Harvy folded his hands behind his back again, eyes never leaving Mark.
"You were marked by the Alpha," he said.
"Marked as a rogue wolf."
Mark frowned. "By the Alpha?"
"Yes."
"But you just said you are the Alpha."
Harvy's lips curved slightly. Not a smile—acknowledgment.
"I am," he said. "For the Cromvell bloodline."
He took a step closer.
"This city does not answer to one Alpha, Mark. It answers to an All-Alpha. One authority above every royal family."
Mark's jaw tightened. "Who is that?"
Harvy turned back toward the window.
"Don't worry," he said calmly. "You'll meet that person soon."
Silence stretched.
Harvy exhaled once, as if returning to business.
"Now," he continued, "where was I… ah yes."
He faced Mark again.
"For wolves like you, there are only two outcomes."
Mark didn't blink.
"Either we make you one of us," Harvy said evenly,
"or we bury you."
The words landed without drama. Without threat.
Fact.
"But," Harvy went on, "you complicated matters."
Mark clenched his fists.
"You showed restraint. No civilian blood. No pack violation beyond presence."
Harvy's eyes sharpened.
"You controlled your beast."
He nodded once.
"That alone earned you the right to be adopted by one of the royal wolf families."
Mark inhaled sharply.
Then Harvy raised a finger.
"However."
The room seemed to tilt.
"You did not shift for the entire night of a full moon," Harvy said. "At the age of seventeen."
Mark's heartbeat spiked.
"That is not discipline," Harvy continued. "That is authority."
He stepped closer, voice lowering.
"Such control is considered impossible before the age of thirty."
Harvy studied him like a rare anomaly.
"Which gives you another right," he said quietly.
"The right to found your own royal bloodline."
Mark stared at him.
"I didn't ask for any of this."
Harvy nodded. "No one who matters ever does."
He turned back to his desk, picked up a sealed black envelope, and placed it in front of Mark.
"To discuss your future," Harvy said,
"a banquet has been convened."
He slid the envelope forward.
"Your presence will be expected," Harvy added "and its a banquet wear something fitting to a royal banquet."
Mark looked at the seal.
A wolf sigil burned into crimson wax.
"And if I don't come?" Mark asked.
Harvy met his eyes.
"Then the decision will be made without you."
The bell rang outside.
Students laughed. Lockers slammed.
School resumed.
Inside the office, Mark Swinton realized something terrifying—
He wasn't being hunted anymore.
He was being courted.
Mark closed the locker a little too hard.
Simon was still staring at the envelope when Mark finally said it.
"The principal is a werewolf."
Silence.
Then—
Simon blinked. Once. Twice.
"…I'm sorry, what?"
Iris frowned. "What do you mean is?"
Mark sighed. "Harvy Cromvell. Alpha of the Cromvell bloodline."
Simon laughed.
Not because it was funny—because his brain refused to accept it.
"No. Nope. That's—" he waved a hand, searching for words, "—that's the guy who yells about dress code."
Mark nodded. "Same guy."
Simon's smile cracked.
"…you're telling me the man who suspended me for chewing gum turns into a wolf?"
Mark didn't answer.
Simon slowly leaned back against the locker, eyes wide now.
"First," he counted on his fingers, "Iris's driver turns out to be a wolf."
Iris flinched slightly at that reminder.
"Now," Simon continued, pointing down the hallway toward the principal's office, "the school principal is a freaking werewolf."
He looked down at himself.
"…is this whole town like this?"
Mark shrugged slightly. "Maybe."
Simon swallowed.
"Am I a werewolf and nobody bothered to tell me?"
He poked his arm. "Because that would really explain my anger issues."
Mark snorted despite himself.
Iris didn't laugh.
She had gone quiet.
Too quiet.
Her eyes weren't on Mark anymore—they were unfocused, distant, like she was replaying every odd moment she'd ignored over the years.
Late-night noises.
People who vanished during full moons.
The way adults always knew more than they said.
"…Alpha," she whispered.
Mark turned to her. "Iris?"
She didn't look at him.
"So there are bloodlines," she said slowly. "Families. Rules. Hierarchies."
Simon glanced at her, uneasy. "Hey… you good?"
She finally looked up.
"No," she said honestly. "I'm trying to understand how long this has been happening around us without us knowing."
Her gaze locked onto Mark.
"And how deep you're already inside it."
That hit harder than anything Simon had said.
Simon forced a grin, trying to break the tension. "Okay, new rule—no more surprises."
Mark raised an eyebrow.
Simon pointed at him. "If my math teacher turns into a vampire, I'm dropping out."
Iris didn't smile.
Her mind was racing.
And for the first time, she wasn't just scared for Mark.
She was scared of the world they were standing in—
A world that had been hiding in plain sight all along.
The car rolled smoothly through the evening traffic, city lights smearing across the window like watercolors.
Iris sat in the back seat, chin resting against the glass, watching her reflection blur in and out.
Her eyes kept drifting forward.
To the driver.
John.
He'd driven her for years. Always the same posture. Always alert. Hands steady on the wheel like nothing in this world could shake them.
Tonight, she watched him differently.
Something about him felt… off.
Not dangerous.
Not threatening.
Just not human in the way she used to assume everyone was.
John noticed.
"You keep staring, Miss Hale," he said calmly, eyes still on the road. "Is something wrong?"
Iris hesitated, then exhaled through her nose.
"Why do you work as my bodyguard?" she asked.
John's eyebrow twitched slightly in the rearview mirror.
"Your sister Jenifer works at the school," Iris continued. "She's the assistant to the principal. You have connections. You could do more than drive me around and open doors."
For the first time, John glanced back at her.
Not offended.
Not defensive.
Just… honest.
"I don't work for you, Miss Hale," he said. "I work for your mother."
Iris turned her face fully toward him now.
"If Miss Cromvell wants me to keep you safe," he continued, "then I will."
The word hit her wrong.
Safe.
Iris let out a short laugh—almost a scoff.
"Safe," she repeated under her breath.
The car went quiet again.
Iris Hale grew up in a house that looked perfect from the outside.
Her father Lucus Hale died when she was eight.
The official story was painfully, clean and convenient.
A sickness. Slow. Unavoidable.
Her mother, Elena Hale, remarried not long after—to a man of status, influence, and old connections Harvey Cromvell. He already had a son named Peter Cromvell, 4 years older than Iris. A boy who never tried to hide his dislike for her. Not with cruelty. With indifference. The kind that stings more.
Since then Elena never once mentioned herself as a Hale.
She was a Cromvell now
And Iris decided to keep her father's name.
Which Elena did not Care about.
But now Iris knows that Harvy Cromvell her stepfather and the principal of her school is a werewolf, which rises many questions inside her head such as-
Is Peter also a werewolf?
Does my mother know?
Then it click her.
Her family was too coordinated. Too harmonious.
They spoke in half-sentences. Shared looks that excluded her. Smiled at secrets.
And once every month—without fail—they all left.
"Work," they said.
Important work. Overnight work.
Family business.
They dressed the same way. Left at the same hour. Returned together by morning.
Iris was always left behind.
Alone in a house that felt colder on those nights.
She cried the first few times.
Then she stopped asking.
It happened on the party night and even last night.
It gives her the answer her mother is also one of them.