Three Werewolves: The First Semester

The next morning felt strangely normal. No bullies cornering us in the halls, no claws itching to come out. Just the two of us finding our rhythm in the grind of classes and cafeteria noise. Gabriel and I were cutting through the hallway toward study hall when something bright on the bulletin board caught my eye.

“Hey,” I said, stopping Gabriel with a hand on his shoulder. “Check this out.”

A fresh poster had been pinned up — bold black letters across bright white paper:

Cape Cod High School Jazz Band Concert — Tonight, 7 PM. Free Admission.

And underneath, a list of featured players. Right there at the top: Trumpet Solo — Mark Harcourt.

Gabriel smirked. “Well, well. Guess we found our evening plans.”

I grinned back. “No way we’re missing that. Gotta see what the new guy’s really made of.”

---

That night, the auditorium was packed tighter than I’d expected for a school band concert. Parents and siblings filled the rows, murmuring and adjusting programs. The stage was already set, gleaming brass and polished woodwinds lined up in neat arcs under the harsh white lights.

Gabriel leaned toward me as we sat down in the middle rows. “Man, you smell that? Whole place reeks of perfume and nerves.”

I smirked, but my eyes locked on Mark when he walked out with the band. Crisp black slacks, white shirt, bow tie slightly crooked — he looked nervous, chewing his lip as he adjusted the trumpet in his hands. But when the director tapped his baton, the jitters melted off him. The music started, smooth and swinging, and Mark transformed.

By the time his solo came, the room went silent except for his horn. He didn’t just play; he commanded it. Notes soared sharp and clear, bending with emotion, cutting through the auditorium like a voice all its own. Every ounce of that soft-spoken kid we’d seen in class was gone. On stage, he was fire.

Gabriel’s jaw actually dropped. I caught myself smiling, impressed in spite of myself.

When the final piece ended, applause thundered through the hall. Parents stood. Kids whistled. Mark flushed red but gave a tiny bow before disappearing offstage with the rest of the band.

We caught him by the exit before he reached his parents. He jumped a little when he saw us waiting, still buzzing from his performance.

“Holy hell, Mark,” Gabriel said, clapping him on the shoulder. “That wasn’t just good. That was professional.”

I nodded, grinning. “You lit that horn up like you owned it. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Mark stammered, still blushing. “I—uh—thanks. I’ve been playing a long time. My dad says music’s kind of a family thing. But—uh—it means a lot, hearing it from you guys.”

We both stepped aside so his family could get to him, his mom and dad beaming with pride, siblings crowding around. But before he slipped away, I leaned in and told him: “Don’t think that performance went unnoticed. You’re full of surprises, Harcourt.”

He gave me the smallest, shyest smile, and for just a second, I thought I caught that faint glimmer — that wolf spark hiding under his skin — before his parents whisked him off into the night.

The Humvee’s engine hummed low as we pulled away from the Harcourts’ parsonage. Gabriel kept both hands on the wheel, headlights cutting through the Cape night, the trees and quiet houses slipping past. For the first time all evening, it was just us again.

Neither of us spoke for a while. My head was still full — of Betty’s laugh, Philip’s steady voice, the way the Harcourt kids crowded around like a real pack. The smell of roast chicken and apple pie lingered in my nose. Home. A real home.

Gabriel finally exhaled, long and heavy. “Damn.”

I glanced over. “Yeah.”

His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “When his mom hugged me… I didn’t know what to do. I can’t even remember the last time somebody did that without… I dunno, without it feeling forced or fake.”

I stared out the window, jaw tight. “Same. My mom—” I cut myself off, shaking my head. “Doesn’t matter. Betty Harcourt… she meant it. You could feel it.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel said softly. “And his dad… he looked at us like… like we were worth something.”

The words landed heavy in my chest. I remembered Philip’s handshake, the calm in his eyes, the way he thanked us for being Mark’s friends — like we’d done something noble, instead of just… being wolves doing what wolves do.

