Chapter 7: The Seat Beside Me

The next morning, I woke before my alarm.

For a few seconds, I lay there staring at the pale pink stars painted across my ceiling, wondering why my face felt strangely tight.

Then I remembered.

Cole’s hand.

The crack of the slap.

The classroom going silent.

His voice telling me I was making too much of everything.

I sat up and touched my cheek. Most of the swelling had finally disappeared overnight, but a faint yellow-purple shadow remained beneath my skin.

Echo stirred inside me.

*Don’t hide it.*

I looked toward the makeup bag on my dresser.

Normally, I would have covered the bruise. I hated people staring at me, and I hated even more the idea of walking through Ashvale Academy while everyone whispered about what had happened.

But Echo was right.

Why should I be embarrassed by something Cole had done?

So I left the bruise uncovered.

When I stepped into the hallway, the Mercers’ apartment door was closed.

For twelve years, I had crossed that hallway almost every morning.

Sometimes Cole would be waiting outside with breakfast in one hand and his schoolbag hanging from one shoulder. Sometimes I would knock until he yelled that he was coming. If he overslept, I would walk straight into his room because his mother had long ago stopped treating me like a guest.

Today, I walked past their door without slowing down.

The elevator had almost closed when a hand suddenly shot between the doors.

They opened again.

Cole stepped inside.

My entire body stiffened.

His pine scent filled the small elevator, and Echo immediately retreated to the back of my mind with a low growl.

Cole noticed.

His jaw tightened.

Neither of us spoke.

I moved into the farthest corner and stared at the glowing numbers above the door.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Usually, Cole would have stolen one of my earbuds by now. Or complained that my perfume was too sweet. Or reached over to straighten one of the ridiculous pink clips he pretended to hate.

This morning, there was nothing between us except silence.

At the fourth floor, he finally spoke.

“My mom grounded me.”

I kept staring ahead.

“She took my training privileges for two weeks. Dad said if I ever use wolf dominance on a classmate again, he’ll personally pull me out of warrior prep.”

I said nothing.

Cole glanced at me. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes.”

He waited.

When I offered nothing else, irritation flashed across his face.

“That’s it?”

I finally looked at him. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Anything.”

“Your punishment has nothing to do with me.”

His brows pulled together. “Of course it has something to do with you.”

“No. It has something to do with what you did.”

The elevator doors opened.

I walked out before he could answer.

For the first time since we were children, I went to school without waiting for Cole.

By the time I reached Ashvale Academy, I had already received twelve messages from classmates.

Some asked whether I was okay.

Some wanted to know if Cole and I had really fallen out.

One girl sent me a screenshot from a class group chat where someone had written, ‘Apparently Princess Aurora finally dumped her guard dog.’

I deleted the screenshot.

Then I muted the group.

I had spent enough years letting other people decide what my relationship with Cole meant.

When I entered the classroom, conversation died almost instantly.

Thirty pairs of eyes turned toward me.

I ignored them.

My usual seat was two rows from the window.

Cole’s desk was directly behind mine.

Amber sat in front of his.

I stopped beside my desk.

Yesterday, that arrangement had seemed normal.

Today, the thought of spending hours with Cole breathing behind me made Echo restless.

So I picked up my books.

There was an empty desk at the back of the classroom beside the window. Its previous owner had transferred into advanced combat studies the week before.

I carried my things there.

A chair scraped violently behind me.

“Aurora.”

Cole’s voice traveled across the room.

I continued arranging my books.

“Aurora, what are you doing?”

I looked over my shoulder. “Changing seats.”

“Why?”

Several students exchanged looks.

I almost laughed.

Yesterday, he had asked why I was ending twelve years of closeness over one slap.

Now he apparently couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to sit directly in front of him.

“Because I want to.”

Amber leaned back in her chair.

There was a tiny smile at the corner of her mouth.

“Wow,” she said. “Someone’s dramatic today.”

The room became even quieter.

Yesterday, that comment would have made my stomach tighten.

Today, I simply looked at her.

“Did I ask you?”

Amber blinked.

A boy near the front coughed to hide a laugh.

Her cheeks flushed.

“I was just saying—”

“Then stop saying.”

I turned away.

Cole stared at me as if I had become someone he didn’t recognize overnight.

Maybe I had.

Our homeroom instructor, Ms. Hale, entered before anyone could continue.

Her gaze immediately found the fading bruise on my cheek.

Then she looked at Cole.

Her expression hardened.

Apparently, our parents weren’t the only ones who knew what had happened.

“Before we begin,” she said, placing her tablet on the desk, “there will be a change to this month’s strategy assessment.”

A collective groan filled the room.

Ms. Hale ignored it.

“Ashvale Academy will be hosting students from three neighboring packs for the regional tactical trials. Each team will consist of one strategist and two combat candidates.”

My attention sharpened.

Strategy was my best subject.

It was also the one part of academy life where nobody could dismiss me for liking pink or refusing to roll around in mud.

Ms. Hale began reading names.

When she reached mine, she paused.

