The first half of the day dragged. Koda sat slouched in his seat, eyelids heavy, the remnants of a restless night clinging to him like fog. He hadn't told anyone about the dream—the wolf, the glowing eyes, or the words that still echoed in his mind: You're waking up.
He couldn't explain it. Didn't want to. It felt like peeling open a wound he wasn't ready to see.
"Attention!" Mrs. Carter, their English teacher, clapped twice, snapping Koda out of his daze. "We're starting the semester project today. This one's big. Thirty percent of your final grade, so take it seriously."
The groans from the class were almost synchronized.
"You'll work in pairs," she continued, adjusting her glasses. "I've assigned them randomly. No swaps."
Koda didn't bother listening until he heard his name.
"Koda Evans and Tristian Vale."
The pen slipped from his hand.
He turned slowly, locking eyes with Tristian, who was leaning back in his seat with a faint, unreadable expression. His pack members, scattered around the classroom, didn't react. But Koda swore he saw Nova smirk.
Tristian gave a small nod. No smile. No scowl. Just a calm, quiet acknowledgment.
Koda swallowed hard. This couldn't be real.
The project topic was broad: "Deconstructing Modern Myth: The Role of Superstition in Contemporary Storytelling." An essay and a 15-minute multimedia presentation were due in two weeks.
Koda spent the rest of the day spiraling into anxiety. He was average at best when it came to presentations. Add in Tristian Vale and the pressure tripled.
By the end of the last period, Koda was stuffing his books into his bag when a soft voice came from behind him.
"Library. After school. We can outline the topics together."
Koda jumped.
Tristian stood there, calm as ever, his eyes softer now. The raw power he usually radiated was dialed down to something... almost gentle.
"O-okay," Koda stammered.
The library was quiet, save for the occasional page flip and the tapping of laptop keys. They claimed a back table near the windows. Tristian pulled out his notes and surprisingly, seemed prepared.
Koda couldn't focus. Every time he looked up, Tristian was already watching him.
"You really think mythology still shapes how people act?" Koda asked finally.
Tristian tilted his head. "Humans tell stories to explain things they fear. Or desire. Most people think myths are lies. But some myths are just forgotten truths."
Koda stared. "That sounds... poetic."
Tristian smiled faintly. "Maybe."
Their first study session ended awkwardly but without disaster. They agreed to meet the next day at a nearby café.
The following week fell into a rhythm: school, meetings, writing drafts, sifting through articles.
Koda didn't realize how much he enjoyed it until he caught himself smiling while rereading Tristian's outline notes.
And every night, the voice in his head grew louder.
"You feel it, don't you? The pull."
"He's not like the others."
"He sees you."
Koda didn't reply. He didn't know how.
On Thursday, they met at Koda's house—his suggestion, to avoid crowded places and focus better.
His stepfather wasn't supposed to be home.
They sat on the floor, papers spread between them, when the front door slammed open.
Koda froze.
Tristian looked up sharply.
"Koda! Where the hell are you?"
Koda scrambled to his feet, face pale. "He wasn't supposed to—I'll be right back."
He stepped into the hall. "I'm here. I'm working on a project."
His stepfather rounded the corner, scowling, the smell of cheap alcohol wafting off him.
"With who? That freak new kid? I told you no visitors! This your house now, huh? You paying bills?"
Koda backed up as his stepfather advanced.
"I said, are you—"
"He is."
The voice was low, quiet, but it stopped the man cold.
Tristian stepped into view, posture loose but eyes blazing. There was something... inhuman about him at that moment.
Koda's stepfather narrowed his eyes. "You better watch your tone, boy."
Tristian didn't respond. Just stood there. Radiating a presence that made the hallway feel five degrees colder.
The man muttered something under his breath and stormed into the kitchen.
Koda turned, embarrassed, humiliated. "Sorry, I didn't know he—I'm sorry."
"You don't need to apologize," Tristian said.
Koda hugged himself. "It's not always like this. I mean, it is. But I deal."
Tristian took a step closer. "You shouldn't have to."
Something in Koda twisted. Something deep and buried. The part that always told him to be quiet. To endure. To hide.
It cracked.
He looked up at Tristian—the one person who hadn't turned away. And for the first time, he wanted to stay in someone's gaze. They left the house and walked for a while. Not speaking.
When Tristian finally left him at the gate, Koda looked back only once.
Tristian hadn't moved. He watched until Koda disappeared behind the door. That night, the dream returned
The forest again. The wolf again.
But this time, the wolf stepped forward, growled low and fierce.
"He is not your enemy. He is your beginning."
Koda woke up breathless.
And for the first time in a long while, he didn't feel alone. He felt ,almost seen maybe even cared about