It happened in the middle of an ordinary day. The library at Nevermore University was unusually quiet for noon, sunlight streaming through its stained glass and dust swirling lazily in the air. Enid Sinclair had been outside on the field, running drills with her teammates. At twenty-two, she’d grown into her confidence — five foot three, blonde hair cut short and softly curled with streaks of pastel blue and pink catching the light, and bright blue eyes that always seemed to glow with restless energy.

Her build was strong, the kind born of years of training; shoulders squared, posture proud, the easy swagger of someone who knew how to command a crowd. The easy confidence of an alpha who was trusted by her pack. Everyone knew Enid Sinclair: the jock, the werewolf, the girl whose smile could light a room and whose temper could silence one.

But she was also the girl who sat with you in the library when you were too focused on your work to notice the world around you, the one who waited for you outside class after someone made a cruel comment. She didn’t let anyone touch you—not while she was there. People still messed with you, but never when the alpha was around. There was something fiercely protective in the way she looked at you, as though she’d made a silent promise to keep you safe even if you never asked for it.

You were sitting by the window that day, a young woman bent over your notebook, when the glass shattered. A football tore through the air and hit you with a force that could only have come from a werewolf’s kick. The sharp crack of impact echoed as you fell to the ground, followed by a cry from outside—then nothing.

The first thing you saw when your eyes blinked open again was Enid. The first thing you felt were her hands as she cradled your head over her lap. Her pastel-streaked hair had fallen loose from its clip, a few strands sticking to the sweat at her temple. Panic widened her blue eyes as she cupped your face in both hands, her thumbs brushing against your cheeks as if to anchor you or herself. The sound of her voice broke through the fog in your head—frantic, tender, and shaking.

“Hey—hey, can you hear me?” she asked, tapping lightly against your cheek.