Chapter 13
Elara's POV
Sunlight slammed into my face like a fist.
I jerked awake, disoriented. The ceiling was wrong—too low, textured plaster instead of rough stone. Purple comforter twisted around my legs. Elara's journal still clutched against my chest.
Right. Not the fortress. The bedroom.
I squinted at the alarm clock. Red numbers glared back: 1:47 PM.
My stomach dropped.
Combat training. 2:15. Twenty-eight minutes.
I bolted upright and the room tilted. My body screamed—muscles stiff, joints aching, lungs tight from yesterday's sprint through the forest. But there was no time for that.
I stumbled downstairs, legs shaking. The house was silent. Empty.
On the kitchen table—a note in Emily's handwriting, next to a covered bowl and plate. Still warm.
Sweetheart, your father and I had to run errands. Ethan's covering a shift. There's lunch in the fridge. Please eat something. Love, Mom.
She'd timed it. Made sure I'd have hot food.
Something twisted in my chest. I shoved it down and grabbed the bowl. Chicken soup. Homemade. I forced it down while pacing, checking the clock. 1:49. Twenty-six minutes.
The sandwich was next—turkey and cheese, crust trimmed. Emily remembered I didn't like crusts. Twelve years she'd remembered that.
I finished in four bites and sprinted back upstairs.
My backpack sat in the closet, empty now. I grabbed it, shoved in notebooks and pens, then hesitated at the loose floorboard. Pulled it up. Retrieved the runic bracer.
The metal was cold as I strapped it around my left forearm and tugged my sleeve down. The fabric bunched awkwardly but covered it.
I couldn't walk in defenseless.
1:55.
I grabbed Elara's inhaler, checked the counter—half full—and shoved it in my pocket. Then I was out the door.
The walk to school normally took twelve minutes.
I made it in seven.
I pushed through the front gates and saw Chloe immediately.
She was leaning against the brick wall, arms crossed. The second she spotted me, she launched forward and grabbed my arm.
"Elara! Where the hell were you this morning?"
I blinked. "What?"
"First period. Second. Third." Her grip tightened. "You weren't in any of them. I covered for you with Mrs. Patterson, said you were at the nurse's, but if she finds out I lied—"
"Chloe." I gently pried her fingers off. "I just overslept."
"You never oversleep." Her voice pitched higher. "Are you going to combat training?"
My stomach tightened. "Yeah."
"Elara, no." She stepped in front of me, blocking my path. "You can't. Sophia's been telling everyone she's going to 'put you in your place.' All morning. If you go to that class, she's going to destroy you. You need a doctor's note. Fake sick. Something."
I looked at her—really looked. Her green eyes were bloodshot. Her hands trembled on my sleeve.
She was terrified. For me.
"I'm not running," I said quietly.
"This isn't running, it's survival—"
"I'll be fine."
Chloe stared at me, mouth opening and closing. Finally she stepped aside, shaking her head.
"You're insane."
"Probably."
I walked past her toward the gym.
The locker room smelled like sweat and cheap body spray. I pushed through the door and the noise hit first—girls laughing, lockers slamming, someone's phone blasting music.
Then it stopped.
Every head turned. Conversations died.
I felt their stares like weight pressing down. Sophia's friends clustered near the back, whispering. A tall girl smirked at me.
I ignored them and headed for my locker. 14-27-33. Pulled it open.
Inside—gym clothes, neatly folded. I grabbed them and turned.
Someone's shoulder slammed into mine.
I stumbled, catching myself on the locker. Pain shot through my arm where the bracer dug in.
"Oops." The tall girl grinned down. "Didn't see you there, Grey."
Her friends giggled.
I straightened, keeping my face blank. "It's fine."
"You sure? You look like you're about to pass out." She leaned closer. "Maybe sit this one out."
I met her eyes. Held them. Watched her smile falter.
"I'll manage."
I turned and walked to the changing area. Behind me, muttering. More laughter. But quieter.
I stripped and pulled on the gym uniform—shorts hanging loose on my hips, shirt bagging around my shoulders. Elara had lost too much weight. I looked like a kid in someone else's clothes.
I tugged the sleeves down over the bracer and tied my hair back.
Across the room, Sophia adjusted her wrist guards. She glanced up. Our eyes met.
Her smile was slow. Satisfied.
I looked away first. Let her think I was scared.
The gym was massive—high ceilings, polished floors, equipment racks lining the walls. Students gathered in clusters, stretching and chatting.
I found a spot near the edge and dropped my bag. Started stretching. My body protested every movement.
"Alright, settle down!" Coach Warren's voice boomed.
He strode in, clipboard in hand. Built like a tank—broad shoulders, thick arms. Retired military. Definitely werewolf.
He stopped center floor and scanned the group. His gaze lingered on me.
"Roll call."
He went through names. When he got to mine, he paused.
"Grey."
"Here."
He looked up. "You good to train today? Heard you had an incident yesterday."
Every eye swiveled to me.
"I'm fine, Coach."
"You sure? If you need to sit out—"
"I'm sure."
He studied me, then grunted. "Alright. But if you start wheezing, you tap out. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
He finished roll call and set the clipboard down. "Today we're working on grappling fundamentals. I'll be pairing you up—"
"Coach?" Sophia's hand shot up.
Warren frowned. "What?"
She stepped forward, all concern. "I was wondering if I could partner with Elara today."
The room went silent.
Warren's frown deepened. "Why?"
"Well..." Sophia glanced at me. "I know she's been having a hard time. And since we're friends, I thought it might help if she had someone she's comfortable with."
Friends.
I saw girls exchange glances. Someone snickered.
Warren looked at me. "That okay with you, Grey?"
Every instinct screamed no.
But saying that would only make me look weak.
I shrugged. "Sure."
Sophia's smile was radiant. "Great! Thanks, Coach."
Warren nodded, unconvinced. "Fine. You two take mat seven. Everyone else, listen up."
He started calling names. Students moved to positions. Sophia walked toward me, slow and deliberate.
I met her halfway.
We stood five feet apart while the class settled. I could feel their attention. Phones already angled to record.
This wasn't training. It was a spectacle.
Coach Warren finished assignments. "Alright. Focus is takedowns and escapes. Clean technique. No cheap shots. No excessive force. This is practice, not a cage match. Understood?"
"Yes, Coach."
He blew his whistle. "Begin!"
Around us, pairs started grappling. Controlled. Measured.
Sophia and I didn't move.
She stepped closer, voice dropping. "You know, I'm really glad you came today. I was worried you'd chicken out."
I said nothing.
"Let's warm up first." She rolled her shoulders, stretching. Making a show of it.
Then she moved even closer, until her breath was warm against my ear.
"Don't worry, Elara." Her voice was silk over steel. "I'll try not to hurt you too badly. After all, you're so..." She paused, lips curving into that perfect angel smile. "Fragile."
She stepped back, turning toward the watching crowd with that same gentle expression. Dropped into textbook fighting stance—knees bent, hands up, weight balanced.
Perfect form for everyone to see.
I stood there, keeping Elara's wide-eyed, nervous expression plastered on my face.
Let her think she'd already won.