After the Smoke
1807 Words
By the time third period rolls around, I’m on autopilot. The first two classes? A total blur. I must’ve taken notes—there’s ink smudged on the edge of my hand and a half-hearted sketch of a wolf paw in the corner of my page—but I couldn’t tell you what we covered if my life depended on it.
Professor Aldora’s voice floats in and out, calm and clipped like always. Something about ley lines and their intersection with shifting grounds. Important, probably. But my thoughts are back in the library, turning over a single word like a stone in my palm.
Yee naaldlooshii.
Even thinking it makes me shiver a little.
I press my pen harder into the paper, trying to refocus, but then I remember something—Tally.
She can get into the archives.
I glance sideways. She’s sitting one row over, halfway through braiding a small section of her hair with that bored, half-attentive look she wears like armor.
I nudge her desk with my foot.
She cuts her eyes to me. “What?” she mouths.
I lean closer, voice low. “Hey—remember you said you had archive access?”
She nods slowly, suspicious. “Why?”
“Can you look something up for me?” I whisper. “A word. Yee naaldlooshii.”
Tally pauses. For once, she looks completely, terrifyingly awake. “What the hell is that?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I say, trying to sound casual, but I feel the hairs on my arms lift. “I found it in a book this morning. Old language. Probably nothing.”
She arches a brow but nods, skeptical. “Alright. I’ll check after class. If I get cursed, though, you’re doing my laundry for a week.”
“Deal,” I murmur, and try to smile, but something sharp settles in my chest.
Because whatever yee naaldlooshii is, I don’t think it’s nothing.
Professor Aldora starts writing on the board again, the chalk squeaking in staccato bursts that grind against the edge of my patience.
I tap my pen on my notebook, watching the seconds tick by. It’s like my body’s here, but the rest of me is still stuck in that dim corner of the library, staring down at a children’s book with shaky illustrations and that word, yee naaldlooshii, burned into my mind.
I’ve heard it before. I know I have. But every time I try to remember where, it slips through me like smoke.
A sheet of paper floats onto my desk. Tally’s handwriting is scrawled across the top.
You sure that’s how it’s spelled?
I nod, scribbling yes in the margin and sliding it back. She doesn’t pass it again. Just folds it neatly and tucks it into the inside cover of her notebook. I watch her like that might help me relax, but my chest still feels tight.
Aldora’s voice cuts through the fog. “Millie. Would you care to explain the significance of the Morrigan Gate during a shift on eclipse nights?”
Shit.
My spine straightens so fast I practically hear it pop. “The… Morrigan Gate,” I repeat, buying time. “It’s a ley point convergence located on what used to be ancient battle grounds. Some believe eclipse energy can amplify shift thresholds or—uh—trigger partial transformations without consent.”
Aldora tilts her head like a raven sizing up prey. “Close enough. At least you’re awake.”
Barely.
The moment she moves on, I let out a breath and slump a little in my chair.
Something’s wrong. Off. I can’t focus. My skin itches from the inside out, like something under the surface wants to come loose. Maybe it’s the word. Maybe it’s the dream I barely remember from last night. The one where I was running, barefoot in the dark, eyes glowing like fire—
“Hey,” someone hisses behind me. I twist around slightly. It’s Jules, a guy from my year with one too many ear piercings and a tendency to flirt with anyone who breathes.
“You good?” he mouths.
I nod. Lie. And face forward again.
But I’m not good.
And I have a feeling I’m about to get worse.
⸻
The moment the bell rings, I’m out of my seat like something’s chasing me. I shove my notebook into my bag, mutter something that might pass for a goodbye to Tally, and slip out of the room before the rest of the class can clog the doorway.
I don’t want to talk. Don’t want to think. I just need—
“Millie.”
I freeze halfway down the corridor.
That voice. Low, confident, too smooth to be harmless.
I pretend I didn’t hear it and keep walking.
“Millie,” he says again, this time closer. Footsteps echo behind me, measured but unrelenting.
I duck around a group of omega girls huddled near a bulletin board and take a sharp left, hoping he’ll take the hint.
Nope.
He catches up with me just before the stairwell. Falls into step beside me like we’re friends. Like we’ve done this before.
“We doing this thing now? Where you pretend you don’t know me?”
