Chapter 6: Where exactly is James?

The very next morning as i got ready slipping my school uniform on. Today was all planned out. I was going to try to find James today as well. 

Today was introduction, someone had to know him.

As soon as I opened the door, I found Sarah waiting just outside. 

One of the tryouts from yesterday.  

“Hi!” she chirped. “I heard when the porter mentioned your room number “ She explained. 

"Ready for your first day?”

“Yupp,” I muttered, still groggy and distracted.

Her gaze flicked to the bag I was holding. “What’s that?”

“Oh,” I said, adjusting the strap. “I accidentally switched bags with some boy on the train. His name’s James. I’m hoping to find him before he finds... things.”

Sarah gave me a curious look but didn’t pry. Instead, she introduced me to a couple of other new tryout students as we made our way toward the main hall for orientation.

“Anyone know a James?” she asked on my behalf.

But all I got were blank stares and head shakes.

“Do you know what pack he’s from?” someone asked.

I shook my head. “No idea. We didn’t exactly exchange family histories.”

So far, nothing. No one had even heard of a James.

We didn’t have much time to linger—our first agenda was the introduction class.

The hall was buzzing when we arrived. Students filled the seats in neat rows, murmuring, shifting, glancing around with a mixture of nervousness and excitement.

Then the room quieted as a tall, well-built man stepped onto the platform at the front.

“My name is Angelo,” he announced, voice clear and commanding.

He was tanned, broad-shouldered, and radiated the kind of presence that made people sit up straighter without realizing it. One look, and you knew he wasn’t someone to cross.

“I’m the head of all defense classes and physical assessments,” he continued, eyes scanning the room. “I’ll be supervising your performance and evaluating your grades.”

“What a hunk,” one of the girls whispered beside me.

Honestly? She wasn’t wrong.

He was tall—really tall—with a bulked, powerful build. 

Werewolf or Lycan i couldn’t tell but what i did know was that he was the kind of guy who never had to repeat himself to get attention.

“For your information,” he began, his tone cool and sharp, “to qualify for a spot here, you’ve got to earn it.”

"You already made it out of your packs, but that does not mean you'll fit in here. You might be the best at your packs, but that is not Twilight standard." He said seriously. 

He let that sink in before continuing, “You must prove you can keep up with the team—and not drag anyone down.”

Well, that was direct.

The unspoken truth hit hard: there was already a brutal gap between us and the others. They were faster, stronger, better trained. If we wanted to catch up, we’d have to work three times as hard—minimum.

After Angelo’s warning, we were introduced to the rest of the instructors. One after the other, they stepped forward, each carrying their own kind of intensity.

But the message was the same.

“This place doesn’t keep the weak,” one of them said bluntly.

We were over fifty now—but only a small fraction would still be left the time evaluations came. And even before then, some peole would probably start getting evicted from here.

More details followed—schedules, rules, training protocols—but one particular announcement made my stomach twist into a knot.

Physical combat was mandatory.

Great.

“What about healing majors?” someone asked, voicing the question I was just about to raise.

“They’re not excused either,” Angelo replied gravely.

I felt my heart sink just a little deeper.

“You’ll be trained all round,” he continued, eyes scanning the room like he could already spot the ones who wouldn’t last.

 “You cannot be found lacking in any area. Your weakness could be someone else’s death. And here at Twilight, we don’t pass half-baked individuals into the world. That's Twilight standard." 

Silence.

Pin drop silence. 

“We won’t be making shifting combat-based activities a necessity just yet,” Angelo announced. “We understand some of you haven’t received your wolves. But keep in mind—it is a requirement that will come up soon.”

When I got accepted here, I truly believed not having a wolf yet wouldn’t matter much.

Clearly, I was wrong.

“The real work will begin soon enough,” Sarah muttered beside me with a small shrug. “At least for now, they’re giving us a little time. Most of us are expected to shift soon anyway.”

She tried to sound casual about it, but it did little to ease the weight in my chest.

For now, we were told the training would be minimal—just basic stamina-building and endurance. Nothing too brutal. Yet.

Still, I worried.

What if my wolf took longer than expected?

What if—goddess forbid—I never shifted at all?

They wouldn’t hesitate to kick out anyone who couldn’t meet the requirements. That much was clear.

“There are, however, rare instances where healing majors are allowed to shine,” a warm female voice cut in, softening the mood. “Let’s not scare the new ones, Angelo.”

She stepped forward with a gentle smile.

Lady Nora. Head of Potions.

“There have been cases where individuals were retained for their exceptional healing abilities, even if they weren’t particularly skilled in combat,” she explained.

“You’re not expected to be as agile or as strong as others—especially not the males—but you must be able to hold your own when it counts.”

Her words gave a flicker of hope… but the keyword still rang in my mind—rare.

