements were smooth, practiced, and infuriatingly slow, as if she were moving underwater while Jess flailed in the air. She definitely felt outmatched when she faced other wolves in the class, but they would just end it quickly and move on to their next partner. This drawn-out humiliation was eating at her.
She is mocking me, Jess thought, tasting the salt of sweat on her lip. But it wasn't just the fighting. It was the knowledge that beneath Mona's clean black shirt and easy posture, her bones were thicker, her muscles coiled with a lupine strength that made this whole fight a pathetic farce. She was a wolf now. And Jess was just… Jess.
"Shut up!" Jess snarled, throwing a wild, high thrust. It was easily batted aside. She hated pity, hated when people looked down on her. She wished at least one of them were still like her; then they would understand what she was going through—what it was like to no longer be a part of the group.
Mona giggled, a clear, bell-like sound that was utterly out of place on the dusty, strained training ground. "Why are you being so rude? I'm trying to be nice. I want to help you get—"
Mona couldn't understand her. She was doing her best. She was trying extremely hard not to be so uncomfortable that she just avoided Jess altogether. Here she was making a significant effort, just to be snapped at.
Jess didn't let her finish. She launched into a frantic, chaotic series of hacks and slashes, desperation tightening her grip until her knuckles were white. Her sword strokes were wide, wasted efforts that left her guard gaping. Sweat plastered strands of dark hair to her forehead and stung her eyes. Every movement felt heavy, every breath a desperate plea for oxygen.
Mona, however, only backed up, her sword acting as a gentle, almost lazy barrier. She deflected blows just enough so they didn't connect, pushing the tip of Jess's sword away with the flat of her blade, never the edge. It was the kind of training practice a teacher gives a nervous child, not the respect due a sparring partner.
"I'm trying so hard with you—" Mona said, her voice laced with a sense of helplessness mixed with almost pitying concern.
"I don't understand why you have to try. I'm not different—you are!" Jess huffed, her breaths coming in uneven pants.
"That's the problem! You're exactly the same!"
Mona just said it. For once, she didn't hide what was going on in her mind. She said the words that felt like an anvil being tossed into the ocean, unable to be pulled back up.
Jess, slick with sweat and shaking with exertion and impotent rage, stumbled backward, preparing one last, desperate swing. Her body screamed in protest, but her anger demanded she keep fighting. She brought the sword back over her shoulder in a massive, windmill arc.
"Fuck you—" Jess hissed.
In that fraction of a second, a large, calloused hand shot out and clamped around the sword's blade, stopping the movement dead just inches from Mona's head.
Thomas stood there, a look of displeasure on his face. He hadn't appeared to move; it was as if she blinked and he was just there. The metallic scrape of Thomas's gauntlet against the steel blade was the loudest sound on the field. All sparring instantly ceased. Jess gasped, her sword frozen in the air, held fast by his grip.
"I am not training an arborist," Thomas said, his voice low and vibrating with disappointment right next to her. He yanked the sword from her paralyzed hands with casual force. "You don't swing like you're hacking wood!"
He dropped the sword into the dirt, then turned his gaze—sharp and missing nothing—on Mona, who stood pristine and puzzled a few feet away.
The sigh that left his lips was tired and heavy, filled with the anxiety and tension surrounding the pack that had not yet been released. But he was trying his best to keep it out of his classroom. "In my class, everyone is afforded the respect of a proper spar. If you cannot do that, do not enter my class again." His words were said in a low tone, meant for Mona's ears alone, but the surrounding wolves all heard him.
Jess had dropped to the ground, panting heavily, humiliation peppering her skin as she used her arm to wipe the sweat from her face.
"Two laps around the pack, everyone!" He called out. Instantly, the surrounding pups began to drop their swords and race to finish first. Before Jess could even think about standing up, Thomas lowered himself until he was sitting across from her.
"Do not take this as pity, child! But I am sorry for you. All of you defectives are going through something unthinkably challenging and impossibly cruel. Unlike them, you did not also get a wolf to lessen the burden. So for that, I am very sorry." Thomas could smell her emotions as clear as day. From the moment she entered his classroom after the punishment grounds, it was clear: she was humiliated, angry, embarrassed, and sad. Mainly sad. And all of it was just bottled inside of her.
Jess didn't say a word. Her head was down as tears dotted her eyes. Her nose started to sting and she felt the need to cry, but she didn't want to—not now. It wouldn't help.
"You're the only person who's said that to me." Her voice was small, lacking the normal fire that she always exuded.
"It's because I'm old!" He smiled as she peeked up at him. "I have the benefit of experience and time. Your friends are children like you. You're allowed to tell them that you are hurting, even if it changes nothing." He patted her on the shoulder and stood back up to his feet. "Now get running. It's two laps—you're falling behind."
"What? Really?" Jess complained as she looked up at him.
Author's note:
My word it has been a long time. Enjoy the chapter. More coming. I'm trying as a resolution to be better at keeping a schedule.