I let out a rough laugh, more bitter than I meant. “We scare the hell out of half the school, and here’s this pastor thanking us for watching out for his kid. What kind of upside-down world is that?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Not upside-down. Just… different. Better.”

We drove in silence a few more miles, the tires humming on the asphalt. Finally, Gabriel said, “Thane… that’s the first time I’ve felt like I belonged anywhere. Even for a couple hours.”

I didn’t answer right away. My throat was too tight. I just reached over and rested a hand on his shoulder. He shot me a glance — just enough of a look to say he got it.

The rest of the ride to his house was quiet, but it wasn’t empty. It was full — of something we hadn’t had in a long time. Maybe ever.

Dinner wound down with plates scraped clean and laughter still buzzing in the air. Betty insisted on piling seconds on Gabriel’s plate until he finally surrendered, groaning that he couldn’t take another bite. The younger siblings scattered after dessert — Miranda grabbing a book, Chris chasing Andrew down the hall — leaving just us, Mark, and his parents at the table.

Philip leaned back, studying us with that calm, steady presence. His voice wasn’t probing or suspicious — just thoughtful. “You boys carry yourselves differently. I noticed it the moment you walked in.”

My gut tightened, the memory of claws and blood still raw under my skin. Gabriel shifted, suddenly more interested in his fork than conversation.

But Philip’s tone was kind. “Mark’s always been… different too. We never quite knew why. He has a good heart, but there’s something deeper in him, something we don’t pretend to understand.” He glanced at Betty, who nodded softly. “We’ve never tried to fix it. We’ve only tried to love him.”

Betty reached across the table then, her hand warm on mine. “And now we see the same thing in you both. Different doesn’t scare us. It only means God made you special in ways the world might not understand yet.” Her eyes shone, steady and sincere. “Thank you for looking out for our son.”

I didn’t know what to say. My throat felt tight. I’d been called a monster more times than I could count, been shoved, locked away, screamed at. But here, in this tidy parsonage, with the smell of pie still in the air and gentle hands on mine, I was being thanked. Loved.

Gabriel cleared his throat, his usual cocky grin failing him. “Honestly, ma’am, it’s nothing. Mark’s… he’s easy to look after.”

Philip smiled at that, his gaze flicking between the three of us. “Well, keep doing it. And know this — you’ll always have a place at our table. You’re welcome here, any time.”

Something settled inside me then, something I hadn’t realized was clawing so hard at my ribs. Belonging. Not to a blood pack, not to some survival instinct — but to simple, human warmth.

When we finally stood to leave, Betty hugged me tight, whispering, “You’re safe here.” Gabriel got the same, and for once, he didn’t crack a joke about it.

Outside, the air was cool, the church steeple casting a long shadow across the lawn. Mark walked us to the Humvee, his expression soft but searching. He didn’t ask about the claws, or the growl, or the way I nearly tore a bully apart. He just said, “They really like you guys.”

I looked back at the glowing windows of the parsonage and swallowed hard. “Yeah. I… like them too.”

For the first time, I realized it wasn’t just Mark we’d found. It was a whole family — and that might’ve been the rarest treasure of all.

The Humvee rumbled down quiet neighborhood streets, sunlight fading over Barnstable as Gabriel drove. Mark sat in the back seat, his trumpet case across his lap, his knuckles white around the handle. He hadn’t asked much on the ride — just sat there, staring out the window with that haunted look. He’d seen something he wasn’t ready for, and I knew the questions were coming. But not yet.

We pulled into the driveway of the parsonage, a neat, two-story house tucked right beside Faith Lutheran Church. A white cross steeple rose above the roofline, glowing faintly against the orange sky. The house radiated the kind of warmth I’d never known growing up — tidy yard, toys scattered on the grass, lights glowing in the windows.

Mark exhaled, almost like he’d been holding his breath since school. “This is home.”

The front door opened before we even reached it. A tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and a calm, steady gaze stepped onto the porch — Reverend Philip Harcourt. His presence was gentle but carried weight, like someone used to leading with both compassion and authority.

