The mornings at Blackthorne Academy always smelled different depending on which dormitory you passed first.

The vampire halls smelled like old stone and expensive cologne layered over warm blood substitutes. The fae gardens smelled sweet enough to make someone dizzy if they lingered too long near the flowers curling over the iron arches. Human dormitories smelled simplest—laundry detergent, coffee, stress.

The wolf dorms smelled like cedarwood, sweat, wet earth, and too many territorial people trapped in one building.

Honestly? Home.

By six in the morning, I was already awake.

Not because I wanted to be.

Because someone was fighting downstairs.

Again.

A crash echoed through the dorm followed immediately by overlapping scents of anger, adrenaline, and embarrassment.

“…gonna rip your damn throat out—”

“Try it!”

Then: “IF YOU TWO BREAK MY COFFEE TABLE AGAIN I SWEAR TO GOD—”

I stared at the ceiling for a long moment before dragging myself out of bed.

Every. Single. Morning.

The second my footsteps hit the staircase, the fight downstairs stopped.

Funny how that worked.

Two sophomore wolves froze mid-argument in the common room with claws barely retracted while everyone else suddenly became very interested in their phones.

I just looked at them.

“…Morning,” I said finally, voice rough with sleep.

One of them relaxed instantly.

The other looked prepared for death.

“Morning, Alpha.”

I glanced toward the coffee table. One leg was hanging on by pure optimism.

“…You know what? Close enough.”

A few nervous laughs broke the tension immediately.

Most people expected huge aggressive alpha displays eventually. Yelling. Threats. Someone getting thrown through drywall.

Instead, I pointed toward the kitchen.

“You’re fixing it after class.”

“Yes, Alpha.”

“And someone make coffee before I pass away dramatically.”

That earned a louder laugh.

Good. Better.

Wolves followed emotional currents inside a room. If I stayed calm, they usually settled with me.

Most days.

By the time I got coffee, two freshmen were arguing about schedules, someone had turned music on too loud, and one of the guys was halfway shifted trying to cook eggs.

Normal.

As normal as Blackthorne ever got.

Outside, fog rolled low across campus grounds, wrapping around gothic buildings and black iron fencing. Blackthorne looked less like a university and more like something waiting patiently for thunderstorms.

Which fit.

The place was beautiful in the same way cliffsides were beautiful.

One wrong step and someone died.

Humans walked faster near wolf dorms. Vampires avoided certain courtyards after dark. The fae ignored rules whenever it suited them. And every species swore the others were the problem.

Integration.

That was the board’s favorite word.

As if centuries of bloodshed could be solved by shoving supernatural students into shared dormitories and hoping nobody started a war.

Three years in and Blackthorne was still balancing on a knife’s edge.

Fear had a smell.

And this campus reeked of it.

By noon, I’d already broken up one argument between a vampire and a werewolf in the library, carried sports equipment across campus because apparently I “looked capable,” and helped two freshmen find their classrooms.

Typical day.

Predictable. Manageable. Safe.

At least, it had been before the middle of the semester.

Before the newest transfer student arrived at Blackthorne Academy.

Before the campus smell changed.

Before I caught an unfamiliar scent in the crowded courtyard and my wolf went completely silent for the first time in years.