“Aurora Vale. Highest strategy score in this class.”

A few people turned toward me.

“You’ll be representing Ashvale as one of our primary strategists.”

My heart jumped.

Then Ms. Hale continued.

“Your combat partners will be assigned after tomorrow’s visiting-student evaluations.”

For the first time since yesterday, excitement pushed through the heaviness in my chest.

I smiled.

A real smile.

Across the classroom, Cole was watching me.

He looked almost startled by it.

During lunch, I deliberately chose a table on the opposite side of the cafeteria from the one I had shared with Cole for years.

I had barely opened my lunch when someone dropped into the chair across from me.

Maya Chen.

She was a quiet girl from my strategy class who usually sat near the front.

“Is this seat taken?” she asked.

“No.”

Two more girls joined us a minute later.

Neither mentioned Cole.

Neither asked for gossip.

Instead, Maya immediately started complaining about the tactical trials.

“If they pair me with Gavin Holt, I’m withdrawing from civilization.”

I laughed before I could stop myself.

It felt strange.

Easy.

For years, nearly every part of my social life had revolved around Cole. His friends became my friends. His lunch table became mine. His plans determined where I went after school.

I had never realized how small I had made my own world.

Halfway through lunch, Maya’s gaze shifted over my shoulder.

“Don’t look now.”

Naturally, I looked.

Cole stood beside his usual table.

Amber was talking animatedly beside him, but he wasn’t listening.

He was staring directly at me.

When our eyes met, he immediately looked away.

I turned back to my food.

Echo gave a dismissive huff.

*Not our problem.*

For once, I agreed completely.

After lunch came advanced mathematics.

Mr. Bennett handed back our exams.

“Only two students scored above ninety-five.”

He placed a paper on Amber’s desk.

“Amber Lawson. Ninety-six.”

Amber smiled proudly.

Then he walked toward the back.

“Aurora Vale. One hundred.”

He placed my exam in front of me.

For a second, the room was silent.

Then Maya whispered, “Holy hell.”

I grinned.

Amber turned around.

Her gaze fell on the bright red 100 at the top of my paper.

Something unpleasant flickered across her expression.

“Guess princesses can do math,” she said.

I tilted my head.

“Guess warriors can get second place.”

A few students laughed.

Amber’s face went rigid.

Cole looked between us.

I expected him to tell me not to start trouble.

Instead, he remained silent.

Maybe yesterday had finally taught him that I no longer cared whether he approved of me.

After school, I headed toward the library for tactical-trial preparation.

I had almost reached the stairs when Cole stepped into my path.

“Aurora.”

I stopped.

“Move.”

His mouth tightened. “Can we talk for five minutes?”

“No.”

I stepped around him.

He moved with me.

Echo growled.

Cole must have sensed it because his face changed.

“Your wolf really hates me now?”

There was something unexpectedly vulnerable in his voice.

I looked at him.

“You hit us.”

“I said it was an accident.”

“No, Cole. An accident is bumping into someone. Your hand didn’t accidentally rise, cross the space between us, and hit my face.”

His expression tightened.

“I lost control for a second.”

“Exactly.”

“I apologized.”

“And?”

He stared at me.

I could almost see the confusion working through his face.

Cole had always believed apologies reset everything between us.

He could forget my strawberry milk, tease me until I cried, cancel plans to train with his friends, and then show up later with a pink cupcake and a crooked smile.

I always forgave him.

He had mistaken my forgiveness for permanence.

“An apology doesn’t buy access to me,” I said.

His eyes flashed gold.

Not dominance this time.

Pain.

“So what? Twelve years mean nothing now?”

“They meant enough that I trusted you more than anyone.”

My voice softened despite myself.

“That’s why what you did mattered so much.”

He went completely still.

For once, he had no answer.

I walked past him.

The library was almost empty when I arrived.

I chose a table beside the tall windows and opened the tactical-trial handbook.

Twenty minutes later, Ms. Hale entered.

She wasn’t alone.

A boy followed her.

He was tall, probably a little taller than Cole, with dark hair falling carelessly over his forehead. The black-and-silver crest stitched onto his academy jacket wasn’t Ironwood’s.

Silvercrest.

One of the visiting packs.

He carried himself differently from the boys in warrior prep. Quietly. No deliberate displays of dominance. No need to make everyone in the room notice how strong he was.

Then the air changed.

Echo shot upright inside me.

I froze.

The boy stopped walking at exactly the same moment.

His head turned.

Our eyes met across the library.

Something warm and electric rushed beneath my skin.

Not familiarity.

Not memory.

Not the tangled attachment I had spent years mistaking for destiny.

This was instinctive.

Ancient.

Absolute.

A scent reached me from across the room—cedar after rain, cold mountain air, and something I couldn’t name.

Echo pressed against the inside of my consciousness so suddenly that my breath caught.

*Safe.*

My fingers tightened around my pen.

Yesterday, Echo had looked at the boy I had loved for nine years and given me one command.

*Leave.*

Now she looked at a complete stranger and whispered a single word I had never heard from her before.

*Mate.*