CHAPTER TWELVE

The pale light of dawn crept slowly across the sky, brushing the tree canopy above in soft hues of rose and amber. A chill clung to the forest floor like a second skin, soaking into Rhea’s bones as she lay curled beneath a low-branched pine. Her muscles ached from the uneven ground, and the biting cold stiffened her joints until she finally forced herself upright.

Around her, the small group of boys she’d fallen in with the previous evening stirred, yawning and muttering half-hearted greetings as they rubbed sleep from their eyes. The fire had long since burned down to a bed of ash and glowing coals. One of them, Ryker, kicked the embers with his boot, sending a small puff of smoke into the morning air.

“Up,” he snapped, voice gruff and still edged with sleep. “We’ve got ground to cover.”

Rhea nodded mutely, rising and brushing off her cloak, grateful no one paid her much attention. Her satchel hung heavily from her shoulder, weighing more than it had the day before. She hadn’t checked it since Mira had packed it before her escape, too anxious to draw it open in front of others. But something inside shifted now, a solid object shifting as she slung it across her back.

Curious, she ducked behind a dense patch of brambles and knelt, easing the satchel open. Her fingers brushed against coarse leather, and she withdrew a small, tightly bound book. A folded note protruded from the first page, its parchment rough and familiar.

Rhea's heart clenched. Mira.

With trembling fingers, she unfolded the note.

“You’ll need to understand how they think, how they operate. Memorize this, my darling girl. Be smarter than them. Be invisible until it’s safe to be known.”

Tears pricked behind her eyes at the careful, loving scrawl. Mira had always been more than a nursemaid—she had been Rhea’s confidante, her only mother-figure since her real one’s death. And she’d risked everything to help her escape.

With a shaky breath, Rhea opened the book.

Academy Regulations – Initiate Handbook

For distribution to new arrivals at the prestigous Alpha Training Acdemy.

The first few pages were yellowed and smudged, ink faded but legible. She squinted, lips moving silently as she read:

Rule One: Obey the Chain of Command.

Initiates are subject to the authority of senior students, instructors, and Alpha-class recruits. Failure to comply results in disciplinary measures.

Rhea's mouth went dry. She'd heard rumors of this caste structure, but seeing it in writing cemented it as reality. Alpha-bloods held power; the rest fell into line or were broken.

I have no rank, she thought. A rogue. Worse—an imposter.

Rule Two: No unauthorized shifting.

Wolves are to remain suppressed unless during sanctioned sparring or under mortal threat. Any transformation without permission is grounds for expulsion or punishment.

Suppressing her wolf was already a daily struggle. The more she masked herself, the more her wolf clawed at her insides, pacing just beneath the surface. She wasn’t sure how long she could hold her back.

Her wolf—a presence both fierce and wounded—remained ever-vigilant, unsettled by their new life in hiding.

Rule Three: Combat earns privilege.

Weekly trials determine combat rank. Rank dictates food rations, bed quality, access to instructors, and training partners.

Rhea exhaled slowly. So there would be no rest here. No time to fade into the background. She would be forced to fight, and yet not too well—because skill would draw attention, and attention meant risk.

Rule Four: Bloodlines are sacred.

Initiates are evaluated in part on lineage. Noble blood earns privilege. Unknowns and rogues are subject to scrutiny and testing.

A pit opened in her stomach. Her true bloodline—daughter of Garrick Stormclaw—would grant her high rank instantly. But as Rian, she was a nobody. A rogue male who showed up with a forged acceptance letter and no clan ties.

If anyone questioned her origins or demanded proof…

She would be dragged back. And this time, her father would not lock her in a tower. He would make an example of her.

Rule Five: No attachments.

Packs, friendships, and bonds are discouraged until proven through trials. Emotional weakness is a liability. Discipline above all.

The words felt cold. Sharp.

Even here, she thought. They expect loyalty without love. Obedience without trust.

She flipped further through the book, her fingers trembling slightly now. Pages outlined ranked dormitory assignments, mandatory sparring times, and punishments for insubordination. There was an entire section titled “Submission Protocols.”

A thin sheen of sweat gathered at her brow.

Mira hadn’t sent her here to thrive. She’d sent her here to survive.

When she returned to the group, the others were already gathered by the edge of the trail. Ryker glanced up at her approach, but didn’t comment. She fell into step at the back of the group as they began their march again, feet crunching through dried leaves and moss.

With every mile they traveled closer to the Academy, her heart beat harder.

Rhea’s eyes remained fixed on the dirt path ahead, her mind replaying every rule she’d just read. Her stomach churned with a mixture of fear and grim resolve.

She had to memorize the hierarchy. Watch how the other boys carried themselves. She mimicked their swagger, their casual jabs and quiet challenges. She walked with shoulders slightly squared and her chin lowered—deferential but not submissive. Confident, but not dominant.

Just enough to pass.

Just enough to be ignored.

Every moment was a performance. Every word a test. Every glance could be her undoing.

By mid-afternoon, her throat was dry and her legs burned from the uphill climb. Yet her thoughts were louder than her surroundings.

What if I slip? What if someone hears my voice crack in the wrong way? What if I turn my head too gently, or flinch when I shouldn’t?

What if Branor finds me?

What if my father does?

The image of Garrick Stormclaw’s face rose in her mind—fierce, immovable, carved from stone and cold fury. Then came Branor’s—the way he’d looked at her during the engagement ceremony, as though she were already his prize. His property.

I won’t go back, she thought, her jaw tightening. I’ll die before I go back.

She clutched the handbook tighter beneath her cloak, as if it could protect her. As if knowledge would be enough to keep her safe.

But still… fear whispered at the edges of her thoughts.

And the rules, etched like chains into her memory, did not promise safety.

They promised only survival.