BLOOD MOON ACADEMY

Arwen’s pov

I stopped shifting three years ago but nobody knows that part.

The first thing I notice every morning is the sound. Even now, it's still dark outside, that weird time between night and actual morning, and the howls that start right on schedule. I lie in bed listening to the pack transform in the clearing behind our property, and I wonder what's wrong with me that I can't do what they make look so easy.

Today is my eighteenth birthday, and I'm still human.

I get out of bed and go to the window because that's what I do. Sarah Chen is already down there in the clearing, her bones cracking and reforming like they're putting on a show just for me. I've watched her do this a hundred times. Jake Morrison follows, his transformation faster than hers because he's been doing it longer. Everyone transforms better than me. Everyone except me never actually tries.

"You coming down?"

I jump at the sound of Margaret's voice. My adoptive mom is standing in my doorway in her old robe, the one with the coffee stains. She looks tired, which means she's been up watching them too.

"Not today," I say, even though she's not really asking.

Margaret sighs, she does that a lot lately. "You know they'd want you there."

I don't tell her that wanting me there and actually wanting me are two completely different things. Everyone in the pack wants a lot of things. They want me to shift. They want me to stop being broken. They want me to stop existing in this weird space between human and werewolf where I don't quite belong to either.

"I'm going to help you with breakfast," I say instead.

Margaret nods like she knew I'd say that. She probably did. We've been doing this same dance since I turned seventeen and stopped pretending I'd shift eventually. She helps me in the kitchen, and we both ignore the sounds of the pack running through the forest.

Downstairs, I start the coffee maker while Margaret pulls out the eggs. The morning light is just starting to come through the kitchen window, that grey kind of light that happens right before sunrise. I focus on cracking eggs into a bowl because it's easier than thinking about what my birthday means. Eighteen. Adult now. Still broken.

"Did you sleep okay?" Margaret asks, and I can tell she's worried about something beyond the usual.

"Yeah, fine."

"You look tired."

"It's early."

She sets the pan on the stove with more force than necessary, and I can tell something's off. Margaret doesn't usually have tension in her shoulders like this. She's always been the calm one, the one who keeps everything together even when everything is falling apart.

"Margaret, what's going on?"

She doesn't answer right away. She cracks eggs into the hot pan and watches them cook like they're the most interesting thing she's ever seen. The sound of them sizzling fills the kitchen, and I can hear the pack still outside, their howls carrying through the open window we left cracked.

"The pack is having a gathering today," she finally says. "Some of the other territories are sending people. It's important that you're there."

"Why would they want me there?"

Margaret hands me the spatula without looking at me. "Just come. Please."

Her phone buzzes. She checks it, and whatever she sees makes her jaw tighten. She sets the phone face down on the counter like she's hiding it from me, but I already saw part of the message. Something about evaluations and bloodline assessments. Something about dangerous.

"Is everything okay?" I ask her.

"Everything's fine," she lies.

I know she's lying because I've gotten good at reading Margaret over the years. I know the way her eyes go distant when she's worried about something big. I know the way her voice gets slightly higher when she's trying to convince herself more than me. I know all of this, and I don't push because Margaret doesn't like being pushed.

We eat breakfast together in that careful silence we've perfected over the years. The eggs taste like nothing. The toast is too dry. Neither of us mentions the fact that I'm eighteen and still can't shift, still haven't figured out what's actually wrong with me.

"I have some errands to run later," Margaret says, clearing plates. "I need you to pack a bag today. Just the important things."

"Pack a bag? Why?"

"Nothing's wrong. I just want you prepared in case. You know how pack stuff can be unpredictable."

But pack stuff isn't usually unpredictable. Pack stuff is structured and organized and predictable down to the minute. The full moons are always the same. The rankings are always the same. My position at the bottom is always the same.

Something cold settles in my stomach.

"Margaret, you're scaring me a little bit."

She puts her hands on my shoulders and looks directly at me for the first time all morning. Her eyes are sad in a way that makes me feel like something big is about to happen, something that can't be undone once it starts.

"The gathering is important," she says quietly. "And after that, some things are going to change. But I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"

I nod, even though I don't really understand what's happening. Even though every instinct I have is telling me that Margaret is keeping something huge from me.

"Just come to the gathering," she says. "And wear the black dress. The one that makes you look confident."

After Margaret leaves for her errands, I go upstairs to my room. I stand at the window and watch the forest, trying to figure out what's about to happen. In the distance, I can hear the pack running, their howls echoing through the trees like a promise I can't keep.

I pull out the small silver locket from my drawer. It's the only thing I have from my biological family, this piece of tarnished silver with an 'A' carved into it. I've had it my whole life, but I've never really thought much about it until now. Margaret found me as a baby, she always said. Never explained why I have a locket with a letter that doesn't match her last name.

The metal feels warm in my palm, warmer than it should be.

For just a second, I could swear something moves in the plants on my windowsill. The ivy stretches a little longer. The flowers turn toward me like they're listening.

Then the moment passes, and everything is normal again.

But something inside me knows that nothing is going to be normal after today.