The car ride feels like it lasts forever and ends too soon, and it stretches like torture.

David keeps glancing at me in the rearview mirror, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Every few minutes, he opens his mouth like he wants to say something, then closes it again and the silence stretches between us, heavy with everything we're not saying.

It still feels surreal that he's driving me to a school where he's already spent two years building a life. When the acceptance letters came through—his academic scholarship renewed for his junior year, my athletic tryout opportunity—Mum cried with relief. At least I wouldn't be completely alone here.

But David can't protect me from everything. Not without blowing both our covers.

"You remember everything we practiced?" he finally asks as we pull through the iron gates of Crescent Moon Academy. The crest embedded in the metalwork shows a wolf howling at a crescent moon—subtle enough for humans, obvious enough for our kind.

"Lower my voice, keep my shoulders squared, don't let anyone get too close." The words tumble out automatically from my mouth. "Shower late at night or early in the morning when the bathrooms are empty. Keep my head down but not so much that I look suspicious."

"And?" David asked.

My throat tightens more. "We're not related here. David Sterling and Frederick Sterling, just a coincidence. Don't act familiar, don't seek you out unless it's an absolute emergency."

His jaw clenches in the mirror. "I hate this part most of all."

"It's the only way." My chest aches saying it, but we both know it's true. David's spent two years carefully building his reputation here as a quiet, studious werewolf from Manchester. Having a "brother" show up who looks nothing like him, acts nothing like him, would raise too many questions.

"You have my number memorized?"

"And your room number, your class schedule, where you usually study." I tick off the details on my fingers. "Your friend Christopher who doesn't know anything about your real family, your study group on Tuesday nights, your job at the campus bookstore."

David nods, but his shoulders remain tense as the academy comes into view, and my breath catches.

It's massive. Gothic stone buildings stretch across manicured grounds, their spires reaching toward the gray October sky like claws. Students move between classes in small groups—some obviously human, others carrying themselves with the predatory grace that marks our kind.

The supernatural students are easy to spot once you know what to look for: the way they move, the way they scan their surroundings, the casual confidence that comes from knowing you're apex predators.

My heart pounds so hard I'm surprised David can't hear it.

"Holy shit," I whisper, then catch myself. Boys curse more casually. I need to remember that.

David pulls up to a circular driveway in front of what must be the main administrative building. "You sure about this, Frey? Because once you get out of this car, I can't..." His voice breaks slightly. "I can't be your big brother anymore. Not here."

"I know." I grab my duffel bag and hockey gear, my hands steadier than I expected. Maybe because having him here, even if we have to pretend we're strangers... makes this feel less impossible. "I'll be careful. I promise."

"Text me, but make it look casual. Like you're just being friendly with an upperclassman." He turns to look at me directly, his eyes intense now. "And Frey? If anyone gets suspicious, if anyone starts asking too many questions—"

"I'll find a way to let you know." I lean over and squeeze his shoulder briefly... the kind of casual contact a new student might have with someone offering directions. "Thank you. For everything."

I get out before the moment can linger too long, shouldering my gear as the car drives away. To anyone watching, it just looks like an older student helping out a newcomer.

Perfect.

Students pass by in clusters, their conversations a mix of mundane teenage complaints and carefully coded references to pack politics. A group of obviously wealthy human girls discusses weekend plans to go shopping in the city. Three werewolf boys argue about territory disputes between their families back home, their voices pitched low but not low enough to escape supernatural hearing.

None of them look at me twice. I'm just another new student, unremarkable and forgettable.

I catch a glimpse of David disappearing into what must be the library, his familiar gait making my chest tighten. He doesn't look back.

The admissions office reeks of old wood and older money. Portraits of former headmasters line the walls, most with eyes that follow you and expressions that suggest they could tear your throat out without breaking a sweat. The human receptionist doesn't even glance up from her computer screen.

"Frederick Sterling," I say, grateful when my voice comes out steady and low.

"Room assignments are in your packet, along with your class schedule and dining hall information." She hands me a thick manila envelope without looking at me. "Orientation starts tomorrow at eight AM sharp. Don't be late."

"Thank you." I clutch the envelope like a lifeline and head back outside.

My dorm is called Northwind Hall, and it's a ten-minute walk across campus. The path takes me past the academic buildings, the library where David disappeared, and then—

I stop dead in my tracks.

