Dad drove me to school, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He didn't ask questions, and I didn't offer answers. We existed in a bubble of fragile silence, both pretending that I hadn't run away from a werewolf summit in a velvet gown two days ago.
"Call me if you need me," he said as I climbed out. "Anytime, Luna."
I nodded, merging into the sea of grey uniforms. My private school felt suffocating today. The grey skirts, the white shirts, the endless monotony—it felt like a cage I had outgrown overnight.
I kept my head down, navigating the halls. I felt eyes on me. Not just the usual high school stares, but heavy gazes. Students I had never spoken to—the ones who had been at the gathering—nodded respectfully or quickly looked away.
They know.
"Luna Rossi."
A hand clamped onto
