Caison had been back to school for almost two weeks.
And nothing had happened.
No incidents.
No loss of control.
No red eyes in the middle of class.
No scent - triggered disasters.
On the outside, he looked like any other senior preparing for finals.
On the inside, he felt like a ticking clock.
During intervals he sat alone beneath the jacaranda tree near the science block, textbook open, highlighter gliding across pages with mechanical precision. Students labeled him quickly.
Nerd.
Transfer kid.
Weirdly quiet.
They avoided him.
He didn’t mind.
Solitude was safer.
What he did mind was the feeling of being watched.
At first, he thought it was paranoia.
Then he began recognizing faces.
Not ordinary students.
The Black Winter Hunters’ pack.
Their teenagers attended this sc
