Chapter 4

“That was where your mother studied,” he continued quietly. “Before she became Luna. Before everything.”

I could feel the weight of emotion the words carried, even though I already knew this from the investigations Michael and I had carried out after finding the article. Hearing it from my father’s mouth only made the situation more real.

“She never spoke much about it,” he added, “only that it shaped her.”

Michael looked at me quietly, and I knew we both felt the same thing. This was confirmation.

“You’ve been planning this,” my father said, looking at us, but his gaze lingered on me.

I didn’t deny it.

My father let out a sigh. “I won’t stop you. I know how hard you’ve been training, and how strong you are now.”

As he said this, he turned and slowly walked away. Then he paused.

With a firm tone laced with worry, he added, “Please stay safe. The human realm can be tricky.”

I turned to Michael, and we silently accepted our fate. We both knew that once we went down that path, there would be no turning back.

Almost a month had passed.

It was my first day in human school, or college as they called it. Michael was running a bit late because he had some things that required his attention. That only added to the nervousness I already felt, but I didn’t let it show.

As I passed through the hallways, trying to navigate my classes, I watched a flood of students exiting their lecture rooms. Some laughed far too loudly, my wolf senses doing nothing to help. Others argued and complained about things that felt insignificant.

Humans were loud and careless. They lived as if they were immortal.

I checked my watch again. Michael was still late.

I reassured myself. The campus was massive, filled with countless paths and intersections. It was almost as if humans deliberately created obstacles for themselves.

To them, I was just a regular student. They didn’t know where I came from or why I was here, and they never would.

I readjusted the strap of my bag and turned to step away from the crowd when I unknowingly collided with someone.

I withstood the impact easily, even though the individual’s strength was above average for a human. My bag, however, was not as fortunate, and some of its contents spilled onto the floor.

“I’m so sorry,” a voice said immediately.

I looked up at the source of the apology.

He was human. Tall, somewhat athletic, with an easy expression that showed no wariness, only concern, as he immediately bent down to pick up the scattered items. I hurried to gather them myself, already irritated by his presence and by the fact that he showed no signs of leaving.

“It’s fine,” I said shortly, stepping back and preparing to leave.

He smiled. “Still my fault. Are you sure you’re okay?”

My expression shifted to one of clear displeasure. “I said I’m fine.”

He continued as if completely disregarding my obvious irritation. “Are you new here?” he asked, his demeanor relaxed, showing no signs of being guarded. I found that strange. Humans always showed some level of wariness around strangers.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Same. I’m Jameson.”

There was a curiosity in his eyes as he looked at me, one that lingered longer than necessary.

I didn’t respond with my name.

He was just about to speak again when my attention shifted sharply in another direction. I sensed it immediately.

Michael.

Moments later, he appeared beside me, his expression blank as usual, though I could tell he was already assessing the situation.

Ignoring Jameson entirely, he turned to me. “Sorry. I got held up.”

I nodded once.

Jameson glanced between us, his tone no longer as light as before as he looked at Michael. “Your boyfriend?”

“Sister,” Michael replied before I could speak.

Jameson smiled slightly. “Jameson.”

Michael gave a brief nod.

“We should go,” Michael said quietly to me.

I didn’t argue. I followed him, relieved he had arrived. That Jameson guy was far too chatty.

As we walked away, I felt it. Someone was staring at me. I didn’t need to look.

I already knew it was Jameson.

Michael and I walked side by side through the hallways, the small map I held almost useless due to how old it was.

Michael exhaled in exhaustion.

“I’ll ask.”

I watched him walk over to a student and exchange a few words. He returned and said firmly, “Second floor. East wing.”

We eventually found it.

When we stepped inside, it looked like the class had already begun. We were late.

A few heads turned as we entered, glances lingering on us as they likely began drawing their own conclusions. I didn’t care, and neither did Michael, as we took our seats at the back, where we could observe from a better angle.

We did our best to pick up from where the class already was, which was surprisingly easy.

I didn’t need much effort to understand the message the lecturer was trying to pass, and neither did Michael. Humans spoke differently and learned differently, but the material itself posed no challenge.

When the lecture came to an end, chairs scraped against the floor as students left immediately, chattering as usual.

Michael turned to me. “That’s it for today.”

“Good,” I nodded.

We came here for a reason. We exchanged a look that needed no words.

We began to wander through the buildings we felt held importance, especially those with fewer people.

At first, we thought the search would be effortless, that the answers we needed would be easy to access. We were wrong.

We checked study halls and notice boards, and it didn’t take long to notice a recurring pattern.

Access was limited. Almost restricted.

Some rooms required authorization. Others were completely off-limits, not protected by armed guards or locks, but by rules humans took far too seriously. The more we tried to intrude, the more futile it proved.

It became clear that our access was severely limited.

I frowned as I read yet another sign. “Archives are restricted.”

“To who?” Michael asked.

“Students,” I replied, scanning the notice. “Unless you’re part of an academic association.”

Realization dawned on me, though I remained quiet.

We moved on to the research facilities and old records, only to find the same thing repeated again and again.

Membership was required.

Michael let out a quiet sigh. “They keep everything organized behind groups. Clubs. Associations.”

I watched a few students pass by, laughing and chatting without a care in the world, completely unaware of how carefully their access was controlled.

Humans hid their secrets in plain sight, layered beneath systems and procedures.

“We need to at least choose an association to belong to if we want answers,” I said, looking around for any information on how to join.

“History. Research. Humanities. Anything related to archival access.”

“We join,” I said as soon as my eyes landed on a small poster that read Historical Research Association. Open enrollment.

Michael followed my gaze. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I replied. “We didn’t come this far to be restricted by some association.”

It dawned on us then that this was no longer just about blending in. It was about gaining as much access as possible while doing our best to lay low.

And if joining an association was the price we had to pay, then we would pay it.