The ferry back to the island was almost empty, the Humvee parked down below in the belly of the ship. Gabriel and I had claimed a bench on the top deck, letting the wind slap at our hair and the salt sting our faces. He hadn’t stopped grinning since we left school.
“You’ve gotta teach me that,” he said for the fifth time, turning so I could see the gleam in his eyes. “The stare thing. The… amber wolf eye of doom.”
I chuckled. “It’s not that dramatic.”
“Are you kidding? That guy almost had a religious experience. And I’m pretty sure part of it involved needing new underwear.”
I leaned back, watching the waves peel away from the ferry’s wake. “Alright. I’ll teach you. But it’s not just a party trick—you have to control it. You can’t just go flashing it at random people every time they annoy you.”
He lifted both hands in mock innocence. “Scout’s honor.”
“The trick,” I said, “is finding that thin line between shift and no-shift. You don’t call the whole wolf up—you just let a piece of it surface. Focus it behind the eyes. It’s all in your head and in your breathing.”
Gabriel frowned in concentration. “So… like flexing one muscle at a time?”
“Exactly,” I said, tapping my temple. “It’s like lifting a single claw without moving the rest of your hand. Takes practice. And you have to want it—really feel that predator edge in your chest.”
He tried right there, face scrunching in effort. His irises didn’t change, but something in his posture did—shoulders squaring, gaze sharpening.
“Not bad for a first try,” I said. “We’ll work on it later tonight.”
We docked just as the sun hit the horizon, painting the water in fire. The Humvee’s engine rumbled awake beneath us, low and steady. We rolled off the ferry like we owned the road, the beast’s tires crunching over the dock planks.
Gabriel leaned back in the passenger seat, still buzzing. “Tomorrow’s gonna be amazing.”
I grinned, downshifting as we hit the causeway. “Oh, tomorrow’s just the beginning.”