Chapter 2 - A Hand I Didn’t Take

Rae

Julien Bennett’s hand remained extended in front of me, steady and patient, as if the weight of the entire courtyard staring at him didn’t exist.

For a moment, I didn’t move—not because I needed help getting up, but because of what that gesture meant. Wolves like Julien didn’t involve themselves in situations like this, not publicly, not where it could be seen and judged and remembered. He wasn’t just another student. He was the future Beta of Ravenwood, one of the four wolves everyone watched, followed, admired.

And right now, every eye in the courtyard was on him… and on me.

I could feel it—the shift in the air, the ripple of attention, the quiet calculation spreading through the crowd. This wasn’t kindness, not to them. To them, this was something else entirely.

A mistake.

And I wasn’t about to make it worse.

I pushed myself fully to my feet without taking his hand, brushing the dust from my palms as I straightened. The sting from the fall lingered just enough to keep me grounded, to keep me from reacting on instinct instead of control.

“Thanks,” I said, keeping my voice even. “But I’ve got it.”

Something flickered briefly in Julien’s expression—not offense, not even surprise, but something quieter, more curious, like he had expected that answer and was still interested in it anyway. He lowered his hand without argument.

I didn’t wait for anything else.

Turning away felt like the only smart move, so I took it, stepping out of the circle of attention and heading toward the academy doors before anyone could say anything else to me.

Of course, that didn’t mean they stayed quiet.

“What the hell was that?” Rebecca’s voice carried easily across the courtyard, sharp and unapologetic.

I kept walking.

“She’s human,” Stephanie added, her tone thick with disgust. “Why are you touching her like she’s not?”

The words followed me, pressing against my back, but I didn’t slow down. I told myself I didn’t care, that I’d heard worse, that this was nothing new.

But I listened anyway.

“Does it matter?” Julien’s voice came, calm and level, cutting through the noise without needing to rise.

“It does when it makes you look like you’re lowering your standards,” Quinn shot back, irritation slipping through her carefully controlled tone.

There was a brief pause, just long enough for the tension to stretch before Brax spoke, his voice rough with amusement.

“Didn’t realize helping someone up came with a ranking system.”

A few people laughed, though it wasn’t entirely comfortable.

I shouldn’t have looked back.

I knew better. I had spent years learning when to keep my head down, when to move on, when to let things pass without giving them more weight than they deserved. Still, something pulled at me anyway, something I hadn’t quite managed to bury no matter how much time had passed.

I turned, just slightly.

Julien was still looking at me—not with the easy dismissal or quiet contempt I had grown used to, but with a kind of focus that felt deliberate, like he was trying to understand something that didn’t fit into the neat categories everyone else relied on.

And beside him, Grant was watching me too.

The moment our eyes met, something in my chest tightened before I could stop it. There was no warmth there, no trace of the boy who used to race me through the forest and laugh when I tripped over roots, no sign of the person who had once reached for me without hesitation.

That version of him was gone.

What remained was controlled, distant, and completely out of reach.

I broke the eye contact first and turned away, and this time I didn’t give myself the chance to look back again.

By the time I reached the classroom, the noise of the courtyard had faded into something distant, replaced by the low murmur of voices and the scrape of chairs against the floor. The room was already filling, students settling into their seats in loose clusters that reflected the same hierarchies outside.

I chose a desk near the back without thinking about it.

Habit.

It was easier that way—easier to observe without being observed, easier to exist without becoming the center of something I didn’t want.

A few glances followed me as I sat down, a few whispers that weren’t quite quiet enough to ignore, but I didn’t react. I pulled out my notebook, opened it to a blank page, and focused on something simple and steady.

Anything to keep my thoughts from circling back.

Julien’s hand.

Grant’s eyes.

The way Quinn had slipped her arm through his like it had always belonged there.

I tightened my grip on the pen slightly.

It shouldn’t matter.

Whatever we had been to each other had ended years ago, whether I had been ready for it or not.

“Hey.”

Chrissy slid into the seat beside me, her presence immediately softening the tension that had settled in my chest.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

I nodded, even though it wasn’t entirely true. “I’ve had worse mornings.”

Her expression tightened, a flicker of frustration crossing her face. “Quinn’s always been like that. You’d think she’d grow out of it eventually.”

“She won’t,” I said simply. Some people didn’t need a reason to treat you like you didn’t belong. Your existence was enough.

Chrissy leaned back slightly, studying me for a moment before her expression shifted, brightening just a little. “Well… if it makes you feel any better, there’s a festival coming up.”

I glanced at her. “A festival?”

“Yeah. The academy hosts one every year. Food, competitions, music—it’s actually kind of fun.”

“That sounds like a wolf thing,” I replied.

“It is,” she admitted, undeterred, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t go.”

I gave her a look, and she sighed, leaning closer.

“Rae, you can’t spend the entire year pretending you’re not here.”

“I’m not pretending anything.”

“You picked the back seat.”

“That’s strategy.”

“That’s avoidance.”

“It’s survival.”

The word slipped out before I could soften it, and the moment it did, the air between us shifted.

Chrissy’s expression gentled. “I just don’t want you to be alone.”

I looked back down at my notebook, the blank page waiting for something I didn’t have to give.

“I’m used to it,” I murmured.

Before she could argue further, a voice spoke from behind us.

“Why?”

I turned slightly in my seat, angling myself so my back was to the wall again.

Julien Bennett stood beside my desk.

I hadn’t heard him approach—of course I hadn’t. Wolves rarely made noise unless they wanted to.

The room shifted subtly, conversations quieting just enough to listen without making it obvious.

“So what if you’re human?” Julien continued, his tone calm but carrying. “You’re still a student here.”

Chrissy blinked, clearly caught off guard.

I just stared at him.

“You should come,” he added, looking directly at me now. “To the festival.”

For a second, I couldn’t find a response. This felt heavier than the courtyard, more deliberate. Helping me up had been a moment. This was a choice.

Movement at the front of the room drew my attention.

Brax dropped into a seat, stretching like he had all the time in the world, while Linc followed more quietly, his gaze flicking once toward me before settling forward again.

Grant stepped into the room last, and the shift in the air was immediate, even if no one openly acknowledged it. Conversations softened, attention subtly redirected, the kind of quiet adjustment that came naturally when someone like him entered a space.

His gaze moved across the room, taking everything in—the students, the tension, Julien standing beside my desk—before settling briefly on me.

There was no warmth in his expression, no recognition of what we used to be, no hesitation or conflict breaking through the surface. Just distance. Just control. Just the quiet certainty that whatever had once existed between us no longer had a place in his world.

I looked away first.

Brax leaned back in his chair with a low chuckle. “You inviting strays to pack events now, Bennett?”

Julien didn’t look away from me. “I’m inviting a student.”

“Same thing?” Brax shot back, amused.

A few people laughed. Linc remained silent, and Grant said nothing at all, which somehow felt worse than anything he could have said.

The silence stretched just long enough to settle heavily in my chest before I broke it.

“I’m not going,” I said, my voice steady despite the tension coiling inside me.

Julien studied me for a moment, like he was weighing something I couldn’t see, then gave a small nod.

“Suit yourself.”

He turned and walked back to his seat as if the moment hadn’t meant anything at all.