Chapter 7
Aurora
I glanced around the room. Riven was out cold, snoring softly with one arm dangling over the edge of her bed. Mira was curled up, a book hugged to her chest like she’d fallen asleep mid-reading. Across the room, Lira’s earbuds glowed faintly, whatever ambient playlist she’d queued up humming just loud enough to catch. Selene was already awake, thumb scrolling lazily over her phone screen.
The room felt… peaceful. Normal.
Too normal.
The schedule they’d given us last night sat on my desk—deep blue paper, silver lettering in some kind of fancy calligraphy I couldn’t even read. Like everything else at Moonbound, it had that polished, secretive look. Like it belonged to a world I wasn’t supposed to be in.
Which, honestly, it did.
I wasn’t a werewolf.
I wasn’t a Lycan.
Hell, I barely even knew the difference.
All I knew was that I’d been enrolled in the wrong school, and now I just had to survive long enough for someone to notice. Or fix it. Or kick me out.
Preferably not eat me in the meantime.
A knock at the door made me jump.
"Morning check," someone called out. "Class in forty-five."
Lira groaned from under her pillow. "Already?"
Riven mumbled, half-asleep. "What day is it?"
"First," Mira said, sitting up and stretching like she’d been awake for hours. "Don’t be late, or you’ll get detention on day one. Which would be tragic."
She caught my eye and smiled. "Did you sleep okay?"
"Sort of," I rasped. "Weird dreams."
"That’s normal here," Mira said casually. "The first week messes with everyone. You’ll get used to it."
I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
The rest of the morning passed in fragments, like my dream hadn’t quite let go of me. I got dressed on autopilot, tugging on the navy-and-silver uniform they’d stuffed into our welcome bags. It smelled faintly like cedar—too purposeful to be an accident—and I caught myself smoothing the collar over and over, then realized my hands were shaking.
"You’re in Combat Arts, right?" Selene asked, slipping her phone into her pocket.
"Uh… no. General Studies." Selene raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement crossing her face.
"Intro courses. Cute."
"Selene," Mira said, voice low as she pulled her hair into a knot. "Be nice."
"I am," Selene muttered. "That was me being nice."
"Don’t mind her," Mira told me, flashing an easy smile. "We’ll meet you at lunch, okay? The cafeteria is in the west wing—we ate dinner there yesterday."
"Thanks," I said, wishing at least one of them had the same schedule or the same major.
It would all have been easier. But unfortunately, I wasn't that lucky.
They drifted out in a noisy cluster, boots thudding against the wooden floor. I stayed behind. waiting until the door closed and the silence settled back over the room.
The hallway was packed when I finally stepped out. Not people, obviously, but wolves. Tall. Built like they could break me in half without thinking about it. A few were half-shifted already, claws sliding against the walls like they couldn’t keep them tucked away.
Laughter rumbled through the corridor—low, rough, too close to howls.
I ducked my head and hugged my bag tighter.
The campus was way bigger than I’d imagined. Stone paths split off in every direction, winding between spruce trees so tall they blocked half the sky. The buildings just… rose out of the fog, like something left over from another world. And those silver flags hanging from the archways? Yeah, not even fabric. Metal. Woven so thin they rippled like water whenever the wind hit them.
It was beautiful.
And wrong.
By the time I found the door marked Foundations of Pack History, the warning bell was already ringing. I slipped in as quietly as I could.
The classroom looked more like a cathedral—huge windows, ceilings that went on forever, and candles floating in glass orbs above the desks. I didn’t see a single light switch anywhere. Most of the seats were already filled.
A few heads turned as I walked in. Some of them sniffed the air. Actually sniffed it.
Heat climbed up my neck.
I kept my head down, found the first empty seat, and sank into it. The notebook they’d given me had the academy crest stamped in silver on the cover. The pages felt thick and expensive and… wrong. Like I shouldn’t even be touching them.
The door opened, and an older man walked in, tall, with gray hair pulled back, presence so heavy it shut the room up instantly. He didn’t even have to speak.
"Welcome to Moonbound," he said, voice deep enough to rattle the air. "For those of you born to the pack, this is a reminder. For those of you brought here from elsewhere…" His gaze swept the room. Paused on me for a beat too long. "…this is the beginning."
My stomach twisted.
He started talking about something called the Blood Moon Treaty of 1724 and the first council of Lycans. I tried writing it down, but the words just kept blurring together.
The bridge is the offering, and the woods do not forget what was promised.
The voice from my dream pressed against my skull like it had been carved there.
I kept my pen moving, like that somehow proved I belonged here. Like I wasn’t still spiraling inside.
By lunch, my shoulders ached, and my jaw was sore from clenching it so hard. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath all morning until I walked into the cafeteria and finally let it out.
I tightened my grip on the tray. At least the Moonbound Academy had normal food too—chicken, salad, bread, and soup. I could handle that.
Mira waved me over from a table near the windows. Riven was lounging with her boots on the bench, Selene was scrolling on her phone, and Lira was picking at some fruit.
"First day, huh?" Mira grinned as I sat down. "How was Pack History?"
I hesitated.
Weird. Wrong. Like I’d walked into someone else’s life.
"Fine," I said instead.
Selene glanced up, eyebrow raised. "You look pale. Like you saw a ghost."
I swallowed. Thought of the cradle on the bridge. Gray eyes in firelight.
"Maybe I did," I muttered.
And then I felt it again. Not loud, not in-your-face—just this quiet pull, like something in the room had shifted toward me without warning.
I looked up.
Zayn had just walked in.
His dark hair was windblown, like he’d just come from training. His uniform jacket was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves pushed up, and a silver pendant hung loose against his chest. He moved like he was in no rush, but every move still had meaning behind it.
He didn’t look at me. Not directly.
But he knew I was there.
I could tell by the way his gaze skimmed our table before shifting away. By the way his jaw tightened, barely noticeable but there.
Like he had seen something he didn’t like.
What was his problem?