COMPLETELY UNSETTLED
794 Words
Elora POV
The room is loud enough that no one is really listening.
Chairs scrape, bags drop, laughter flares and dies in pockets. Whatever conversation we’re about to have will dissolve into the noise—forgotten by everyone except the two of us.
Which makes it worse.
I turn toward him fully.
Up close, the pressure I felt earlier resolves into something unmistakable. High-ranking. Old power, worn easily. He takes up space without effort—tall, broad-shouldered, built like someone who has never had to fight for room or relevance. Dark green eyes, calm and assessing, like forest shade that only becomes dangerous if you’re foolish enough to test it. Curly black hair, olive skin, the kind of beauty that feels intentional even when it isn’t.
If I were human, I’d think he was just unfairly attractive.
As a wolf, I know better.
He watches me with relaxed interest, elbow draped over the back of his chair, already comfortable. Already amused. Like he’s decided this will be fun.
“Well,” he says lightly, voice carrying just enough to cut through the noise without forcing it, “since we’re all pretending this isn’t going to get uncomfortable, I suppose I’ll start.”
A few nearby students glance over.
He smiles—easy, polished. Practiced.
“I think people can change,” he continues. “But if someone commits something truly terrible, odds are they won’t. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have done it in the first place.” He shrugs, elegant even in dismissal. “Punishment isn’t cruelty. It’s necessary. Consequences exist so society doesn’t fall apart.”
The confidence in his tone makes my chest tighten.
Not anger.
Something sharper.
“Some people don’t change,” I reply evenly. “Some do. That’s reality. People aren’t patterns—they’re variables.” I meet his gaze. “Punishment is only just when it fits the crime. But punishing someone for what their family did, when they weren’t involved? That’s ridiculous. It’s morally lazy.”
His brows lift, slow and deliberate.
Not offended.
Interested.
“Lazy?” he repeats, amused. “Or efficient? History shows that certain groups don’t change. Guilt by association exists for a reason. If a family produces the same kind of damage over and over, why assume the next one will be different?”
I exhale through my nose.
“Because blood isn’t a moral compass,” I say. “If it were, no one would ever escape their upbringing. Accountability should be individual. Punishing proximity instead of action isn’t justice—it’s fear dressed up as order.”
That does it.
Something shifts in his posture. He leans forward now, forearms on his knees, attention fully on me.
“Fear,” he says calmly, “prevents repetition. Harsh consequences make examples.”
“Or,” I counter quietly, “they let people feel finished once punishment is handed down—so no one has to deal with what comes after.”
The smile fades—not entirely, but enough.
“Justice that refuses to look forward isn’t justice,” I add. “It’s vengeance with better branding.”
The words land between us, heavy.
The noise of the classroom rushes back in, but neither of us moves.
He studies me like I’ve broken a rule he didn’t realize existed.
I hadn’t meant to say so much. Hadn’t meant to care.
But I do.
And I want him to understand why.
Lysander POV
She doesn’t raise her voice.
That’s what throws me first.
No performance. No edge sharpened for attention. She speaks like this argument has lived in her bones long before today—like she’s carried it quietly and learned how not to flinch while holding it.
Her eyes are brown, but alive—flecked with gold that catches when she moves. Sharp. Watchful. Her wavy hair falls loose over one shoulder, unstyled, unconcerned. Reserved, but not withdrawn. There’s fire there—contained, intentional.
She's beautiful, I hadn’t noticed her wolf at first.
Now I do.
It sits beneath her skin, present but restrained. Not deferential. Not hidden. Wolves like her don’t usually attend human colleges unless they’re running from something—or amusing themselves.
She feels like neither.
She feels… anchored.
I tell myself she’s idealistic. Young. Passionate without perspective.
And yet—
Punishing proximity instead of action isn’t justice.
The words linger longer than they should.
I’ve never questioned the laws. No one does. When evil is punished, the world exhales and moves on. The system works. It always has.
Hasn’t it?
She watches me—not victorious, not smug.
Just waiting.
For the first time, I realize I’m not trying to win this argument.
I’m trying to understand her.
And that unsettles me far more than losing ever could.
- Writer
