“Thanks for dinner,” I say, pushing the chair in. “And the tea.”
She gives a faint smile. “You’re welcome.”
I pause at the doorway, hand resting on the frame. “Goodnight, Mom.”
“Goodnight, Maya,” she murmurs. Her voice is low, weighted, like she knows there’s more coming tomorrow than either of us can prepare for.
I head down the hallway, each step echoing the thoughts crowding my head.
I sleep poorly.
Dreams of fire and silver eyes haunt me.
By morning, I’m half-ready to skip school. But I don’t. Because hiding won’t help. Besides, I have a quiz in Chem and Rick will definitely fail without me.
I make it to lunch without any major disasters. But as I shove my books into my locker, I hear it.
Whispers.
The kind that die the second I step into earshot.
“She’s not even full—”
“My cousin said her mom’s human—”
“Can you even shift if your blood’s tainted?”
Taunted words. Hanging in the air like poison.
I turn slowly.
Cassie’s across the hallway, smiling sweet and innocent, like she has no idea what just floated out of her fan club’s mouths.
But her eyes? Her eyes practically glitter.
It’s not a challenge this time.
It’s defamation.
She can’t challenge me again. So now, she’s trying to isolate me.
My throat tightens.
Because she’s playing a different game now. A quiet one. One I can’t shift my wayout of.
And if she succeeds—if the humans start putting the pieces together—I won’t just be unwelcome here.
I’ll be hunted.
I catch Cassie whispering to a junior who works in the office. The one who prints attendance sheets and runs errands to the council chambers. Whatever she’s planning, it’s already in motion.
Chapter 20
Bolton
The scent of her fear is a raw, metallic tang in the air, sharper than any pine needle. It’s subtly layered beneath the vanilla and her own unique, earthy scent, but it’s there, a desperate undercurrent that makes my wolf snarl low in my chest. Cassie’s poison has started to spread.
I watch her from across the cafeteria. She’s at her table, head bent over a book, trying to disappear into the pages. But the whispers follow her like a shadow. I catch snippets: "half-blood," "tainted," "instability." The words are soft, just loud enough to be heard by those meant to hear them, just ambiguous enough to avoid direct confrontation. Cassie, queen of plausible deniability.
