Failure

"Stop staring at me. I’m fine," I tell Jen, reading an email on my phone as I eat breakfast. "Sociopaths are also fine," Celine points out, having joined us this morning. I glance up at her with a scowl before dropping my gaze back to the screen. "It’s tomorrow, and I still feel entirely normal." We have had the same conversation for the last six mornings. I do feel fine. No mood swings, no sudden hunger, no desperate urge to spend hours in wolf form terrorising the local rabbit population. "Do you think it’s because you’ve had her for so long?" Jen asks, absently pulling her long teal hair into a side plait. "Maybe," I say. "Anyway, I’d better finish up and get to geography before someone starts checking my pupils." I grab my bag as I stand, slinging it over one shoulder before taking my plate to one of the return trollies. In geography, I take my usual seat at the edge of the classroom, noting that the humans are easy to identify by who is coughing, sneezing, and generally losing the war against autumn germs. Owen walks in a moment later with his sulky companion and takes a seat near the front. I am not sure why, but Landry has seemed more reserved over the last week or so. By now, the rumour about him and Kirsten Delacroix has spread around the whole year group. I wonder how it feels for an alpha to be humbled by his own reputation. Not pleasant, probably. Mrs Claremont shuts the door and immediately begins handing out a briefing pack. I flick through the four pages. Our final project. Wonderful. Nothing says academic joy like four pages of instructions before nine in the morning. "To what extent does underlying geology influence patterns of environmental risk and human response in Cornwall?" Mrs Claremont reads from the front of the room. "We’ll be exploring this first-hand on our field trip at the end of January, using questionnaires, land-use mapping along transects, and a few other thrilling activities." Excited whispers ripple around the room. Field trips are not exactly common these days. Apparently, even transects become exciting if you have been trapped on school grounds long enough. "There are also some forms to fill in, particularly for the Lycans among us," she says, placing a separate sheet in front of each of us. "If you aren’t already aware, Cornwall has natural deposits of uranium and radon gas. In some areas, the levels are high enough that shifting into your wolves is physically impossible." I glance down at the form. That is less thrilling. I am mildly surprised when Landry puts his hand up. Mrs Claremont nods to him. "Are you sure?" he asks. "We holidayed there most summers, and I shifted plenty of times." "I’m sure you did," she says. "We could have a little jaunt along the coastline where you likely holidayed, Mr Landry, but our time will be spent at what are known as the Cornish Alps. The china clay quarries. There, you won’t be able to shift." He slumps back in his chair. I hide a smile behind the briefing pack. "We’ll be gone for four days," Mrs Claremont continues. "Wellies and coats are essential. The weather will be very British." We spend the rest of the lesson reading through the project brief, and before long it is time for biology. "Hey, Lyra," Owen says from behind me as I walk down the corridor. "Owen, hi," I reply, a little more naturally than I have managed in recent weeks. He has been so nice since my painfully awkward attempt at flirting with him, but I still feel embarrassed whenever I think about it. "Tomorrow is the big day, eh?" he says warmly. "It can’t come soon enough. My roommate is checking on me at every meal." "Ah, yeah. I can imagine." He grins. "Pray for me come January." I roll my eyes. "Honestly, I might call in sick for lunchtime combat that entire week." Owen snorts, then shakes his head. "Lyra, I was joking. He really isn’t a bad guy." "Right. Even power-hungry dictators have their supporters." "Oh, come on." He gives me an imploring look as we turn into the science corridor. "You’ve got to know me better over the last month. Can’t you trust my judgement a little?" "Owen, he literally tripped me in combat last Thursday," I say, sliding onto a stool. "I’m fairly sure that was an accident." "He smiled." Owen pauses. "Fine. That does sound bad." "Thank you." "But smiling after an accident is not the same as committing one." "You are very loyal. It is almost admirable." "Almost?" "Do not push your luck." He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Anyway, how’s your sewing project going?" "It’s... a work in progress," I mutter, thinking of the amount of fabric I have already wasted. "I’ve stabbed myself with a ridiculous number of pins trying to fit it against myself, and it still isn’t working." "You’re resourceful. I’m sure you’ll look fantastic," Owen says, with far more optimism than I can manage. Lunchtime combat has got easier over the last couple of weeks. I have settled into a rhythm now, and I am actually enjoying it. Today is no different. I drag the combat dummies out, arrange them in a loose circle, then pull out the box of questionable gloves and toss it onto the mat. "Really drive your weight into it," I say, gesturing to one of the younger students. "But don’t connect with the outer edge of your hand, or you’ll break something." A few nod. A few half-listen. Standard. I pull my own gloves on, roll my shoulders, and twist slightly to loosen my back. The first hit lands solidly. Then another, followed by a spinning kick. The dull thud of impact travels cleanly up my leg. It feels good. Really good. Within a minute, I am moving properly, pushing through combinations without thinking. After a particularly solid kick, I step back for a quick drink, resting my forearm briefly against the dummy. I glance past it and catch Landry watching me from the opposite side of the room. He looks away first. Almost immediately. Then he starts driving his fists into his dummy in rapid succession. Impressive speed, Astraea comments. He’s an alpha. He should be impressive. The thought comes out sharper than intended. I tighten the straps on my gloves and step back in, pushing a little harder than before. There is a rhythm to it now. A steady burn building through my shoulders and core. Strike, reset, kick, turn. Movement clean enough to make the rest of the room blur around the edges. By the end of the session, I am overheated and in desperate need of a shower. Around me, people start peeling gloves off, shaking out their hands, and drifting towards the doors. Excellent session, Astraea says. And hopefully a reminder of why you are the one running it. Everyone seems to be