Roman is in the hallway between third and fourth period on a Monday and I know from his stillness, even before I reach him that whatever he has to tell me is not good.
He doesn’t open with it.
He falls into step beside me — a thing he has started doing in the last week, appearing at intervals throughout my school day with the timing of someone running a protection schedule.
We walk for half a corridor before he speaks.
“Vael pack border. Last night.”
I keep walking.
“Another one.”
“Same message.”
I think about the message carved into the ground beside a dead wolf at the Ashvale border. The girl with the golden blood. I think about the second wolf, the second border, the second body.
They’re escalating.
The first body was a statement.
The second body is a timeline.
“How do yo
