After the meeting ended
Mark headed home.
After he arrives at his home
Mark closed the door behind him.
Locked it.
Then leaned his forehead against the wood and finally let the breath out.
The palace.
The eyes.
The power games dressed up as tradition.
All of it felt heavier now that the silence wrapped around him.
He crossed the room and dropped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling like it might answer back.
One year.
The thought came uninvited.
The abductions the hunters talked about.
The symbols carved into bodies.
People vanishing and turning up wrong.
One year.
His jaw tightened.
That was when everything had started going bad.
Not when he awakened.
Not when the wolves noticed him.
But before.
His mind slid back to the island.
The night sky split open.
The pressure in the air—like the world was holding its breath.
The thing that descended, wrapped in light with four sets of wings.
The angel.
That was a year ago.
It was still too much comprehend for him he scoffs it off. And went to sleep.
The hallway buzzed like always—lockers slamming, laughter, phones out—but for Mark it felt unreal. Like he was walking through a set he'd already outgrown.
Simon and Iris caught up to him near the stairs.
"So?" Simon said immediately, eyes shining. "Royal wolf meeting. Fancy hall. People who could kill you with a look. How bad was it?"
Mark exhaled. "Tense. A lot of pressure. Everyone watching every word I said."
Iris studied his face. "That doesn't sound like a normal dinner."
"It wasn't." He hesitated, then added casually, "Also… not to brag or anything, but I'm officially royalty now."
Simon froze.
"…What?"
Mark shrugged. "They gave me the right to form my own bloodline. Apparently that's a big deal."
Simon's mouth twitched. Then his eyes narrowed and he lifted his hand like a tiny green goblin.
"Strong you are," he said in a perfect Yoda voice.
"Royalty, you have become."
Mark snorted despite himself. "Don't start."
"I will start," Simon said proudly. "I'm friends with space-wolf nobility now."
Iris didn't laugh.
She'd gone still.
"Who was the Alpha?" she asked.
Mark blinked. "The All Alpha?"
"Yes," Iris said, a little too quickly. "Her name."
Mark thought for a second. "Elena Cromvell."
The world stopped.
Simon's grin vanished. His eyebrows shot up.
Iris's breath caught—sharp, quiet, like she'd been punched from the inside.
"What?" Mark asked, frowning. "Why are you both looking at me like that?"
Simon swallowed. "Uh… Mark…"
Iris spoke before he could.
"That's my mother."
Mark stared at her. "What?"
"My mother," she repeated, her voice flat, distant. "Elena Cromvell."
Silence wrapped around them.
Then Iris added, slowly, the words tasting unfamiliar even to herself—
"That means… I'm a werewolf too."
Mark's mind raced. "But you've never—"
"I know," she said. "I've never awakened. Never shifted. Never felt anything."
Her hands curled into fists at her sides.
"But if she's the Alpha…" Iris looked down, then back up, eyes sharp with realization and fear. "Then it's only a matter of time."
Simon froze up, for the first time hia chattering mouth was silent.
Mark looked at Iris—not as the girl he'd grown up with, but as someone standing on the edge of something enormous.
Something she never asked for.
"Hey," he said quietly. "If you are…"
She met his eyes.
"…then you won't face it alone."
For the first time that morning, Iris felt it.
Not fear.
Not yet.
But something deep inside her—
stirring.
The bell rang.
Sharp. Final.
Mark was still halfway through a sentence—You won't face it alone—when the classroom door opened and cut the moment clean in half.
The teacher straightened.
"Before we continue, we have a transfer student."
The room shifted.
She walked in without hesitation.
Not dramatic. Not timid. Just… present.
Black hair, tied back loosely. Calm posture. Eyes that didn't rush. When she stepped inside, Mark felt it immediately.
A pressure.
Not pain. Not fear.
Like the air itself had thickened by a fraction.
Iris felt it too.
Her shoulders tensed, almost unconsciously. She didn't look at Mark—but her heartbeat changed rhythm.
"This is Clara Ashcroft," the teacher said. "She'll be joining us starting today."
A few murmurs. Someone whistled. Someone clapped lazily.
Clara nodded once. "Hello."
Her voice was normal.
Everything about her was normal.
"Seat near the window," the teacher said.
The one behind Mark.
The moment she walked past him, his senses flickered—not scent, not sound.
Awareness.
Like being looked at without actually being stared at.
She sat.
The pressure settled.
Simon leaned back in his chair, whispering, "Okay… is it just me or did the vibe drop?"
Mark didn't answer.
He felt it again.
A glance.
Not lingering. Not obvious.
But he felt it.
Like someone checking if a weapon was loaded.
Iris shifted in her seat, jaw tight. "Something's off," she muttered under her breath.
Mark nodded slightly. "Yeah."
The class continued, but none of it stuck. Words slid off Mark's mind like water.
Every few minutes—another glance.
Always brief.
Always precise.
Clara never stared. Never reacted when Mark looked back.
But the pressure didn't fade.
It stayed.
The bell finally rang again.
Chairs scraped. Noise returned.
Students poured out.
Simon stretched. "Alright, royalty, you alive?"
Mark stood slowly. "Yeah."
Iris paused, glancing back once.
Clara was still seated, packing her bag calmly.
Their eyes met for a split second.
No expression.
No smile.
Just awareness.
Iris turned away, unsettled. "I don't like her."
Simon snorted. "That's a first. You hate everyone equally."
They left.
Mark returned alone.
He'd forgotten his notebook.
The classroom was empty now. Quiet. Still.
Sunlight slanted through the windows.
He bent to pick up the notebook near Clara's old desk—and froze.
Carved faintly into the wood beneath it was a circle.
Not deep. Almost erased.
But unmistakable.
Symbols etched around the edges.
Lines intersecting at unnatural angles.
Mark's breath slowed.
His memory flashed—last night's news footage.
Blurry photos. Police tape. Bodies found in alleys.
The markings.
The same structure.
His fingers hovered just above the carving.
Cold crept up his spine.
"This…" he whispered, barely audible.
This wasn't coincidence.
The pressure he'd felt all morning suddenly made sense.
Behind him, the door creaked.
Mark straightened instantly.
But the hallway was empty.
Then looked the table
The markings that were craved on the table a second ago were gone.