Everyone at Blackstone looked like they belonged.
Even the weird ones had a vibe. Like they chose to be weird. Like they wore it on purpose.
Ronan just looked… lost.
He tried not to care. Hoodie up, earbuds in—even when nothing was playing—and eyes low. It didn't help.
They saw him anyway.
Not because he was loud.
But because he wasn't.
Because he didn't have the shoes, or the hair, or the bloodline. Because everyone else walked like they were born here, and he moved like he was still trying to convince himself he hadn't made a mistake just showing up.
And maybe he had.
His roommate, Zack, made it clear on day one.
"You're in the wrong dorm, dude," Zack said, tossing his gym bag onto the bed like he owned the air in the room. "This floor's for legacies. You get dropped off by mistake or what?"
Ronan didn't answer. Just unpacked his duffel bag slowly. T-shirt. Jeans. Toothbrush.
No silver spoons in sight.
"Cool," Zack muttered. "Silent stray. That's not creepy at all."
And just like that, the label stuck.
Stray.
Like a dog someone forgot to put down.
That night, Ronan couldn't sleep.
Not because of the bed. Or the cold. Or the silence.
But because of the pressure. Like something heavy was sitting on his chest. That kind of quiet you only get when the world is holding its breath.
So he left.
Didn't say anything. Just grabbed his hoodie, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked.
Out of the dorm. Across the lawn. Past the tennis courts, the lit-up library windows, and the little mossy statue that looked like it had ears.
Eventually, the concrete ended and the trees began.
He didn't plan to go in.
He just stood there, breathing.
It was quiet.
Not fake quiet. Not the kind you get in libraries or classrooms.
Real quiet.
The kind that sinks into your bones.
The kind that feels… safe.
Ronan stepped forward. Just a little.
One foot.
Then another.
The trees opened up around him like a secret, and for one second—just one—he felt something settle in his chest.
Something that wasn't fear.
Then it snapped.
Literally.
A twig broke behind him.
Before he could turn, someone yanked him back.
A hand clamped over his mouth.
Another locked down his arms.
His heart kicked into overdrive.
He tried to twist, shout, kick—nothing.
He was pinned. Swallowed by shadows and weight.
Then a voice came, low and cruel, right at his ear.
"Well, well. Look who wandered off the leash."
Ronan froze.
He knew that voice.
Greg.
Thick-necked. Always grinning like he was in on a joke no one else got. He'd been a jerk back in college, and somehow—despite Blackstone being a whole new place—he'd found Ronan again.
Behind Greg came more voices. More guys. Some laughing. Some quiet.
But they all had that energy.
The kind that turned people into games.
"You thought you could blend in?" Greg sneered. "Bro, this is Blackstone City. We don't take in shelter mutts."
Ronan said nothing.
He didn't beg.
Not because he wasn't terrified—he was.
But begging only made it worse. That's when it turned from scare-the-new-kid into something darker. He'd seen it before.
So he just breathed.
Slow.
Eyes low.
Mind racing.
Maybe they'll just rough me up a little. Maybe they'll get bored and—
A shove hit him out of nowhere.
His back slammed into a tree. His head whipped back.
Stars exploded behind his eyes.
Someone laughed.
"Oops."
Then they were gone.
Just like that.
Footsteps crunching. Branches swaying. Gone.
Ronan didn't move right away.
His ears rang. Blood tickled down the side of his face.
His breath came in short, broken pulls.
And then—
The quiet shifted.
It turned… still.
Heavy.
Like something was watching.
Then—
A sound.
Not from outside.
From inside.
"Seriously? That's it? That's how you go down? Pathetic."
Ronan flinched.
What the hell…
The voice wasn't real.
Couldn't be.
But it was there. Sharp. Dry. Almost… annoyed.
"I wake up from a twenty-year nap for this? Come on, kid. At least try to be interesting."
He sat up slowly, head pounding.
"Who's there?"
"Me, genius. Inside you. Don't freak out."
"I'm freaking out."
"Don't."
Ronan blinked.
The woods looked different now. Brighter. Like someone turned up the contrast.
His body didn't ache as much. Not gone—but dulled. Manageable.
"You're welcome, by the way. Now get up. You're gonna walk. And maybe next time? Don't wander into the woods smelling like fear and leftover cafeteria pizza."
"What… are you?"
"Wolf spirit. Ancient. Grumpy. Currently sharing your skull. Long story."
Ronan just sat there.
Letting it sink in.
He wiped the blood from his temple with his sleeve. His fingers trembled a little.
Then, slowly, he stood.
He should've been scared out of his mind.
But instead?
It felt like waking up.
"Welcome to reality, kid," the voice said. "Let's try not to suck at it."