The hockey arena rises before me like a temple. Modern glass and steel that somehow manages to blend with the gothic architecture of the older buildings. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I can see the pristine ice, the team banners hanging from the rafters, and my heart lurches with want so sharp it's physically painful.

Three years running national champions. The best of the best.

And tomorrow, I'm going to try to convince them I belong here.

"First time seeing the rink?"

I spin around so fast, my heart jumping into my throat. A boy who looks about David's age stands behind me, hands shoved in his pockets, dark hair falling across his forehead in waves. He's tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of easy confidence that comes from never having to question whether you belong somewhere.

The scent that hits me is pure werewolf... strong, definitely an alpha. My human nose can't pick up the subtleties, but there's something about him that makes my skin prickle with awareness.

"Yeah," I manage, deepening my voice slightly. "It's incredible."

"You play?" His eyes drop to my hockey bag, and something shifts in his expression. Interest, maybe. Or assessment.

"I try to." I adjust my grip on the bag, hyperaware of how my hands must look. Too small, too smooth. "You?"

A slow smile spreads across his face, and it's predatory in a way that makes my pulse quicken for reasons I don't want to examine. "You could say that. I'm Sabastain Knox."

The name hits me like a physical blow across the face. Sabastain Knox. Co-captain of the Crescent Moon Wolves. Leading scorer for two seasons running. The werewolf sports blogs back in London couldn't shut up about him.

I'm staring at hockey royalty, and he's talking to me like I'm just another student.

"Frederick Sterling." I extend my hand, praying he can't hear my heartbeat thundering. "Everyone calls me Freddie."

His grip is firm, warm, lasting just long enough to send electricity shooting up my arm. His eyes widen slightly, like he felt it too, but the moment passes before I can be sure.

"Freddie." The way he says my name makes heat curl low in my stomach, which is absolutely the last thing I need right now. "Sterling... you related to David Sterling? Third year, spends half his life in the library?"

My blood turns to ice. "Who?" I force confusion into my voice, praying it sounds genuine. "No, I don't think so. Pretty common name, though."

He studies my face for a long moment, and I fight to keep my expression neutral. "Yeah, I guess you're right. You trying out for the team?"

"That's the plan." I try to project confidence I don't feel. "If I'm good enough."

"Fair warning." He steps closer, close enough that I catch more of his scent, pine and winter air and something darker that makes my head spin. "We don't go easy on fresh meat. Especially pretty boys who think they can charm their way onto the ice."

Pretty boys. My cheeks burn, and I pray he reads it as embarrassment instead of the blind panic clawing at my chest. Do I look too soft? Too feminine?

"Wouldn't want you to go easy," I manage, forcing my chin up. "I earn my spot or I don't deserve it."

Something flickers across his features—approval, maybe. Or surprise. "We'll see about that." His gaze drops to my mouth for just a second before returning to my eyes. "Word of advice? Some of the guys don't like outsiders. Especially ones who show up mid-semester thinking they're hot shit."

"And what about you?"

The question slips out before I can stop it. His smile turns razor-sharp.

"Me?" He leans in just enough that his voice becomes intimate, conspiratorial. "I like seeing what people are made of when the pressure's on. When they're pushed right to the edge."

His eyes never leave mine. "Something tells me you might surprise us, Freddie Sterling."

He starts to walk away, casual as anything, then pauses without turning around.

"Oh, and Freddie? If you really don't know David Sterling, keep it that way. Kid's got family drama he'd rather leave buried."

My heart stops completely. Does he know? Is this a warning or a threat?

But the arena doors swing shut behind him before I can respond, leaving me alone with my racing pulse and the lingering scent of pine and danger.

I watch those doors for a full minute, trying to process what just happened. David warned me this place was thick with politics. Werewolves from powerful families with long memories and even longer grudges. If someone connects us, if they start digging...

Three days until tryouts. Three days to convince some of the best young players in the country that I belong on their ice.

Three days to convince them I'm just another boy chasing the same dream.

Three days to keep David's secret as well as my own.

I shoulder my gear bag and head toward my dorm, Sabastain Knox' scent still lingering in my memory and his words echoing in my head.

*I have a feeling you might surprise us.*

*Kid's got some family drama he doesn't like to talk about.*

If only he knew how deep that drama runs. If only he knew that the biggest secret isn't David's past—it's standing right in front of him, wearing boy's clothes and a borrowed name, trying not to shake apart from the inside out.

I take a shaky breath and keep walking.

Game on.