The next few days were different. Not in any way anyone else could point to, but I could feel it — and so could Gabriel.
We didn’t talk about the claws or the word werewolf where anyone could hear, but it was there in the way he’d glance at me and the corner of his mouth would twitch like we were sharing a joke no one else was in on. It was in the way I caught him studying people — sizing them up — like he was starting to think about things in terms of instinct instead of just habit.
And it was definitely in the way he walked through the halls. Gabriel wasn’t the kind to puff himself up, but the slouch was gone from his shoulders. His eyes met people’s now, steady and unflinching, like he knew something they didn’t.
The bullies noticed, of course.
In homeroom, one of them — the same letterman-jacket clown from the first week — muttered something about “guitar boy” under his breath as we passed. Gabriel didn’t even blink. He stopped, turned his head, and just stared at the guy for a few seconds. Not saying a word. Just looking.
The guy’s smirk twitched. Then he glanced past Gabriel… and saw me.
I didn’t growl, didn’t even change my expression. But my gaze locked on him like I was picking the exact spot I’d sink my teeth into if I decided to make it interesting.
That was all it took. He broke eye contact and found somewhere else to be.
When we sat down, Gabriel leaned over and said quietly, “It’s weird. I don’t even have to say anything now.”
“That’s because they know I will,” I replied, just as quietly. “For now.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, like he was turning that over in his mind. “And later?”
“Later,” I said with a faint smile, “you won’t need me to.”
The rest of the day, we carried that energy with us — the silent, unshakable fact that whatever came at us, it was going to have to go through both of us. And when you know you’ve got someone like that in your corner, the world just… changes.