Chapter 12 Lydia's Escalation
Malia’s POV
The next day the rumors starts.
At first I don’t notice—the usual stares and whispers that have turned into white noise in my life here at Mooncrest.
But then I pass a group of girls in the hallway, and one of them says, loud enough for me to hear: “I heard she’s sleeping with all three of them.”
I stop walking.
The girls don’t even try to hide that they’ve been caught gossiping.
“Who else would want the Moonfall triplets?” another whispers. “She’s trying to climb the social ladder, no doubt.”
"Desperate," says a third, scrunching her nose.
My cheeks are burning, but I make myself keep walking.
It's just gossip.
It'll blow over.
But it doesn’t.
By lunch, the whispers have replicated.
"Did you hear she cheated on her entrance exam? That’s how she got the scholarship."
“I heard hybrids are diseased. We should be careful around her.”
"My mom said hybrids were banned from elite schools for a reason. "
I sit with July and Freddy in our usual spot in the back of the cafeteria, trying to avoid the gazes that are upon me.
“This is ridiculous,” July hisses, stabbing at her salad angrily. “Who is this crap going around?”
“Three guesses,” Freddy mumbles, glaring across the room.
I follow his gaze. Lydia perches at a center table with Dina and Beretta and looks completely clean while her friends breathlessly whisper to local students, who then pass on the message to others.
This is a rumor mill in action. "She’s basically dedicated to making your life a living nightmare," July says.
“It’s working,” I quietly admit.
The students had already turned on me in the morning classes. A guy I’d partnered up with last week asked the professor to switch. Even Professor Thorne had seemed cold, more distant.
The loneliness is crushing.
"We need to fight back," Freddy says, his eyes alight with mischief. "I know where Lydia stashes her designer bags. One strategically placed fish and—"
“No,” I interrupt firmly.
“But—”
"I said no.” I am not eating, just pushing the food around on my plate. “It’s just going to make things worse. More attention. More drama.”
“So now you’re just going to let her win?” July asks.
"I'm going to survive," I correct. "That’s all I can do right now."
July looks like she’s going to argue, but Freddy puts his hand on her arm.
“It’s Malia’s call,” he says softly.
July deflates. “Fine. But if she escalates further, if she flips the script, if she gets physical, well, all bets are off.”
—---
Then my turn for lunch, and I go to my locker to get my textbooks for the afternoon.
As I brace myself mentally for another round of Cold-Stares I note the eyes trained on me.
Not curiosity, disgust.
Then I see it. Spray-painted on my locker in crimson wet-looking letters was:
HYBRID TRASH
I feel my insides turn.
Students flow past, some stare, some pretend not to see, some whisper behind their hands.
I stand frozen, feeling every eye on me.
"Oh my god," someone whispers. "That's so messed up."
But no one said, "Let me help you."
No one is saying anything. They just… look on.
My hands tremble as I fumble for my lock, hurry to open it and get my books together. I touch the metal with my fingers in the coolness.
The paint is still a little wet.
This happened not long ago. Maybe while I was at lunch.
"Malia—" July's voice is behind me.
I don’t turn around. “Don’t.”
“This mess is ours to clean up!”
“I said don’t.” My voice breaks. “Just… Leave it.”
“You can’t just—”
“Yeah, I can.” I finally open my locker, grab my books, and slam it shut. The red letters taunt me. "I can and I will."
Before either of them can argue, before the tears that might fall, I walk away.
I hear Freddy’s furious whisper behind me as he says, “I’m going to destroy anyone who did this.”
July's reply is too quiet to hear.
But I know they're up to something and I know I need to stop them. But there’s a tiny shadowed part of me that hopes they don’t.
—----
The rest of the day is filled with aggressive energy. In Werewolf History, the professor tells me to read out loud, then stops me after two sentences with, "That's enough, Miss Hart."
In Pack Dynamics, the group partners I am assigned to ask the professor if they could work by themselves.
Request granted.
I'm numb by the time I get to my last class — Lunar Cycles Theory. I slide into my regular seat in the back and take out notebook.
The seat next to me is empty. Then, five minutes into the lecture, someone is sitting.
I glance over—and freeze.
Cian.
He doesn’t look at me, he just flips open his textbook to the right page and begins writing notes as if this were all completely normal.
