Chapter 112 The Principal’s Call
Malia's pov
The call comes at lunch.
I’m alone in the library — my new permanent spot since the video went up — when the school secretary tracks me down. Mrs. Chen gave me a sealed envelope with the official school crest on the inside.
“Principal McLunar wants to see you right now,” she says, voice clipped and professional. "Don't keep him waiting."
Before I can answer, she is gone.
My hands tremble as I tear open the envelope. The letter itself is short, stiff and frightening in its simplicity:
Miss Reed - You are to report to my office at once to discuss certain matters concerning your academic standing and conduct. That's not optional. - Principal McLunar.
I look down at the thick card stock, my stomach sinking to somewhere around my toes.
This is it. It is the final blow. They’re going to kick me out.
It’s like a death march to the admin building. The kids clear the halls for me—some with contempt, some with sympathy, all with that same ominous fascination people have when they see someone losing it.
I keep my head up. Won't give them the satisfaction of seeing me break. Not again.
The admin building is also yet the oldest building on campus — original brick and stone construction dating back to when the college was established more than a century ago. The corridors smell of old wood, and power: past principals’ paintings peer from the walls, like silent magistrates.
The office of Principal McLunar is located on the third floor, at the end of the hall that appears to have no end. The door is huge — dark oak with brass fixtures — more something you would see in a gothic castle than a university building.
I knock twice. My knuckles are too loud for the wooden door.
“Come in.” The deep commanding voice inside is old, but strong.
I open the door and I freeze.
This room is large. Stadium-size seems like an understatement — soaring, vaulted ceilings with dark wooden beams, gigantic windows revealing the campus grounds, bookcases on every wall you can find. This isn’t so much an office as it is a testament to power and history.
But it’s the portraits which take my breath away.
Tons of them. Massive, ornate frames holding oil paintings of wolves in various shapes — human, shifted, captured mid-transformation. All of them are powerful, even in paint. Ancient alphas, their eyes seem to move as I walk through the door.
The biggest painting hangs right behind the desk – an enormous gray wolf with silver eyes that appear to move, to think. Below the nameplate it says: Matthew McLunar, Founder.
“Close the door, Miss Reed.”
I quicken my pace, glancing from the portraits to the man at the desk.
Principal McLunar is old—at least in his seventies. His face was pale, his white hair pulled back and the visage rugged and stark with the lines of age. His eyes are the same silver as the wolf in the portrait behind him. He sits bolt upright, shoulders thrown back, an image of the unquestioned power he’s held for so long.
Pure-blooded. Ancient lineage. A wolf like that was probably dangerous long before I was born and is probably just as dangerous now.
I shut the door with shaking hands and make my way to the desk. There is a lone chair in front of it—intended to make the person in the seat feel small, exposed, judged.
My legs are getting too weak so I sit down.
Principal McLunar isn’t talking yet. Just watches me with those silver eyes, studying me, memorizing each jitter, any tell.
At length, he seizes a folder from his desk. Opens it. Inside is a lot more extensive – pages upon pages of paperwork.
“Malia Reed,” he pronounces, as if saying her name was enough to think her already out of reach. “Scholarship student. Second year. Hybrid classification—wolf and human blood.” He looks up. “I have that right?”
"Yes, sir. my voice sounds more steady than I feel.
He goes back to the folder. “Your first year was… adequate. Not great, but good enough to hold onto your scholarship. B average. No trouble. No disciplinary infractions. Remarkable. Relatively remarkable." He flips a page. “This term, though, writes a very different story.”
My hands are clenched in my lap.
“There are multiple reports concerning the disruption. Emotional outbursts. I have a formal complaint from professor Vesper about your work in Supernatural Lineage." He looks up again. "And that’s not even touching the more serious stuff."
I say nothing.
"The combat training incident with Miss Chesfield." He pulls out a report, scans it over. "You hear that? Witness statements say you threw her into a reinforced concrete wall hard enough to cause the wall itself to crack. Coach Herriman’s evaluation indicates power output well above what we’d expect to see even with a normal hybrid."
His eyes pin me. "Care to explain that?"
"I lost control," I say quietly. "I didn't mean to hurt her."
"Intent doesn’t matter when there’s a student in the med bay with busted ribs and a concussion." He sets the report down. "So there’s the Miss Lydia Ashford incident. Public altercation. Physical contact. Dozens of students looked on."
"She was harassing me," I start. "She said—"
"I don't care what she said." His voice sliced through my explanations like a knife. "You touched another student. That is not acceptable no matter how much provocation there was."
My jaw clenches but I do not respond.
"And then—" He takes out printed screenshots. My stomach drops when I recognize them. The pictures from the basketball court. Me and Cian. "—we have breaches of good conduct. Relationship complexities involving various members of the thorne family that have lead to a extremely hostile environment here on campus."
"That's not a violation—"
“When it causes public disordeness, Miss Reed.”He places the photos down carefully. “When it turns into a spectacle that interferes with the educational process for other students. When it offends the dignity of this establishment.”
