chapter five

Ashley

My new room is… beautiful.

In a polished, catalog-kind-of-way.

Marble floors. High ceilings. There’s even a floor-length mirror by the closet and a sleek little lamp on the desk.

But even with all that, it still feels like what it is — school.

The air smells faintly of lavender and floor polish. The walls are a soft cream, but the kind that reflects fluorescent light in a way that makes everything feel sterile.

Still, it’s mine. For now. One person per room — I guess that’s the perk of being a late transfer with a last-name-that-opens-doors.

I’m halfway through unpacking, tugging out the last of my shirts and folding them into the closet when my stomach twists — not from nerves this time, but the not-so-subtle memory of lunch.

Goddess, that lunch.

Kale. Quinoa. Something suspiciously green and grainy.

The Academy prides itself on serving “clean, optimal fuel” to keep us “at our peak.” By the looks of things, it might take me a while to adjust.

I sigh and toss the final hoodie onto the top shelf, brushing my fingers down the crisp line of hangers. The closet doors slide shut with a soft click. I take a step back, letting the stillness settle—

And then the alarm blares.

A sharp, grating WEEEEEUUUUUHHHHK through the building’s sound system, like a fire drill had a baby with a nuclear warning.

Combat training. Of course.

I roll my eyes and yank open a drawer, pulling out the sports bra and leggings Eva said I’d need. My muscles are still stiff from the last few days of travel, and the thought of being flipped like a pancake doesn’t exactly thrill me.

By the time I get to the training grounds, students are everywhere. Some stretching, some jogging in place, some pretending this is fun.

Coach barely gives me a glance before calling me out like I volunteered. “Oi. You .New girl. Up.”

He doesn’t even know my name.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes and step forward.

He pairs me with a girl who looks like she does this in her sleep. Long legs. Cropped tank. The kind of muscle tone you only get from years of beating people up recreationally.

I nod like I’m not internally praying for a lightning strike.

The bell rings, and we charge at each other.

She’s really fast — Kim? Keen? Or whatever Coach calls her. I try to hold my stance — knees bent, arms up, just like I was taught. But my body feels wrong. Stiff. Out of sync. Like someone else is piloting.

She grabs my arm and — before I can react — wham — I’m airborne.

I land on my back with a loud, humiliating thud that echoes across the arena.

Fuck. My ribs scream, my breath stuttering while I lie on the warm sand.

Laughter breaks out in waves.

“She doesnt even have good reflexes."

“Omegas don’t belong here.”

“That was bloody pathetic.”

I lie there, blinking up at the clouds and wishing I could disappear. My body aches, but the shame aches worse.

Because the truth is, I’ve trained before. I’ve done well before. I’m not this weak.

But I am disconnected. My fucking wolf is still mad at me.

Since my birthday, she’s been gone. Not physically — I can still feel her, somewhere, distant — but she hasn’t spoken. Hasn’t growled. Hasn’t even whispered.

And without her, I’m just a girl playing warrior.

“Get up!” Coach snaps.

I push myself up, head down, sweat dripping down my forehead. I barely register the crowd anymore.

Except one person.

Aiden Whitlock.

He’s leaning against a tree, arms crossed, face unreadable. Not laughing. Not pitying.

Just watching. Like he’s trying to decide if I’m worth the time. I blink, lowering my gaze, and when I look back — he’s gone.

Eva slips in beside me, tossing a towel over my shoulder. “Ignore them,” she murmurs. “You just need time.”

I nod, but the knot in my chest only tightens.

Before I can leave the mat, Coach storms toward me, scowling.

“This is what happens when nepo brats get dumped into elite academies,” he growls. “No idea if it was Mommy or Daddy who pulled strings, but you don’t belong here.”

I clench my fists. My throat burns, but I say nothing — because he’s right.

“Follow me.”

We barely make it into the Principal’s office wing before the door slams open.

“He's skipped class. Again,” the teacher from today’s first period snaps, dragging Aiden inside like a truant puppy.

He looks bored. Like none of this touches him.

The Principal — pale, wrinkled, exasperated — rubs his temples like he regrets every life decision that led to this moment.

“What am I supposed to do with you? The girl needs help. Aiden needs structure.” He lets out a sigh, then pauses.

“Aiden, you’ll train her. Twice a week. Three hours each.”

My stomach drops. No fucking way.

Coach laughs under his breath. “She won’t last half an hour.”

The Principal’s voice turns icy. “This Academy doesn’t encourage weakness. She’s got a lot to prove– and you, Mr. Whitlock, are getting out of control.”

Aiden doesn’t flinch. “Whatever.”

I’m dismissed immediately, leaving Aiden behind. What better way to screw things for myself than this? I’ve been assigned to train with a guy I’m actively trying to avoid — who is an obnoxious ass, barely knows my name, and already acts like I’m a chore.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I glance at the screen, my mood souring, raised to the power of ten.

It’s a text from my mother.

“I had to pull strings to get you in. Don’t embarrass me again. Fix this.”

Right.

I close my eyes and reach for the bond again, but all I feel is that emptiness — and that invisible wall she’s wedged. She’s ignoring me.

“Where the fuck are you? If I go down, you’ll go down too!”

I’m greeted by silence.

“Stubborn bitch!” I mutter.

How am I ever going to fix this when my wolf is on ghost mode?