“Mark!” he called, smiling. “And you’ve brought friends.”

Behind him, a woman with kind eyes and a soft smile appeared — Betty, Mark’s mom. And then the flood came — siblings tumbling over each other to peek out the door. Miranda, Andrew, Linda, Chris — a pack of energy and chatter.

Mark’s ears flushed red. “Uh, Dad, Mom… this is Thane and Gabriel. They’re… friends from school.”

“Friends,” I echoed, a little awkward, but Philip’s handshake was firm and Betty’s hug was immediate, like we’d been there a dozen times before.

Inside, the dinner table was already set. The smell of roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and fresh bread hit us the second we stepped in. Gabriel’s stomach growled audibly, and Betty laughed. “Sit, sit! There’s plenty.”

We slid into chairs, and for a moment, I just sat back, watching. Watching the family bow their heads as Philip said grace. Watching kids laugh and tease each other over passing dishes. Watching Mark in his natural place — softer here, at ease, smiling in a way I hadn’t seen at school.

Gabriel leaned toward me, murmuring, “This is… different.”

I nodded. Different. Safe. Whole. Something I’d never had. Something Gabriel never had. But Mark did.

Halfway through the meal, the conversation turned, as it always does with new faces. Miranda piped up first, “So where are you guys from?”

“Oklahoma,” I said with a grin. “It’s… a bit different than Cape Cod.”

That started a ripple of questions — why we’d moved here, what classes we liked, whether Gabriel really played both bass and guitar. The siblings fired questions like rapid fire, and Gabriel was eating it up, answering with his easy grin.

Then Philip turned to us, his gaze gentle but searching. “Mark says you’ve been looking out for him.”

I froze for a second, caught between pride and the memory of claws at a bully’s throat. “Yeah,” I said finally. “He’s… worth protecting.”

Mark’s eyes flicked toward me then, thoughtful, like he heard something in my tone he didn’t quite understand.

Gabriel broke the tension with a grin. “Besides, he’s already impressing half the school with those computers. We figured we’d better get on his good side before he owns the whole place.”

That got a round of laughter, and Mark ducked his head, embarrassed but smiling.

As dessert came out — apple pie that smelled like heaven — I couldn’t shake the feeling. This house, this family, this table… it was a different world. And for the first time in a long while, I felt the ache of wanting it.

The final bell rang, and the hallways erupted in a flood of voices and slamming lockers. Gabriel and I were heading out toward the parking lot, the Humvee gleaming like a beast waiting for us. That’s when I caught it — the scent of Mark. Fresh fear tangled with something sharper, something that spiked my instincts.

We rounded the corner just in time to see it happen. Mark, walking toward the buses with his backpack slung over one shoulder, got his feet swept out from under him by one of the same meathead bullies. He hit the pavement hard, his books scattering. His trumpet case clattered and nearly popped open.

The bully laughed, looming over him. “Watch your step, nerd.”

I didn’t think. I moved.

One second, I was ten paces away. The next, I had him pinned against the brick wall, my hand clamped around his throat. A low, guttural growl tore from my chest — a sound no human throat should make. My claws slid free, ripping through skin as they pressed into the sides of his neck. His eyes bulged, his legs gave out. The sharp scent of urine hit the air.

The world went red around me. I wanted to end him. Break him. Leave his carcass as a warning.

“Thane!” Gabriel’s voice cut through the haze like a blade. His hand was on my shoulder, grounding me, pulling me back from the edge. “Let him go. He’s not worth it.”

I snarled, breath hot, but the fire in me cooled under Gabriel’s grip. I forced the change back — claws shrinking — and tossed the kid to the ground like trash. He scrambled back, coughing, too terrified to even look up.

I leaned over him, voice low and deadly. “If you ever touch Mark again, you won’t see another sunrise.”

Silence fell around us, the kind of silence that means every set of eyes nearby had seen enough to know better than to cross us.