accounted for. Still, something does not sit quite right. I glance around the room as people drift towards the doors, counting without meaning to. One, two, three— Then Landry steps up beside me, tossing his gloves into the box. The thought slips. Owen’s words from earlier echo in my ears. "You’ve got excellent form," I tell him, nodding once. That was unexpected, Astraea says. Landry pauses. I glance up briefly, just in time to catch the way he is looking at me. Like he is weighing my words, not just hearing them. "Coming from you," he says slowly, "I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or a critique." Never mind, Astraea sighs. "It’s an observation." He holds my gaze for another moment, then nods once. It should end there. It almost does. For a second, he looks like he might say something else, something just on the edge of forming. Then he turns away. "Not feeling it, huh?" Owen says, already starting to help me put the dummies away. "I may have to reassess that statement," I admit. "Don’t worry." He grins, lifting one under each arm with ease. "Your secret’s safe with me." "How comforting." "Just like it would be if you admitted your wolf is beta," he adds over his shoulder. I snort, wiping my forehead with the back of my wrist. "I’ve told you before. She is not beta." The honesty slips out more easily than I expect. "What’s her name?" I hesitate for half a second. "Astraea." He nods once. "Pretty name." "She likes to think so." Accurate, Astraea says. A small grin pulls at my mouth. It turns out the dummy was only the beginning. By evening, I am restless. "Girl, you’re going to wear a track into the floor if you don’t stop pacing," Jen says, dropping onto her bed after her nightly swim. "Can you go out? Please? I’ve only just got back and you’re exhausting me already." "Can you just do your thing on me?" I plead. She points firmly towards the door. "My juju doesn’t work on the Lycan side of things, so no. Unfortunately, I can’t fix this one for you. Out." I huff a quiet laugh. Agree, Astraea says. You’ll feel better for it. Of course you agree. You’ll probably get a rabbit out of it. Feeling thoroughly outnumbered, I step outside into the small garden. Pulling my clothes off feels good. Shifting feels better. Astraea takes over in a smooth rush, and with a splash, she cuts straight into the cold water, swimming hard across the surface before pulling herself out on the far edge. She shakes, droplets scattering from her pale grey fur. Then she steadies. And runs. At first, it is just the release of it. Powerful muscles stretching, cool ground beneath us, cold air cutting through our lungs. The world sharpens, every scent distinct, every sound crisp and clear. The lake fades behind us as we cut through woodland and open ground alike. No path. No direction. No hesitation. Just freedom. Time slips away from us. We do not tire the way I would in human form. There is no drag, no heaviness creeping in. Just steady, controlled energy that refuses to settle even when we slow. We needed this, Astraea says. I do not argue. We run further than intended, skirting close to the outer boundary before turning back towards the lake. Then it happens. A sound. Distant, but unmistakable. A howl, carrying through the trees, sharp with panic. Astraea stills instantly, head snapping towards it. Who is on patrol tonight? Astraea asks, urgent now. I rack my memory. Two omegas, I think. One a recent blend for experience. And an alpha nearby. There has to be. That was the weighting. Another panicked howl cuts through the trees. Who’s on relief? There should be a backup. There is always a backup. But— Someone was missing in combat this afternoon, I realise, the memory snapping into place too late. Luke. He was relief tonight. Shit. Two howls split the air now, and Astraea bolts towards them. Branches whip past as we cut straight through the woodland, abandoning the paths entirely. The distance closes quickly, the sounds of panic growing clearer. Scuffling. Snarling. Jaws snapping. Then a cry, cut short. Fear floods through me as we break through the treeline. Two omegas. One pinned beneath a much larger black rogue, whining in pain. Two more rogues circle, heavy-bodied and waiting for their chance to strike. The alpha who should be close is nowhere to be seen. And Luke is not coming. My stomach drops. Then hardens. We do not hesitate. Astraea launches. The first rogue goes down under the impact of us, knocked sideways as Astraea drives into it with full force. It scrambles, twisting, but we are already moving again, not giving it time to recover. Right, I warn. She pivots as the second rogue comes in, narrowly avoiding the snap of its jaws before slamming into its shoulder and forcing it back. The third rogue keeps the injured omega pinned. Smarter than the others, perhaps. Not smart enough. They were not expecting us. That is their mistake. Astraea presses harder, relentless. No hesitation. No uncertainty. Beneath it, I feel the turbulence of my coming of age feeding into every movement, refusing to give ground. The second rogue lunges again. We meet it head-on. It falters, just enough, and we take advantage, forcing it back towards the others. The uninjured omega moves behind us, finding his nerve. He snaps at the edge of the third rogue’s flank. It is not clean. But it splits their focus. Good. The balance tips. The first rogue goes down again, slower to rise this time. The second backs off. The third hesitates. Astraea surges forwards, forcing it into retreat. We hold our ground, watching until all three rogues vanish into the trees. Only then do I shift. I rush to the omega on the ground, assessing her injuries quickly. Mauled back leg. Deep punctures. Too much blood, but not fatal if she stays still long enough for the first healing to begin. The uninjured omega shifts beside me and drops to his knees. Isaac. Third year. Recently blended. Too young to be looking at me like that. Too frightened. They should not have been alone. My jaw tightens. "Where was the alpha on shift?" I ask, voice level but edged. Isaac shakes his head, eyes wide. "No idea. It was meant to be Calix." His breath catches. "Josh Landry." I go very still. Three large rogues on school grounds. Two omegas isolated. One relief wolf missing. One alpha nowhere to be found. Calix. Landry. My movements stay slow and measured as I comfort Alicia, but inside I am raging. Because this was not unavoidable. This was not bad luck. This was a failure. Someone had failed to tell me they would not be there. Someone had failed to answer when these omegas called. And Alicia had paid for it.