That meant unless you were extraordinary, it wouldn’t be enough.

So that was it.

If I couldn’t match them physically, then I’d just have to become so good at what I was good at that the school couldn’t afford to lose me.

That would be my plan.

I’d focus on my strengths, sharpen them like weapons, and pray it would be enough to balance my weak points.

After that, we moved on to more general matters—rules, guidelines, and the structure of the academy.

Twilight had a system unlike anything I’d ever seen. Everything counted.

Even small acts of excellence earned points. Points that could tip the scale in your favor.

And if you got into trouble?

Those same points could be stripped away. Just like that.

Then came the mention of the Quest.

And something else.

A major event where the Lycan King himself would be present.

That one sent an electric buzz through the air. Even the instructors looked a little more alert at the mention of it.

---

“And one last thing,” a sharp, clipped voice said from the front. “Certain behaviors may be tolerated from them—but not from you.”

The Head of Etiquette stepped forward, her expression cool and unreadable.

“You’re here on probation. Remember that. Certain actions may very well cost you your place here.”

It was a brutal reminder.

While we wore the same uniforms, walked the same halls, and slept in the same dorms… we were not the same.

Of course, I thought bitterly. Their bloodlines and birthrights got them their seats. We were lucky to even be considered.

I already knew what that meant.

Some of them would be jerks. Entitled. Dangerous.

Hell—I’d already met a few.

A shiver crept down my spine as the memory of last night resurfaced. That so-called “prank” the girls played? That wasn’t a joke. That was a warning dressed in glitter and cruelty.

“Welcome once again to Twilight Academy!” one of the instructors called, their voice loud and bright, as if none of the veiled threats had just happened.

---

After the briefing, I wasted no time moving through the crowd of tryouts, still lugging James’s bag with me like some kind of lunatic detective.

“Nope. Never heard of him,” a guy said, shrugging casually.

I stared at him, incredulous.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I groaned.

How could someone just disappear?

“He’s tall—with light, chocolate-brownish hair,” I tried again, holding up a chocolate bar for comparison. “Hair like this. This! Ring a bell?”

I waved the bar a little too aggressively.

The boy just shook his head, unconcerned. “No one by that name. Sorry.”

One by one, they all dispersed. Unbothered. Unhelpful.

Sarah stood beside me, lips pursed tightly.

“This is seriously weird,” she muttered.

“Tell me about it!” I snapped, throwing my hands in the air. “Did the guy just fall off the planet?”

“How on earth did he miss orientation? Wasn’t it supposed to be compulsory?” Sarah wondered aloud, frowning.

I shrugged, equally baffled.

“Then again,” she added, “some people left immediately after. Maybe he was here… maybe he already walked out.”

That possibility made my stomach churn.

“Let’s just go ask for details at the administration office,” she said suddenly, turning decisively.

I sighed.

That was exactly what I was trying to avoid.

What if they got involved? What if they contacted him first—met him before I had a chance to? And then he blurts something about the weird contents of my bag?

Sarah had gotten even more curious after I told her the whole train story. She’d taken it upon herself to help me find the “mystery boy.”

“You don’t have to tell them everything,” she said lightly. “Just say you need to return something. No need for details.”

It was almost like she could see right through me. Sarah was quiet, sure—but observant. Sharp. Insightful.

I nodded slowly.

“Alright. But after the next class. I don’t want to be late.”

The school gave us short breaks between classes, barely enough time to breathe. As we walked back across the courtyard, something changed.

A chill brushed against my skin, crawling up the back of my neck. My body tensed involuntarily.

It felt like someone’s eyes were locked on me.

My arms wrapped around myself, and I came to a halt, scanning the area behind us.

Nothing. Just trees and stone buildings.

“Aurora? You coming?”

Sarah’s voice cut through the fog of my thoughts. I blinked.

I hadn’t even realized I’d stopped walking.

“Yeah—coming,” I replied quickly, pulling my eyes away and rushing to catch up.

---

At the administration office, we stepped up to the desk, and a middle-aged woman peered over her glasses at us.

“James? James what?” she asked briskly.

My mouth opened, then shut. “I don’t know his last name,” I admitted. “He’s a… fellow tryout. We… might’ve switched bags.”

She gave me a long, slow look. “You don’t know his pack either?”

I shook my head.

“Tryout student, you said?” she asked again, more carefully this time.

I nodded.

She turned to her system, flipping through physical files and tapping keys. A few silent minutes passed.

Finally, she looked up.

“There’s no one with that name,” she said.

I blinked. “What?”

“There’s no ‘James’ on the list of students who arrived on the train. In fact, no tryout named James was registered to enter the school this session at all.”

My lips parted in shock.

That… wasn’t possible.

I met him. He was on that train. We talked. We sat next to each other. We arrived together! 

So then—

Who the hell did I switch bags with?