Mark was still on the ground, wide-eyed, clutching his arm where he’d landed hard. His gaze wasn’t on the bully. It was on me — on the claws he’d just seen vanish, on the truth I couldn’t hide fast enough.

“Come on,” I muttered, offering him a hand. “You’re not riding that damn bus again. From now on, you ride with us.”

Mark swallowed hard, staring between me and Gabriel, then slowly nodded. “O-okay…”

Gabriel clapped him on the back once he was standing. “Trust me, it’s safer that way.”

Mark glanced at the Humvee, then back at us. He didn’t say anything else, but his eyes were full of questions he didn’t know how to ask yet.

And I could tell — his world had just cracked open.

The cafeteria was its usual chaos — trays clattering, voices bouncing off the tile, the smell of mystery meat and overcooked fries. Gabriel and I had claimed our usual corner table, the kind of place that gave us a good view of the room and no one dared crowd us.

Mark slid in beside us with his lunch, looking more comfortable than yesterday. Still a little wide-eyed at the sideways glances from the rest of the room, but he was settling.

That’s when he showed up.

One of the knuckleheads from yesterday — the same jackass who thought shoving Mark around was a good idea — shuffled up with a tray in his hands. His steps faltered halfway, like his instincts screamed at him to turn back, but he forced himself forward. I could already smell the fear on him. Sharp. Sour.

He set his tray down at the edge of our table. “Uh… hey. Mark.”

Mark looked up, cautious but polite. “Hi?”

The guy rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh… just wanted to say thanks. For last night. You really helped me figure out that… spreadsheet thing.” He stumbled over the word like it was foreign, then forced a sheepish grin. “Would’ve been lost without you.”

I didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. Just fixed him with a stare — the kind of stare that promises bones will snap if a wrong syllable comes out. Gabriel leaned back, casual but coiled like a spring.

Mark, though… he smiled. Gentle, genuine. “You’re welcome. You did great once you understood it. Just keep practicing, you’ll get better.”

The kid nodded quickly, relief washing over him, and bolted back to safer ground.

Mark returned to his fries like nothing happened. Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Okay… what was that? Why’d you go easy on him after he treated you like trash yesterday?”

Mark shrugged, soft-spoken. “Because it was the right thing to do. My dad always says… forgiveness is strength. Hate just eats you up.”

I nearly choked on my soda. Forgiveness wasn’t exactly my go-to. Neither was Gabriel’s. But there was something in the way Mark said it — not self-righteous, not naive, just… solid. Like it was bone-deep in him.

Gabriel grinned slowly. “Man, I gotta meet this dad of yours.”

Mark blinked, then smiled back. “You should. Both of you. Come over for dinner. My mom will cook enough to feed an army, and my dad… well, he’ll probably try to talk your ears off. But they’d like you. I know they would.”

I leaned back, chewing on that idea. A family that big, that open… it felt foreign. Dangerous, even. But looking at Mark, seeing how anchored he was in it — maybe it was worth stepping into his world.

Gabriel nudged me with an elbow. “Dinner at the Harcourts. What do you say, Thane?”

I smirked. “As long as your dad doesn’t mind a couple of wolves at his table.”

Mark laughed, not knowing how close to the truth I was. “Trust me, he’ll welcome you like family.”

The last of the adults left the lab, their thanks echoing down the hall. The fluorescent hum filled the silence, broken only by the rhythmic whirr of floppy drives and the faint click of a screen saver bouncing across a monitor.

Mark gathered up his notes, clearly thinking we’d be heading out too. But Gabriel swung a chair around backward and dropped into it.
“Not so fast, maestro. We want the private show.”

Mark blinked. “Private show?”

I grinned. “Yeah. We saw you running circles around those grown-ups. Now you’ve got two of the dumb jocks in the back row. Teach us something.”

Mark’s face pinked, but he nodded. “Okay… um… sure.”