The words thudded into his chest like punches.
He draws out more papers. “I also have a number of complaints from students. Formalized accusations that you make them feel unsafe. Your violent tendencies and emotional instability make the environment frightening.”
All of them Lydia's friends or allies. Of course.
“Lies, they’re lies,” my voice tight. “They’re coming after me because—”
“Because you hurled someone against a wall?” Principal McLunar raises his eyebrows. “Did you physically attack another student? Because she showed them the very kind of instability they’re talking about?”
I have no answer for that.
He snaps the folder closed like a judge’s gavel. "Your academic performance has also declined dramatically, Professor Vesper reports a string of failures. Multiple recent assignments are now failing grades according to Professor Vesper. Your attendance to make-up classes has–” he glances at another sheet of paper “—‘insufficient and worrying’.”
Sure Vesper noted that. Naturally she logged everything so that she could take her case.
“Miss Reed.” Principal McLunar leans forward, his hands folded on the desk. “You were accepted to this university on a merit-based scholarship with very specific conditions. Keep your grades at a B level. Acts appropriately. Make a positive contribution to our campus culture.” He pauses. “You are now failing in all three measurements.”
"I can improve–"
“Can you?” His voice betrayed disbelief. “Because from my point of view, I am seeing a pattern of escalation. Each one worse than the one preceding it. Each new loss of control is more dangerous. You went from being an adequate student to a violent threat in a matter of weeks.”
“I’m not a threat—”
“Miss Reed, you put a student in the hospital.” He softens. “You damaged school property. You caused several public disorders. What would you call that but threatening?”
I’m tearing up, but I push the tears down. Won't cry. Won't give him that.
"The scholarship committee has examined your file," he says. "In light of the documented incidents, the decline in her academics, and several conduct violations, they have a recommendation."
This is it. The end.
“Once more – just one more academic or disciplinary incident – and you will lose your scholarship immediately.” He meets my stare. “One more failed assignment from Professor Vesper. Just one more incident with a student? Another display of the snowballing instability you’ve already been showing us? When you say any of them, and you’re done here.”
“That’s not fair—”
“Fair?” His laugh is harsh. “Miss Reed, fair would be to expel you now. Fair would be making you responsible for putting another student in the hospital. Fair would be for us all to accept that you are emphatically not cut out for this place.” He leans back. “What I should have said is, this is a last-chance offer. One you frankly don't deserve."
The words are painful because they’re probably true.
"Now, you’re going to be seeing Dr. Morrison—our campus counselor—twice a week, mandatory. You will do all the remedial work that Professor Vesper assigns you to her exacting standards. And you’re going to stay away from the students who accused you, period.” He counts off on his fingers. "You will also prove that you can achieve the level of control and poise demanded of us at this school."
"And if I can't?" I'm whispering.
"Then you will have to be removed." Simple. Final. "We strip you of your scholarship. Your enrollment has been terminated. Your transcript will say you were dismissed for disciplinary reasons, and that will make it rather difficult to get into any other decent school ..."
Translation: My future destroyed. Everything I built, wasted.
“Do you understand the terms, Miss Reed?”
I nod because I can’t speak past the lump in my throat.
"I need verbal confirmation."
“I understand.” The words are ash in my mouth.
"Good." He retrieves a form, slides it across the desk with a pen. "Sign to confirm that you have received this academic warning."
My hand is shaking as I sign. The pen is too heavy too much. My signature looks like a broken line.
He takes the form back, files it precisely. "Okay, you’re dismissed. Report to Dr. Morrison’s office by the close of day to arrange your compulsory meetings."
I stand on trembling legs.
“Miss Reed.”
I pause at the door, not turning around.
"I hope you prove me wrong," he whispers. "I hope you make it obvious that the confidence the scholarship committee had in you wasn’t misplaced." But—" His voice hardened. "—I'm not going to let one unstable student put the safety and good name of this place in jeopardy. Remember that."
I turn and walk away without saying a word.
Outside his office, the hallway is nothing but a blur. I watch the tears in my rearview mirror as they swim across my eyes.
On academic probation. One mistake from getting kicked out. Counseling is required. Remedial work under Vesper's vindictive gaze. Dodging half of the campus to obey the complaint orders.
And the clear message underneath it all: You don't belong here. One more slip and we'll make that official.
I make it to the closest restroom before the sobs hit—violent, convulsive, the sort that racks your whole body.
I've lost Aiden. Lost the brothers' trust. Lost my reputation. And now I'm one failed task away from going through all that too.
The power beneath my skin pulses, angry, frustrated, wanting out.
But I push it down with everything I have.
Because if I lose it now, I lose everything.
And there's nothing left for me to lose. I sob by myself in the bathroom stall, surrounded by proof of my own ruin, trying to calculate how much longer I can keep it together.
Running through scenarios for what happens when I just can’t anymore. The answer scares me.
But not as much as knowing it’s on its way.
Whether I am ready or not.