The stranger flicked open the lighter.

A yellow flame shivered between us.

"How long have you been standing there?" I asked.

"Long enough."

He snapped the lid shut, tossed the lighter, and caught it again. Silver thread edged his collar, marking him as highborn, but there was no family pin at his throat. He wore his privilege carelessly, as if he had grown bored of it.

"Long enough to see a powerless human wake a sealed relic," he continued. "That should be impossible."

I wiped my hands on my torn pants. "Then you saw something else."

"I saw a first-era altar light up like dawn. I saw your wounds close. I saw a mark that has not answered anyone in three centuries."

"You should get your eyes checked."

His mouth curved. "Rhys Calder."

"I didn't ask."

"No, but you'll want to know who keeps your secret."

He pushed away from the tree and came toward me. He was leaner than Cassian, less controlled, but the ease in his stride carried its own warning. Smoke and rain clung to his jacket.

I stepped between him and the stone.

"There is no secret."

"Your palms were shredded ten seconds ago."

I folded my arms. "Fast healer."

"Humans do not heal like wolves. Wolves do not heal like that either."

"Maybe your textbooks are wrong."

"Maybe your records are lies."

The words landed harder than I wanted them to.

Rhys noticed.

"Who were your parents?" he asked.

"Dead, missing, or smart enough not to claim me. Take your pick."

"Where were you found?"

"An alley in Lowtown."

"How old?"

"Old enough to bite the constable who tried to drag me out."

"That explains the personality."

I turned toward the academy path.

Rhys moved before I took a second step.

One moment he stood beside the altar. The next he blocked the trail, one hand braced against a tree.

"We're not finished."

"I am."

"Cassian sent me to see whether his punishment had killed you. Instead, I found you bleeding into a relic no one is supposed to know exists. So forgive me if I need more than sarcasm."

"You can tell Cassian I cleared his pit."

"And the red fire?"

"Tell him whatever helps you sleep."

I tried to pass.

Rhys caught my shoulder and shoved me backward.

My spine struck the granite tablet. The carved wolf pressed between my shoulder blades. Rhys stepped close, planting his palm against the stone beside my head.

"Try again," he said. "What did you do?"

"I touched it."

"With what spell?"

"I don't know any spells."

"What bloodline?"

"None."

"No one has none."

"I do."

He studied my face, looking for something I did not know how to hide.

"Cassian carved that scar," he said.

"Your powers of observation are breathtaking."

"He does not mark people without a reason."

"He wanted me to kneel. I didn't. That's the reason."

Rhys's gaze sharpened. "And today you burned him."

"He grabbed me."

"Cassian Thorne does not let people touch him, much less hurt him. Yet he claimed you in front of the entire academy instead of having you executed."

I remembered the shock in Cassian's eyes.

"Maybe he's losing his edge."

"Maybe he recognized the mark."

The idea tightened something in my stomach.

"Move," I said.

Rhys lifted the lighter again. His thumb rolled over the wheel.

Flame bloomed.

"Tell me what you felt when the altar woke."

"Put that away."

"Heat? A voice? A memory that wasn't yours?"

He brought the flame closer.

"Back off, Rhys."

"One honest answer."

The fire hovered inches from my face.

He was testing me. Maybe threatening me. At Lunaris, the difference was mostly decorative.

"The truth is I don't know," I said. "I touched a stone. It lit up. My hand healed. That's all."

"Wrong answer."

He angled the lighter toward my hair.

The thing beneath my ribs woke.

Heat slammed through my chest and down my right arm. My healed bones vibrated. The carved wolf behind me seemed to pulse against my spine.

Rhys saw the change in my face.

His smile disappeared.

"Violet-"

I struck his wrist.

Crimson light exploded from my palm.

It swallowed the lighter's flame, melted the top of the silver case, and lashed across the side of Rhys's head. The force threw him backward. He hit the mud hard enough to drive the air from his lungs.

The ruined lighter spun across the ground and struck the altar.

The sharp smell of scorched metal filled the clearing.

I stared at my hand.

Soot blackened my palm, but the skin beneath it had not blistered. The power hummed there, eager and alive.

Rhys pushed himself onto one elbow.

A lock of his red hair had burned black at the ends. He touched it, watched ash crumble across his fingers, and looked at me with none of his earlier amusement.

"I warned you," I said.

He did not answer.

For several seconds, the only sound came from our breathing and the distant caw of ravens.

Then Rhys looked past me at the ancient altar.

"That was not wolf magic," he said.

"Good. I'm not a wolf."

"It was not human either."

I curled my fingers into a fist.

Rhys rose slowly, keeping his eyes on the red glow fading beneath my skin.

"Whatever the council told you about who you are," he said, "they lied."

A deep metallic bell rang from the academy.

The sound rolled over the ridge and shook the branches above us.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Rhys went still.

"What is that?" I asked.

He closed the ruined lighter in his hand.

"Trouble," he said. "And for once, it may be worse than you."

The third bell was still echoing when Rhys started down the mountain.

"Hide your hand," he called without turning. "If the council sees that fire, they will cut you open to learn where it came from."

"You seem unusually concerned."