He pulled up to one of the terminals and waved us closer.
“Computers are just… logic,” he began, fingers flying over the keyboard. The screen filled with green letters:

10 PRINT “HELLO”

20 GOTO 10

“Now watch.” He hit Enter. The word HELLO began flooding the screen, line after line until it blurred into a wall of text.

Gabriel let out a low whistle. “Endless hellos. Kind of poetic.”

Mark smiled shyly. “It’s a loop. The computer does exactly what you tell it, over and over. Even if it’s nonsense. Even if it’s dangerous. It’ll follow you.”

I leaned on the desk, watching the letters race. “Loyal without question. Like a packmate.”

He tilted his head at that, clearly intrigued but not sure what I meant.

“Try one,” Mark urged, sliding the keyboard toward Gabriel. “Anything you want.”

Gabriel typed carefully, tongue between his teeth:

10 PRINT “FERAL RULES”

20 GOTO 10

The monitor erupted with green FERAL RULES. He barked out a laugh. “Oh yeah. That’s more like it.”

Even I chuckled. Mark’s eyes lit up — it was the first time we’d seen real pride on his face outside of music class.

When the laughter faded, he sat back, studying us. “You two are… different. Not just because you’re tall and scary. I saw it today with the bullies. And… there’s something in your eyes.”

Gabriel glanced at me. My turn.

I leaned in, let my focus narrow, and with just a thought, let the wolf show through — not fully, not enough to scare him, but enough that my eyes glowed faintly, amber fire catching in the lab’s dim light.

Mark froze. His mouth opened slightly. “What… what was that?”

Gabriel joined me, just for a heartbeat, his own eyes catching with the same unnatural glint. Then we both blinked it away, casual as shutting a door.

Mark whispered, “That wasn’t the monitor reflection.”

“No,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “But it’s not something we can explain yet. Just… call it a family secret.”

He leaned back, staring at us like we’d pulled the rug out from under everything he thought he knew. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, forgotten.

“You two are…” He didn’t even finish.

Gabriel smiled, low and quiet. “Different, yeah. But so are you, Mark. Don’t sell yourself short. What you did in here tonight? That was power. Maybe not fists or growls, but power all the same.”

Mark sat in silence, processing. Then, very softly, he said, “I want to know more. About… whatever that was.”

I nodded. “You will. In time. For now, keep shining where you shine. We’ll have your back everywhere else.”

I had the kid pinned. One hand on his throat, pressed to the cinderblock wall, feet dangling just enough that he knew he was powerless. A low growl built in my chest, the kind that came from somewhere deeper than lungs. Gabriel stood at my side, arms crossed, calm as stone but ready if I gave the word.

“Thane Kieran Conriocht!”

The shout cracked down the hall like a rifle shot. I turned just enough to see Mr. Edwards, face red with fury.

“That’s enough! You and Gabriel — detention. Tonight.”

I dropped the kid. He crumpled, coughing, glaring at me like he’d get his revenge someday. Gabriel smirked as we walked away.
“Totally worth it,” he muttered.

---

Detention dragged. Erasing chalkboards, stacking chairs, pointless busywork meant to grind us down. By the time we were cut loose, the halls were quiet and the evening light had turned the windows gold.

“Humvee’s out back,” Gabriel said as we rounded a corner.

But that’s when we heard voices — not kids. Adults. Curious, we followed the sound to the glowing doorway of the computer lab.

Inside, the room buzzed with chatter. Rows of beige IBM PCs sat humming, green text glowing on black screens. And at the front of the room, standing beside Mr. Reynolds, was Mark Harcourt.

He didn’t look like the timid, out-of-place kid we’d seen shoved into lockers earlier. Here, he moved with calm authority, walking between desks, answering questions with a patience that made grown men and women nod like disciples.

Gabriel whispered, “That’s Mark. Our Mark.”

I leaned against the doorframe. “Damn right it is.”

We slipped into the back row, unnoticed at first.

