1: "You don't even look like a boy!"

Freya's pov

My hands shake as I look in the mirror, and the person staring back doesn’t feel like me anymore. My black hair sticks up in every direction since I chopped it off two weeks ago, and my face looks sharp without my long auburn hair to frame it. The socks stuffed in my sports bra press against my ribs, uncomfortable and awkward.

“Freya, this is crazy,” Mum says, her voice cracking as she paces our small room, wringing her hands like she did that night in London when Marcus and his pack surrounded our house. “What if they figure out who you are, or someone recognizes you?”

“They won’t,” I say, forcing my voice deeper, but it still sounds off, like I’m trying on someone else’s clothes. I’ve been practicing for weeks, and it has to work, because there’s no other option.

I shove another sock into my sports bra, fumbling with the padding, and the oversized hockey jersey hangs loose on me, which is what I need, but my stomach twists anyway. I feel desperate, because I am desperate.

“You don’t even look like a boy,” Lily says from her bed, where fake documents are scattered around her, including the birth certificate that says Frederick Sterling instead of Freya. “Your face is too—”

“I’ve got it handled,” I snap, and she flinches, which makes guilt hit me hard. I pull the black beanie over my hair, tucking every strand under. “Sorry, I’m just…”

“Scared?” Lily asks, her voice soft.

“Focused,” I say, but it’s a lie, and we both know it.

Mum slumps into the desk chair, her worry heavy in the room, and the lines around her eyes look deeper than they did three months ago when we fled London in the middle of the night. She looks older because of me, because of this plan I can’t let go of. “When I let you play hockey as a kid, I never thought you’d…” She picks up the fake transcript, her hands shaking, and continues, “If your father were alive, he’d lock you in your room before letting you do this.”

My throat tightens, and I say, “Dad would understand,” but my voice comes out softer than I mean, sounding young and scared. “He always said I was too stubborn to quit.”

“Stubborn is one thing,” Mum says, her voice sharp, “but lying about who you are to get into an elite boarding school, that’s not stubborn, Freya, it’s insane.”

I turn away from the mirror, because looking at myself makes my chest feel tight, and the hockey gear feels heavy, like it belongs to someone else. But I think about holding my stick, the burn in my legs as I moved across the ice, the joy of playing, and that feeling is mine, always has been, even when people said hockey wasn’t for girls.

A loud knock makes us all jump. “Frey, car’s here!” David calls through the door. “You sure about this, or you want a nice, boring job, like teaching or accounting?”

Lily giggles despite everything, and Mum almost smiles, because David’s been keeping us going these past months, working double shifts without a single complaint. But I’ve seen him look at me with the same worry Mum has now.

“Coming!” I call back, using my fake voice, and it makes my skin crawl, but I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder. Inside are the few things I’m taking to this new life: clothes to make me look like a boy, a photo from the London Underground Women’s League, and enough hope to either save me or ruin me.

Mum stands and hugs me so tight I can barely breathe, and I close my eyes, trying to hold onto the smell of her lavender perfume. “Promise you’ll be careful,” she whispers, “and don’t take any stupid risks.”

I almost laugh, but it comes out bitter, and I say, “Mum, I’m about to spend four years pretending to be someone else, so I think we’re past worrying about stupid risks.”

She pulls back, her eyes wet with tears, and says, “Then promise you won’t lose yourself in this lie.”

My throat burns, and I nod, saying, “I won’t.”

Lily throws her arms around us both, her chin trembling even though she’s trying to act brave. “What if they figure it out, or you get hurt?” she asks.

I think of Marcus’s rage when I rejected him in front of half of London’s supernatural community, the words I said—I reject you, Marcus Blackwood, as my mate—and the threats that forced us to run with nothing but what we were wearing. I push the memories away and say, “Then I’ll deal with it, but I’m not coming back until I prove girls can play this game as well as boys.”

“Better,” Lily says, her voice fierce.

“Better,” I agree, matching her tone.

David knocks again. “Freddie, car’s leaving in two minutes with or without you!”

The name stings, because Freddie isn’t the girl who dominated London’s underground games or the daughter who helped Dad fix cars in our tiny garage, but just Freddie, a lie wrapped around who I really am. If that lie gets me on the ice, I’ll live with it.

I grab the door handle, catching my reflection in the window—a sharp-faced stranger in oversized clothes, trying to disappear into someone else’s life. My wolf is still asleep inside me, won’t wake until my twenty-first birthday in six months, so I have no supernatural senses, no extra strength, no way to know if someone sees through me. I’m basically human right now, vulnerable and alone, perfect for lying but terrible for surviving.

“When you make that team,” Mum says, her voice quiet but firm, “remember it wasn’t Frederick Sterling who earned it, but you, my stubborn, impossible daughter.”

Her words hit me hard, and I nod, because I can’t trust my voice. I step into the hallway, my heart pounding as I head toward the lobby. In three hours, I’ll be at Crescent Moon Academy, the most elite supernatural boarding school in North America, home to the undefeated hockey team that’s never let a girl play in its hundred-year history.

“I’m trying out as a boy,” I mutter to myself, testing the words, and they feel heavy, like a promise I’m not sure I can keep.

“You’ll make it,” David says, appearing at the end of the hall, his voice steady but his eyes worried. “Just don’t do anything too reckless, okay?”

I force a grin and say, “No promises,” because reckless is all I’ve got left.

He shakes his head, but there’s a small smile on his face, and he says, “Get in the car, Freddie, before I change my mind and drive you to an accounting school instead.”

I laugh, but it’s shaky, and I follow him outside, where the car engine hums, waiting to take me to Crescent Moon. I slide into the backseat, my bag clutched tight, and David glances at me in the rearview mirror.

“Last chance to back out,” he says, half-joking but half-serious.

I shake my head and say, “I’m doing this,” even though my stomach feels like it’s flipping over.

He nods, pulls out of the driveway, and we’re off, heading toward either the biggest mistake or the greatest chance of my life. I lean back, staring out the window, and think about the ice, the game, the truth I’m hiding to get there. I’ll live as a lie, but if I’m brave enough and good enough, maybe I’ll prove that the biggest lies can hold the most important truths.

I guess I’m about to find out.