Chapter 2 NAVY

Twenty minutes later, I'm sitting in a very straight backed chair — that I believe was deliberately designed to be uncomfortable — in front of Mrs. Holt.

The other guy is sitting in the chair next to me. He has not looked at me once.

He is sitting with his arms folded, jaw set and his sapphire eyes fixed on the middle distance. 

Mrs. Holt is still writing.

I look at the clock.

"This is fine," I whisper, to myself, very quietly.

The boy's jaw tightens. He heard that.

"Students," Mrs. Holt says, without looking up. "Trespassing on academy grounds after curfew on resumption day is a demerit offence. Three demerits in a semester results in academic review." She sets her pen down. "Each of you will receive two demerits. The incident will be logged."

Two demerits.

First day. Not even first day — first night. I haven't even been to my room yet.

"With respect," he says, his voice sounding like he has practiced being calm when he is not calm. "I was on the correct side of the fence when this happened."

Mrs. Holt looks at him over her glasses. "You were outside after curfew, Mr. Klaus Delacroix."

So that's his name.

"I went for a run."

"After curfew."

His jaw does the tight thing again.

I should stay quiet. I know I should stay quiet. This is not the moment for me to open my mouth and make anything worse. But…

"He's right," I say.

Klaus turns and looks at me for the first time, full eye contact. Those sapphire eyes are beyond furious.

"I mean — about himself," I add quickly. "I'm not arguing my own case. I was definitely on the wrong side of the fence. I accept full responsibility for that. But he was already there when I landed on him, so technically the fence situation was mine and he just —" I pause. "Got in the way. Of my falling. Which was not his fault."

Mrs. Holt studies me for a moment.

Klaus is still looking at me with that expression. I genuinely cannot tell if it's less hostile than before or exactly the same amount of hostility and I'm just getting used to it.

The office door opens.

"Margaret."

The voice comes from the doorway — unhurried, warm, the kind of voice that belongs to someone who has never needed to speak loudly to be heard. I turn around.

The man in the doorway is older, silver-haired, with round glasses and a cardigan that has seen better decades. He's leaning slightly on a wooden walking stick, and there is something about the careful way he holds himself — steady, deliberate — that makes me think the lean is recent. He's looking at Mrs. Holt with an expression of polite but immovable purpose.

Mrs. Holt straightens almost imperceptibly. "Professor Shaw."

I stare at him.

“These are?”

“Mr Delacroix, who was out after the curfew and Ms. Hayes, who tried to sneak in by climbing over the fence.”

"Hayes, you said," he says quietly, turning to look at me, and his eyes — sharp and kind at once, the eyes of someone who forgets nothing — settle on my face with recognition.

“You must be the person who Master Louis just spoke to me about to excuse your tardiness.”

I stare blankly at him. “Who's…”

“The gentleman who had an asthma attack.”

His face comes to mind immediately. “Bushy eyebrows?”

Professor Shaw chuckles. “Yes, bushy eyebrows.”

I really want to kick myself for saying that aloud. “Oh… right.”

“Mrs Holt, a word, please.”

Professor Shaw speaks to her for four minutes in the corridor while Klaus and I sit in complete silence in the uncomfortable chairs.

“Alright then,” Mrs Holt begins immediately after she returns. “Given the extenuating circumstances, the incident would be logged but no demerits would be issued… for both of you.”

I'm ready to hug her at this point. “Thank you so much, Mrs Holt.”

“You may leave, Mr. Delacroix.”

Klaus stands without a word, picking up his bag, and walks out.

Mrs Holt hands me my schedule, course books and room key. "Orientation is at eight-thirty sharp. Don't be late."

I don't need to be told twice.

I make my way quickly out of the admin building to Dorm C, then to the sixth floor. Room 6C. Unlocking the door and walking into it, I stop dead in my tracks. 

The entire room is the definition of depression — dull grey everywhere. 

The only pop of colour is my three-piece burgundy luggage set sitting in a corner of the room. I walk towards them, dropping my backpack on the desk.

“Thank Goddess Mommy sent these ahead,” I sigh, throwing them open to remove my essentials only. No need to unpack when remodelling starts tomorrow. 

I change the sheets after my shower, then set my alarm for six the next morning. After which I throw myself into the bed, dead tired, my eyes shutting down immediately.

The next thing I know, my alarm is blaring in my ears. I sigh in exhaustion as I roll out of bed.

Orientation is held in the main hall.

It's a beautiful room — high ceilings, tall windows, morning light cutting across rows of seats filled with every first year Aurelian Academy has accepted this year. There are maybe sixty of us.

I find a seat near the aisle and spend the welcome address mentally calculating how long until I can disappear.

"The assessments," Professor Shaw is saying from the podium, "are not a competition." He surveys the room over his glasses with calm authority.

"They are simply a baseline," he continues. "Wolf strength. Shift control. Magic aptitude. Nothing more.”

The wolf assessment goes exactly as expected.

Which is to say — not great, but survivable.

Every student steps forward in turn, the assessor recording shift speed, control, and strength. Most of the room manages a clean partial shift. A few do full shifts.

Klaus shifts with a quiet, controlled precision that makes the assessor actually look up from her clipboard.

There's authority in the way he moves. Not performed authority — the kind that lives in the bones. The kind you're born into whether you want it or not.

Why am I even noticing that??

When my name is called, I walk to the front. My wolf is present but restricted. The assessor makes a note without looking up.

Exhaling, I turn to go back to my seat.

"Magic aptitude," she says. "Stay where you are."

The device is small and silver and has processed every student in this hall this morning without a single problem. The assessor holds it toward my wrist with the bored efficiency of someone on her fortieth repetition.

It touches my skin.

The sound it makes stops the entire room.

Not a beep. A sustained, high-pitched shriek that bounces off the high ceiling and doesn't stop until the assessor yanks the device back with both hands, staring between the device and me.

"Hold on." She rattles the device the way you'd shake a watch that stopped before holding it out again.

Same high-pitched shriek… only louder this time.

She pulls it back. Her eyes travel from the device to my wrist to my face, slow and deliberate.

"Are you using a booster?”