Like he’s oblivious to the fact that sitting next to me is the current equivalent of social suicide.
Whispers break out around us, and everybody turns to look at us.
"Is that Cian Moonfall?"
"Why him and not her?"
"Maybe he doesn't know all the rumors—"
Midway through a note Cian’s hand stops.
He raises his head and gazes directly at the whispering students — says nothing, just stares at them with those stormy gray eyes.
Whispers cut out at once.
Then, he goes back to his notes. My throat tightens with some unnameable emotion.
He ignores me.
Doesn't offer comfort, or explanation.
He just… stays. And somehow that’s stronger than anything you could say.
—---
When class ends, I'm packing up when I catch the sound of raised voices from the gymnasium building on the far side of the quad.
Apprehensive like you’re not supposed to be, I drift closer.
The locker room door is ajar and the voices are distinct. “—honestly, I’d hit that. Hybrid or not, she’s got—”
"Guy, she's horny for a Moonfall attention. Probably easy—"
Rude laughter. My stomach twists.
"They say she’ll do whatever it takes for protection. Perhaps we should offer—"
"Enough."
The single word sliced through the discussion like a buzz saw. That voice I know.
Aiden.
I inch closer to the door my heart pounding.
"We're just joking, man—"
“Shut. Up.”
It seems as if the air temperature in that locker room just plummets. I can sense Aiden's power from this distance—bulldozing in pulses, weighing down on anyone caught in its path.
“I don’t care if you’re kidding,” Aiden says, his voice a whisper with an edge. “You don't talk about her. You don’t make jokes about her. You don’t even think about her. Is that clear?"
Silence.
"I said, is that clear?"
"Y-yes. Clear."
"Good. Now get out."
Footsteps are scurrying to the door.
I dive behind a column and three guys come out looking dejected.
When they’re gone, I glance into the locker room.
Aiden stands alone, hands pressed against a locker, head bowed.
I can even tell how tense his shoulders are from here. Then, as if he had smelled me, he raised his head.
Our eyes met through the doorway.
Long moment, no movement Between us.
I want to say something—thank you, maybe, or ask why he defended me when he's made it known he doesn't care.
But before I can find the words, he turns away. Dismissal. I stand there for another moment, confused and inexplicably hurt.
—---
That evening July is pounding on my door…ours aren’t in fact locked during the day…with Freddy right behind her.
“Did you hear?” she asks.
“Hear what?”
“Aiden Moonfall laid into some guys in the locker room for dissing you.”
So this wasn’t just in my head.
"How do you know?"
“Everyone knows,” Freddy says, flinging himself on my bed without asking. “One of the guys told his girlfriend, who told her roommate, who told basically everyone.”
“Why would he do that?” I whisper.
July shrugs. “Who knows? Aiden Moonfall is a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped in designer clothes.”
“Maybe he has a conscience,” Freddy suggests.
“Or maybe,” says July thoughtfully, “he’s so invested that he cares more than he wants to admit.”
I shake my head. “He hates me.”
“Does he though?” July raises an eyebrow. “Because protecting someone from sexual harassment isn’t really screaming ‘I hate you’.”
I don’t know how to answer that.
Later, when Aiden comes back to the dorm, I’m still up, Ionging for my bed with a textbook that I’m not really looking at.
Without acknowledgment, without recognition, without recognition she goes in silently.
Normal routine.
But tonight is different.
“Aiden,” I say before I can stop myself.
He pauses with his hand on his desk chair.
“Thanks,” I carry on. “For what you did today. In the locker room.”
Silence stretches.
Then: “I didn’t do it for you.”
The words sting, though I should be used to them by now. “Then why—”
“I did it because their behavior was unacceptable,” he cuts me off coldly. “Don’t read into it.”
He sits down at his desk, which puts a stop to the discussion.
But now as I switch off my lamp and snuggle under my comforter, I can't help but wonder:
If he didn’t make that sacrifice for me, then who did he do it for?
And why does his apology sound like a betrayal of everything he’s shown me so far?
My wolf stirs, confused by the mixed signals, drawn to something in Aiden she doesn’t understand.
Be careful, I tell her. But she doesn't listen.
Neither does my heart, apparently.