I don’t look at him. “Pretty sure that’s how most people prefer their predators.”
Koda laughs under his breath. It’s a warm sound, but there’s something electric beneath it. “If I wanted to hunt you, Millie, you wouldn’t be walking away.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
I stop.
Damn him.
I turn just enough to meet his eyes. They’re darker than I remember, like the shadows follow him around, curling at the edges. He smells like pine smoke and desert heat. Wild. Dangerous. Familiar in a way that makes no sense.
“What do you want, Koda?”
He shrugs, mouth twitching like he’s barely holding back a smile. “Conversation. A minute of your time. Maybe for you to stop acting like I bit your arm off when all I did was flirt a little.”
“A little?” I arch a brow.
“I thought I was charming.”
“You thought wrong.”
He leans a little closer, dropping his voice. “You were staring at me, too. Don’t lie.”
I flush. Of course I was. Who wouldn’t?
But I’m not about to hand him that power.
“I was staring because I couldn’t figure out if you were just arrogant… or actually dangerous.”
His smile fades, but it doesn’t disappear. “And?”
I look at him—really look this time. The proud tilt of his chin. The coiled energy in his frame. The way his eyes never quite soften, even when he’s smiling.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
I push past him, heart hammering.
This time, he lets me go.
But I can feel his eyes on me all the way down the stairs.
⸻
By the time I make it to the sparring grounds, the sun’s already high enough to bake the sand underfoot. My limbs feel like they’re made of lead, and the faint bruises under my shirt haven’t faded, but I show up anyway.
Because showing up means I survived.
Boris is already there, standing at the edge of the ring with his arms crossed and a frown deep enough to carve stone. The moment his eyes land on me, he pushes off the post and strides my way like he’s been holding his breath since that night.
“You’re alright,” he says, and his voice—usually all cocky swagger—is low and edged with something raw.
“I’m fine,” I reply, even though we both know fine is a stretch.
“You disappeared,” he says, jaw clenched. “One second you were next to me and the next—gone.”
“I ran,” I say, which is true. “It was chaos. People screaming, wolves everywhere, I didn’t even know who was who.”
He shakes his head like he’s still trying to process it. “I looked for you. As soon as I shifted back. I thought—hell, Millie, I thought maybe you…”
“I’m here,” I cut in gently, placing a hand on his arm. “You didn’t do anything wrong. We all just… ran.”
What I don’t tell him is where I ended up. How I woke up alone in the sand. How Koda found me before the sun came up and didn’t leave my side. That part stays locked behind my teeth.
“Next time,” Boris says tightly, “you stay with me.”
I nod, even though we both know there’s no such thing as next time when it comes to ambushes. But I say it anyway. “Okay.”
Professor Rourke’s voice cracks through the courtyard like a whip. “Enough brooding. I’m not your therapist—I’m your trainer. Into formation.”
We move automatically, shoulder to shoulder in the hot sun, as he paces in front of us like a general about to send his soldiers into war.
“A rogue attack hit our students this week,” he says, voice grim. “Some of you fought back. Some of you froze. That’s normal. But survival isn’t enough. Not anymore.”
His eyes land on me for a split second. Then Boris. Then the rest of the class.
“If you’re not strong enough to protect yourself, you’re not strong enough to protect your pack. Drill. Now.”
We break into lines and start the warm-up, but it’s not gentle.
Strike. Block. Shift. Again.
I can feel the bruises bloom beneath my skin, muscles screaming from the inside out. Sweat drips into my eyes. I lose count of the sets. My breath comes in short, ragged bursts.
Beside me, Boris is quiet—watchful. Every time I stumble, he adjusts his stance to mirror mine, wordlessly covering for me.
When we finally break into partner drills, I can barely lift my arms. But I square up across from him anyway.
“You’re shaking,” he mutters.
“I’m breathing,” I correct, forcing a smile through the ache. “Still counts.”
He gives me a look, but he doesn’t argue. Just raises his fists and starts the pattern slow. Repetitive. Familiar.
It hurts. Gods, it hurts.
But pain is good. Pain means I’m still here. I made it through something that should’ve killed me.
Still… the back of my mind won’t let go of one thing.
That night didn’t feel like a rogue attack.
It felt like a message.
And I think I was the one it was meant for.
- Writer