"I'm concerned about losing the only interesting thing that has happened here all year."

"There it is."

He glanced back. "Don't die before I get answers."

Then he disappeared between the trees.

I looked at the ancient altar one last time. The carved crescent had gone dark, but warmth still moved beneath my skin. I flexed my right hand. No pain. No stiffness. Every joint worked as if the silver whip had never touched me.

I should have been terrified.

Instead, a grin pulled at my mouth.

For the first time in my life, I had something the highborn did not understand.

Something they feared.

The bell rang again.

I ran.

By the time I reached the academy, mud covered my boots and blood had dried across the torn sleeves of my uniform. The main doors stood open. Students crowded into the grand hall in rigid lines, their earlier arrogance replaced by silence.

I slipped into the back row and shoved my right hand into my pocket.

A thin boy beside me was breathing too fast. He wore the plain gray collar of F-Class and kept rubbing the inside of his wrist as if expecting chains to appear there.

"What happened?" I whispered.

He looked at me. "You don't know?"

"I arrived this morning."

"Blood Moon."

The words barely left his mouth.

A broad man climbed the podium. A gray wolf pelt hung from his shoulders, its head resting over one side of his chest. A scar divided his lower lip, and heavy rings flashed on both hands.

Magnus Blackwood, Alpha of the West.

I recognized him from the council notices posted in Lowtown. The notices described him as a guardian of order. They never mentioned that his smile looked like a wound.

"Heads up," Magnus barked.

Every student lifted their chin.

"Tonight, the moon turns red."

A tremor moved through the F-Class rows.

The boy beside me whispered, "It's too early in the term."

"What is?"

"The Wild Hunt."

His voice cracked.

Magnus spread his hands over the podium.

"Lunaris was founded to produce leaders, not pampered pets. Yet each year, bloodlines soften. Instincts dull. Teeth grow decorative. The Blood Moon gives us one night to remember what we are."

The highborn students in front shifted with anticipation.

"The rules are simple," Magnus continued. "At midnight, every F-Class student will be released into the western grounds. You will receive a ten-minute head start. Then the ranked students hunt."

A cheer rose from the gold-trimmed rows.

Brantley Mercer howled. Seraphina clapped beside him.

The boy next to me went pale.

"They use us for target practice," he whispered. "Last year, seven didn't come back."

I stared at Magnus. "And the council allows this?"

The boy gave a broken laugh. "The council watches."

Magnus raised one hand, and the cheering stopped.

"Survive until sunrise, and you earn immunity for the semester. Get caught, and your fate belongs to your captor. The council will not interfere with instinct."

"Then it isn't a hunt," I called. "It's an execution."

The words cut across the hall.

Hundreds of faces turned.

The boy beside me flinched away.

Magnus found me at the back. His smile widened.

"A rabbit always calls the wolf unfair."

"A wolf that needs a ten-minute handicap should be embarrassed."

Laughter burst from one of the lower-ranked rows before dying under Magnus's stare.

He leaned over the podium. "Name?"

"Violet Hale."

Recognition flickered in his eyes.

Cassian stood near the side wall, arms folded. He had changed jackets, but the hand I had burned rested closed against his chest. His expression revealed nothing.

Rhys occupied the opposite wall. The scorched edge of his hair was hidden beneath a hood, though I could see the shine of the ruined lighter turning between his fingers.

Magnus pulled a rolled parchment from inside his coat.

"Every Hunt has a prime target," he said. "The student who brings that target to the council earns a permanent seat at the Alpha table and the right to name one favor."

The room changed.

The highborn stopped seeing classmates. They saw competitors.

A prefect moved through the F-Class rows, fastening black metal bracelets around our wrists. The boy beside me recoiled when his clicked shut.

"Tracking bands," he whispered. "They light up when the Hunt starts."

The prefect reached me.

I offered my left wrist, keeping my right hand hidden.

The bracelet locked with a cold snap.

Magnus broke the wax seal on the parchment.

"This year's prime target was selected for insolence, instability, and an unusual capacity to attract trouble."

A few students laughed.

I did not look away from him.

"Whoever takes her alive receives the council seat," Magnus said. "Whoever brings only proof of death will receive half the reward."

The thin boy beside me whispered, "I'm Eli Brooks. In case we don't make it past midnight."

"We will," I said.

Magnus unrolled the parchment completely.

"The prime target is Violet Hale."

Every tracking bracelet in the back rows flashed red.

Mine burned like a brand.

At midnight, the western gate opened like a mouth.

Cold wind poured through the iron bars. Beyond them, the academy grounds fell away into forest, abandoned courtyards, and ruined buildings left from Lunaris's first century. Red moonlight glazed every roof and branch.

Thirty-two F-Class students waited inside the gate.

No weapons. No phones. No coats.

Only black tracking bands and ten minutes.

Magnus Blackwood stood on the wall above us, gray pelt stirring in the wind. Highborn students crowded the parapet behind him, already flushed with the promise of violence. Some carried silver-tipped spears. Others wore partial shifts, claws pushing through their gloves.

Cassian was not among them.

Neither was Rhys.

"When the horn sounds," Magnus called, "run."