---

“Okay,” Mark was saying, leaning over a woman’s desk. “So, if the screen freezes, you don’t need to hit the power button. Just press Control, Alt, and Delete at the same time.”

The woman gasped when it worked. “Oh! Oh, thank you, Mark. I thought I broke it.”

Mark smiled shyly. “You can’t really break it just typing commands. Promise.”

He moved to another desk. “Mr. Dalton, remember — every line in BASIC ends with a semicolon. Without it, the computer won’t know the instruction is finished.”

An older man in a suit grumbled but typed as told. “It works now.” He looked at Mark like the boy had conjured fire from air.

Gabriel leaned over to me. “They worship him.”

“Damn near,” I said, grinning.

Then I noticed him — the same kid I’d had pinned to the wall earlier. Sitting hunched at a terminal, scowling at the screen.

He raised his hand awkwardly. “Uh, Mark?”

The whole room stilled a little. Even the adults seemed surprised to hear him asking for help.

Mark walked over, soft-spoken as ever. “What’s it doing?”

“It won’t… it won’t run my program. Keeps saying ‘Syntax error.’”

Mark crouched, peering at the code. “You missed a semicolon here.” He pointed gently. “Right there. Add that and it should work.”

The bully actually did it. And when the screen blinked and his program ran, he looked up at Mark with something close to respect. Maybe even fear.

Gabriel stifled a laugh. I just smirked. Tables turned.

After class wrapped, the adults filed out, thanking Mark as if he were their professor. Mr. Reynolds clapped him on the shoulder. “Couldn’t run this program without you, son. You’ve got a gift.”

When it was finally just the three of us left, Mark turned, startled to see us still sitting there. “You guys… saw all that?”

Gabriel grinned wide. “Saw it? We were impressed as hell. You had them eating out of your hand.”

Mark’s ears flushed pink. “I just… I’ve always liked computers. They make sense, you know? Rules that never change. If you get something wrong, it’s just because you missed a step — not because the computer hates you.”

I leaned forward on my desk. “You realize one of those guys hanging on your every word tonight is the same punk who tries to shove you around in the halls, right?”

Mark blinked. “Yeah, I noticed. He was… polite. Weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Gabriel chuckled. “That’s ‘cause in here, you’re the one with the teeth. He knew it.”

Mark looked down at his shoes, embarrassed, but a little proud too. “I just want to help people understand computers. They’re not scary once you get to know them.”

I clapped him on the shoulder. “Neither are wolves, Mark.”

He gave me a strange look at that — puzzled, curious. But he didn’t ask. Not yet.

When Gabriel first suggested we sign up for the school’s new “Introduction to Computers” class, I laughed. Neither of us had touched one outside of the library, and the idea of spending a whole semester learning to “type” on those humming beige boxes seemed like punishment. But it was new, it was the future, and—if I’m honest—we figured it might be an easy A.

So there we were, walking into the lab for the first time. The place smelled like hot plastic and new carpet, humming with the quiet buzz of machines waiting to be woken up. Rows of bulky monitors sat ready, green cursors blinking in patient silence.

And then we saw him.

Mark Harcourt, the soft-spoken kid who’d nearly folded under the bullies’ fists last week, was already at the front of the room. Not sitting at a desk like the rest of us—but standing beside the teacher, sleeves rolled up, calmly explaining something about “boot sequences” and “command prompts” that might as well have been a foreign language.

I blinked. Gabriel leaned toward me and muttered, “What the hell?”

The teacher, Mr. Reynolds, beamed like he’d just won the lottery. “Class, this is Mark. He’ll be helping me out this semester. He’s a little ahead of the curve.”

A little ahead of the curve? That was putting it lightly.

Within minutes, Mark was gliding between stations, helping students with the patience of a saint. He showed one girl how to load a program from a floppy disk, reassured a panicked teacher’s aide when her screen went black, and explained to an entire row why typing “DIR” wasn’t going to delete the system but simply show the directory.

“Mr. Harcourt,” one of the teachers-turned-students called, panic in her voice. “It froze again!”

