Page 13

Hagan

As the arrangements for Seren's betrothal were being finalized in the Eastern Province, life in the pack's stronghold continued as usual.

Hagan and his friends were back in school, juggling their training in both human and wolf form alongside their regular studies.

Their curriculum was rigorous—numerical studies, science, history, and even computer studies were essential, ensuring they could navigate both the human and the shifter world seamlessly.

Hagan sat at his desk, his chin resting on his knuckles, only half-listening to the lesson. His mind drifted as he connected to the tribe link, a mental tether allowing shifters to communicate wordlessly.

"Where do you think my father went?" Hagan asked, directing the thought toward Dain and Veyr.

"Probably some boring Alpha business," Dain responded lazily. "Meetings, discussions. That's us in the future. Yuck!"

"Or maybe something important," Veyr added, his tone more serious. "Your dad doesn't leave without a reason."

"I just hope it doesn't mean extra training for us," Dain groaned. "Last time he left, we had to do double drills."

Hagan smirked but said nothing. His father's absences were rare—once werewolves had imprinted on their mates, it was difficult for them to bear long separations.

Only after years would they be able to do this, as with his father.

Draken had learned to endure the distance, but Hagan had seen the way his mother's scent lingered on his father's clothes when he returned, the moment his expression would soften upon seeing her again.

It was a reminder of the unshakable bond that tied them all together .

Before he could dwell on it further, the sharp creak of the classroom door yanked him back to the present.

A new scent swept through the air—faint but distinct. It was the scent of the four o'clock flower. Soft, sweet, but with an underlying mystery that tugged at him. It was the scent of someone unfamiliar, someone different.

The boys straightened slightly as the teacher entered, leading a girl forward. Hagan's gaze locked onto her instantly.

The grey-eyed blonde waif.

She looked healthier now, no longer the fragile thing she had been when they had first seen her.

Yet there was still a hesitance in the way she moved, a guardedness that had not yet faded.

Her new uniform was stiff on her small frame as she clutched the strap of her satchel, her gaze flickering uncertainly over the room. Her shoes already looked scuffed.

"This is your new classmate," the teacher announced. "Please welcome her."

A few murmurs of acknowledgement spread through the students, but the girl remained silent. When prompted to introduce herself, she lowered her gaze, refusing to speak. The teacher sighed before glancing around for an empty seat.

"Hagan, she will sit with you."

Hagan straightened as she was guided to the seat in front of him. He leaned forward slightly and whispered, "Hi."

Before she could respond, the teacher shot him a sharp look. "Silence, Hagan. "

Hagan pressed his lips together, but he couldn't stop himself from stealing glances at the girl throughout the lesson. There was something about her—something quiet yet fierce beneath the surface. His curiosity only grew.

When class ended, the students began gathering their things.

As the others filed out, Hagan lingered.

He hesitated for a moment, then pulled out a small pastry from his lunchbox.

It was one his mother had made, still warm and rich with the scent of honey and spice.

Without a word, he placed it on her desk and walked away.

She stared at the pastry for a long moment, as if unsure what to do with it. Finally, her fingers closed around the box, and when she looked up, her lips parted slightly.

"My name is Airlia."

Her voice was soft, like the brush of a hummingbird's wing.

Hagan turned, offering her a small smile before disappearing into the hallway.

And in that moment, he knew—Airlia was different. And he wanted to know more.