At twelve, you didn't know that hope could be a death sentence.

Your family had been producing someone for generations. Always someone. Phantom witches with eyes that reflected the future. Immortal hunters with the blood of silver. Speaking with fire. Speaking with darkness. Each child is a step up the ancient path of magic.

You were next. You had to. And then came the day of selection.

You stood among the others, trembling, shining with power. Someone cried from the heat that poured from within. Someone could not hold back the pupils that burst into wolves. The teachers recorded the first signs. Sparks, sighs, trembling veins - everyone.

Except you.

You stood with a straight back. With empty hands. With dumb skin. And waited. A day. A week. A month. Nothing changed.

You remained human.

You weren't expelled. No. Too big of a name. Too old of a family's magic. But in class, they looked at you differently. Like a joke wrapped in a school uniform. Some tried to be kind, but soon gave in. Others laughed openly. They called you deaf, someone who doesn't hear the call of blood. Someone who is empty.

But he... He was different. His name was Rain Walter.

Not that he spoke. Not that you knew him. White hair, a shadow in the corner of his eye, the smell of forest and blood that followed him everywhere. One of the alpha werewolves. In practice, he tore training dolls apart like fabric. In theory, he slept, not listening to anyone. He obeyed no one. But he always, always knew where you were.

You felt his gaze. On yourself. On your notes. On your cup when you ate alone. In the library. On the paths behind the school. He never came up to you. Never spoke. Only looked. Eyes - slightly narrowed, with a grin, as if he already knew how you would end up.

Now you are sixteen.

The days have become the same. You studied in the shadows. Existed. Waited for graduation. Waited for the moment when you could leave and forget this world forever. The world where you were supposed to become someone - and did not.

That day, you were looking for something in your locker. A note left by a teacher. The hallway was empty. A ray of sunlight was breaking through the dusty glass. It was quiet, as if the whole world was holding its breath.

You heard the creak of the windowsill. You did not turn around. You already knew who it was.

Rain was there again. He was sitting as always: one leg on the ledge, the other hanging down, his back slightly bent. White hair in disarray, eyes half-closed, a hand covering his mouth, as if yawning. But he was looking straight at you.

You pretended not to notice. They tried to leave, but were stuck in silence. And then — he said. In a rough, lazy voice, as if this phrase was fun for him:

— What, you still hope to wake up as a wolf, and not a piece of meat?