A girl with cropped dark hair moved closer to me. "Eli says you have a plan."

I glanced at the thin boy from the assembly. He looked apologetic.

"I said she sounded like she had one," Eli whispered.

"I'm Mara Quinn," the girl said. "I can pick locks, climb stone, and keep my head when people scream."

"Useful."

"What's your plan?"

I looked through the gate.

The western grounds had been designed for a slaughter. Gravel paths made footsteps loud. Bare courtyards offered no cover. The forest beyond was laced with iron fences that forced prey toward the old buildings.

"Stay together until they release the first wave," I said. "Then split into groups of three. Make them choose between targets."

"They all want you," Eli said.

"Exactly. I'll pull the first pack away. You two get the others to the greenhouse. Stone walls, glass roof, three exits."

Mara frowned. "And what happens to you?"

"I stop running."

The horn sounded.

The gate slammed open.

Panic tore through the F-Class line. Students rushed into the night, colliding at the narrow opening. Someone fell. I dragged him up by the collar and shoved him forward before the crowd could trample him.

"Move!" I yelled.

We crossed the first courtyard with the moon burning red above us. The tracking band on my wrist pulsed once every few seconds, warm enough to feel through my sleeve.

Behind us, Magnus began counting.

"Ten minutes," he called. "Nine."

He was not counting minutes.

He was counting seconds.

"He lied," Eli gasped.

"Run faster."

The first howl rose before we reached the trees.

The sound multiplied across the wall. Iron gates crashed open. Boots and claws struck stone behind us.

I pushed the nearest students toward the greenhouse path.

"Go with Mara!"

"Violet-" Eli began.

"Now."

I tore off to the north.

My tracking band flashed bright red.

The hunters changed direction as one.

Their footsteps followed me into the dark.

I vaulted a low wall, cut through a dead garden, and crossed an ornamental pond on a line of slippery stones. A spear struck the water where my ankle had been.

"Prime target!" someone shouted. "North garden!"

I reached the abandoned academic wing with three hunters close enough for me to hear their breathing. The nearest door was chained. I grabbed the chain with my healed right hand and pulled.

For one terrible second, nothing happened.

Then heat flickered beneath my palm.

The rusted lock glowed, cracked, and fell apart.

I slipped inside and shoved the door closed.

The old wing smelled of dust, wet wood, and forgotten paper. Moonlight leaked through stained glass. I ran past collapsed classrooms until I found a supply closet and tore a mop from its hook.

The plastic head snapped against a radiator after three strikes. I ground the broken shaft against a stone stair until the end sharpened.

The hunters entered the corridor.

"Follow the band," a boy called. "She's close."

I moved into the abandoned library.

Rows of rotting shelves leaned over one another like drunk soldiers. I crouched behind a fallen bookcase and slowed my breathing.

Boots stopped outside.

The brass doorknob turned.

The door burst inward.

A broad boy with gray fur along his jaw stepped through first. I recognized him from the front rows, Garrick Stone, a Western pack heir who had laughed when Magnus announced the Hunt.

His yellow eyes found me immediately.

"There you are."

I rose with the sharpened mop handle braced against my hip.

Garrick looked at it and laughed. "A stick?"

"Come closer and find out."

Two shadows moved behind him.

"Magnus wants her alive," one hunter said.

"He said alive earns the full reward," Garrick answered. "He didn't say undamaged."

He dropped onto all fours.

I waited until he lunged.

Then I planted one boot against the bookcase and drove the sharpened wood forward.

It buried itself beneath his collarbone.

Garrick screamed. His momentum carried him halfway up the shaft before he twisted aside and ripped it from my hands. Blood sprayed across a shelf of ruined books.

"You stabbed me!"

"That was the idea."

He broke the mop handle across his knee.

The other hunters entered. Silas Vane, tall and narrow-faced, circled left. A younger boy named Nolan Reed blocked the door.

"No weapon now," Silas said.

I backed toward the shattered windows.

"You can still walk away."

Nolan laughed. "From a human?"

"From the fire."

Silas sprang first.

I thrust out my right hand.

Nothing happened.

His claws reached for my throat.

Fear struck hard enough to wake the thing beneath my ribs.

Heat detonated through my arm.

Crimson light slammed into Silas's chest and hurled him across the room. He crashed through a shelf, hit the far wall, and disappeared beneath a rain of books and splintered wood.

Garrick and Nolan froze.

The glow in my palm lit their faces.

"What is she?" Nolan whispered.

"Not worth dying for," Garrick said.

They ran.

I listened until their footsteps faded, then leaned against a desk and dragged air into my lungs. The blast had come faster this time, but it had taken something with it. My knees shook. Heat crawled up my arm in painful waves.

A metal groan sounded above me.

I looked up.

The iron grate over the ventilation shaft bent outward.

Screws shot from the plaster.

The grate fell, followed by a dark figure who crashed onto the library floor in a shower of dust.

I raised my burning hand.

The figure rolled onto his back and swore.

Rhys Calder looked up at me through a curtain of red hair.

"Before you set me on fire again," he said, "you should know there are twelve hunters behind me."