Mark leaned over her shoulder, calm as ever. “No, it’s just waiting for input. Type C-colon-backslash, then hit enter. See?”

The screen sprang to life. She looked at him like he’d just returned fire to the Prometheus.

Gabriel let out a low whistle. “They really do worship him.”

I smirked. “Guess in here, he’s the alpha.”

Not everyone was so thrilled. Down the row, one of the same idiots who’d cornered Mark in the parking lot sat slouched in his chair, letterman jacket hanging from the back. His smirk faltered as he mashed the keyboard.

“Uh, hey, teacher’s pet,” he sneered, waving at the monitor. “This thing’s busted. Doesn’t do what I tell it to.”

Mark walked over, quiet and deliberate. He stopped just behind the guy’s chair, voice steady but soft. “It’s not broken.”

The bully glared. “Then why won’t it work?”

Mark leaned down, close enough that his voice dropped into something sharper. “Because it doesn’t take orders from you. It takes instructions. And you’re not giving it any.”

A ripple of laughter spread across the room. Even Mr. Reynolds cracked a grin.

The bully flushed, ears burning red. “Whatever. Just… fix it.”

Mark typed a few quick commands, screen blinking obediently back to life. Then he straightened, hands in his pockets. “There. Next time, try reading the directions before you muscle through it.”

The kid had no comeback.

Gabriel smirked, murmuring, “Quiet revenge.”

“Quiet,” I agreed, watching Mark stroll back up the aisle, no swagger, no gloating. Just doing what he did.

But it was obvious enough. Out in the halls, Mark was fragile, easy prey. In the cafeteria, he blended into the wallpaper. But here—in the almighty computer lab, with adults hanging on his every word—Mark Harcourt wasn’t weak at all.

He was untouchable.

The wolf in me saw it clear: strength didn’t always roar. Sometimes, it hummed through circuits and screens, soft-spoken and unshakable.

The last bell set the whole building in motion — lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, the usual stampede of kids desperate to escape. Gabriel and I cut through the noise and headed for the lot, the Humvee standing out like a tank among rusted compacts.

Mark was already gone, probably picked up by one of his parents. I caught a glimpse of him earlier, navigating the hall with that soft smile and careful steps, as if he was trying not to take up space. He didn’t know yet how much space he already took up in my head.

We climbed into the Humvee, doors shutting with their usual heavy thud. For a while, the only sound was the diesel growl as I eased us onto the road.

“You were quiet at lunch,” Gabriel said eventually, adjusting his guitar case in the back seat.

I kept my eyes forward. “Was I?”

“Yeah. You were watching him.”

I didn’t answer right away. The road bent past rows of clapboard houses and weathered fences, the ocean wind carrying salt through the cracked window.

Finally, I said it. “He’s like us.”

Gabriel turned toward me, brows lifting. “Mark?”

“Yeah.” My grip tightened on the wheel. “He doesn’t know it. Doesn’t even feel it yet. But the wolf’s there. I can smell it. See it. The way he carries himself. The way he pulled in at the table.”

Gabriel was quiet, but not doubtful. “You’re sure.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He leaned back, staring out at the gray line of the horizon. “Then what do we do? Tell him?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s soft,” I said. “He’s good. He’s got this… perfect family, this normal life. He has no idea what it means to wake that part of himself up. If we just dump it on him, it’ll wreck him.”

Gabriel nodded slowly, chewing on that. “So we wait.”

“Yeah. We watch. We let him come to us.”

The Humvee rumbled over a patch of uneven asphalt, the sound filling the silence between us.

After a while, Gabriel said quietly, “Feels different, though, doesn’t it? Knowing there’s another one.”

I allowed myself a small smile. “Yeah. It does.”

For a few miles, neither of us spoke. The wolf in me paced restlessly, thrilled at the thought of a pack starting to take shape. But underneath it was something sharper, more cautious. Because once Mark woke up, there’d be no going back.

And the world wasn’t ready for three of us.