Free period was one of the few things I liked about this place so far. No teachers hovering, no assignments hanging over my head, and — most importantly — the chance to get away from the stench of too many people wearing too much perfume and cologne. The wolf in me hated it. My nose could pick out every artificial note, every cloying chemical, and after three class periods of breathing it in, I needed air.
Outside, the world felt immediately cleaner. The late-morning sky was bright but not blinding, the air crisp and cool, edged with the scent of pine and salt from the nearby coast. The noise of the school dulled behind me until all I could hear was the wind threading through the branches.
That’s when I heard it — soft at first, almost blending with the breeze. The unmistakable rise and fall of an acoustic guitar. The song was familiar, a stripped-down version of a Trivium track I knew well. Whoever was playing had taken the metal out of it, leaving just the bones — and those bones were good. Smooth transitions. Clean tone. A quiet sort of confidence in each chord.
I followed the sound across the field and around the edge of the school grounds until I saw him. Gabriel, sitting cross-legged under a tall oak, guitar balanced on his knee, head bent slightly as his fingers moved over the strings. No hood this time. His dark hair caught the light, and for a second I just watched, letting the music fill the space between us.
I stepped closer until he noticed me, pausing mid-phrase. One eyebrow lifted, like he was waiting for me to say something.
“Mind if I sit?” I asked, letting the words carry the same casual tone he’d used on me in the cafeteria.
A flicker of something passed through his expression — recognition, maybe even amusement — and he nodded toward the grass beside him. “Go ahead.”
I dropped down beside him, leaning back against the tree trunk. “That was Trivium, right? Didn’t think I’d hear that out here.”
He gave a small shrug. “Figured no one would notice if I kept it quiet.”
“I noticed,” I said, and meant it.
For a while, we talked in fits and starts — about music, about how different this school was from others I’d been to, about the random weirdness of cafeteria food. He didn’t volunteer much about himself, but he asked a couple of questions about me, like he was testing the waters.
Some movement caught my attention over his shoulder. One of the bullies from homeroom — letterman jacket again — was standing with a couple of his buddies near the edge of the field. He’d spotted Gabriel, and I could see it in his face — the slow grin, the shift in posture. He was about to make his move.
Then he saw me.
Our eyes met across the distance, and I let the wolf slide into my gaze just enough to sharpen the edges, just enough for him to feel it in his gut. His smirk faltered, and after a beat of hesitation, he turned away, muttering something to his friends as they headed in the opposite direction.
Gabriel glanced over his shoulder, then back at me. He didn’t say anything, but his expression was thoughtful.
I just leaned my head back against the tree, letting the breeze carry the last notes of his playing through the air. For the first time since I’d arrived, the day felt… right.