The Monday morning hallway was the usual chaos — lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, voices overlapping in a dozen conversations. Gabriel and I were making our way toward first period, sunglasses on, shoulders squared. The Humvee drop-off still had people talking, and I could feel the ripple of stares trailing behind us like a wake.
We were halfway down the hall when a voice cut through the noise.
“Hey, tough guy!”
We both stopped. The guy striding toward us was tall, broad-shouldered, and had the kind of smirk that usually came stapled to a football jersey. I didn’t recognize him — which meant he was new enough to not know the rules. A couple of the established jocks leaned out from their lockers to watch, and I caught the subtle shake of one’s head. Another muttered, “Don’t,” just loud enough for him to hear.
He ignored them. “You’ve been strutting around like you own the place,” he said to Gabriel, stepping into his space. “Let’s see if you can back it up.”
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. This was his moment.
Gabriel just tilted his head, reached up, and slid his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose.
Golden light flared in his eyes. Not just yellow — molten amber, alive with that predator’s heat I’d taught him to call on. He didn’t snarl or posture. He just… looked at the guy.
The jock’s smirk faltered. His next word came out a half-octave higher than the last. “What are you—” He stopped. Blinked. Swallowed hard.
The hallway seemed to close in around him. The noise dropped to a low hum, just enough to hear the creak of someone shifting their backpack. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
Gabriel didn’t move, didn’t even blink. He just let the silence stretch, the way a wolf lets a stare do the talking.
By the time the guy muttered something about being late for class, his voice was shaky, and he was already backing up. The other jocks parted to let him pass — not a single one meeting his eyes.
We waited until he was gone before Gabriel slid his sunglasses back up and started walking again. His stride had changed — just a touch looser, shoulders just a little higher.
When we were clear of the crowd, he broke into a grin that could’ve lit the hallway. “That was awesome! Did you see his face? He looked like he forgot how to speak English.”
I smirked, giving him a sideways glance. “Not bad for your first time. Keep practicing, and you might even make someone faint.”
He laughed, still riding the high, and for the rest of the morning, there was a subtle shift in the way people looked at him. Respect. Wariness. Recognition.
Gabriel had learned the first rule of a proper wolf stare — you don’t have to bare your teeth to make someone feel the bite.