(EDITED)
(Note to readers: Some chapters ahead may not be in line with the new edits.)

I.GHOST - Merci

'Merci' sent you a location. View it on GHOSTMAP.

I.GHOST - Merci

see you tomorrow. maybe we can celebrate your yellow diamond victory, yeah?

__________________________

"Elias Yun is on the rise, is on the return, to the South Korea Olympic team with all the wins his team, the Bloodhounds, have been racking up this season in Korea, I expect a very triumphant return, a very interesting season it's been so far so..."

"...Yun family has undergone major controversy under issues of the lack of the appearance of their head, Byungho Yun. Many are suspecting things are going to be changing very soon for the Yuns..."

"Elias is a beast, he's a beast, that's all there really is, man. He's younger than more than half the industry and he's got more money and wins than that chunk combined. The Olympics wants him for a reason, hell, I want him on the Olympic team for USA, South Korea has won enough..."

"I want a Kane King and Elias Yun face-off myself, I think that'd just be a match worth the world's attention. Two elite college racers head to head, Drachmann Alpha against Drachmann Alpha, I think the world would listen, hell, King might get scooped up by the Olympics along with it..."

"...with reports of continuous bike stealing and vandalism amidst the ongoing controversy on the rise over whether or not low-ranking racers should be among high-succeeding racers, and if the risk is worth it. Protestors on both sides make valid arguments for and against mixing ranks..."

"Due to the ongoing rise of threats in the NCAA, many coaches are coming forward to admit they wouldn't consider admitting any low-ranking racers onto their team, despite their potential, for 'the safety of their team and its well-being'. Corvus, the start of all this controversy, has not made a statement or a comment about their own experience for a while now..."

"...spread of vandalism, now not only to NCAA racers, but to Stirling packs themselves. Increasing reports of threats mailed to houses, spray-painted onto windows like the one behind me, and even pasted onto cars or workplaces have stirred a lot of controversy on social media about withdrawing Stirlings from D1 teams to keep the pack's bystanders safe..."

"I don't agree with mixing classes like that, it sets up those like us. They dangle that 'taste of success' in front of our faces, but look around you, you know, it's just stirring up trouble where there don't need to be none..."

__________________

The Stirling pack Eval was an annual test for ages fifteen to thirty five, covering everything from basic intelligence to physical endurance to square racing skill. In all pack Evals, lycans could choose a concentration to be evaluated by, and although all skills were tested, one was chosen to be weighted. Evals could be anywhere from once a year to once every five years. At the end of each Eval, you were given a score, a final rank, and a new registration uploaded to your government profile.

The Stirling Eval was an annual occurrence, and one that I attended for sake of saving face. I was a ghost only to those who knew, and the rest of the world that didn't, was better off chewing on the fake profile Mercy had conjured up for me to go under in the meantime. It was imperative nothing about my secondary profile changed, and being under the spotlight of Corvus, she couldn't stress it enough. Moving up a Class would draw my brother's attention too quick and too far. That being said, it sacrificed everyone else's attentions for it.

"Where?" Kenzo said curtly, frowning from his doorway as I nearly broke my nose against the wall trying to wrestle on my shoes.
I paused. "Uh, meeting a friend. For the day. All day. Don't tell. Bye."

He looked ready to say something else, but I'd promptly thrown myself out the door without giving him the chance. The last thing I needed to worry about today was Corvus. They'd know today was an Eval day, but they didn't need to know it was my Eval day, nor did they need to know how it'd go. As far as they and the press were concerned, I was a shit test-taker and a poor performer under scrutiny.

I was halfway to rushing down the stairs when the phone in my back pocket buzzed.

6:09 AM - Kenzo
good luck for eval
you'll need it

I cursed. That kid knew too damn much for my own good. If I didn't end up spilling all my goddamn guts out to Corvus before the time came, he sure as shit would.

6:11 AM - Me
don't tell.

Kenzo didn't reply, but I didn't have the time to spare wondering if he'd agree.

6:13 AM - Nia
time to earn ur class I badge!

I shut my phone off completely.

The day was an endless mountain looming in a shadow over me.

Nia met me on the road off the Talon's entrance. I clambered into her car, throwing my bag behind me. She ruffled my hair the moment I closed the door, and gave me a smile I couldn't return.

"Fuck your Class III bullshit," she told me. "If you're not Class I by the time this day is over, I'll eat my foot."

"You're not gonna stay, are you?" I implored.

"You never let me stay! Just let me see this one time."

"Don't stay, Nia," I said, stomach churning. "Thanks for the ride."

She held up a hand to me. "I'll eat it up to my ankle, too."

I leaned my head against the seat. "Don't bet on it," I mumbled.

__________________

6:44 AM - kane
your eval is today?

___________________

The Stirling Eval of upper Los Angeles County took place in the Walter Bowl located in the middle of the Valley's shit-fuck nowhere hills that were reserved for filthy rich celebrities to blow money on desert property and serial killers looking to bury a body where it'd be worn away by hot sun and smog before any cop could catch on.

June was on the cusp of sending a summer storm into LA county, leaving the air in a stalemate between a cool breeze and a humid heat that rendered your skin itchy, your hair wild, and your mood conflicted. Five hundred other lycans at your side didn't help, and neither did knowing fifty Evaluators were about to tear us all a new secondary profile.

My day pulled a batch of Class II and III young adults from the Splinter to Inglewood to South Pasadena. Some were as young as seventeen, others as old as twenty five, male and female. We could all be in the same boat of being the bottom-of-the-barrel lycans, but shit had changed from the last time I'd done my Eval, and not in any way that entailed something good.

"You're gonna do great," Nia assured. "You'll kill it. Not literally! Well." She said it like she was joking.

I clipped the tag onto my shirt collar. Rosalie had left me a few articles of my own to still wear, and so I'd have to depend on discount joggers and a moth-eaten zip hoodie to get me through the day. She'd taken away my shoes though, and the spick-and-span leather sneakers were beginning to make me want to burn myself from the bottom up. "I think I should've broken my arm. Both my arms. And my knees."

"Shut up. You've got a rep to build now. Why you're not already Class III is a continuous mystery to me. Corvus is proof you're meant to be Class I." She slung an arm over my shoulders to haul me towards my respective check-in line. Hundreds and hundreds of Stirlings filled the massive, white and glass dome to the brim, the sound deafening between security guards shouting orders, lycans shouting obscenities, friends shouting encouragements, and indecipherable announcements crackling out of broken PA systems in the echoic Thunderdome. "This is your chance to stick it to the press."

"Press aren't allowed at Evals."

"But the result of the Eval is allowed in the press."

I was already toeing a very dangerous line considering I had to take the Eval as an Omega since that paperwork was beyond Mercy's ability to change. Although we weren't grouped by subspecies, it was still something I had to say aloud and write in for registration purposes. Forget climbing any rank. I had my hands full with just staying afloat.

"Phone, wallet, keys," the guard said handing me a metal box. At my frown, he explained, "New protocol. Phone, wallet, keys."

I put my phone, keys, and the empty excuse of a wallet with nothing but my fake ID I'd brought into the box. He snapped it shut, then handed it off to another guard and beckoned the next lycan forward.

"I just need today to be over with," I sighed.
Nia frowned around us. "Seems like they want anything but."

Stirlings left and right let their gaze linger shamelessly on me as we walked, some glares and some curious. I shrank, the tag on my shirt feeling particularly heavy, the number on my chest burning itself into my skin. No press, sure. But that didn't save me from the Stirlings.
Someone behind me said, "Hey, you're that crow kid, right?"

I whirled around, ready to retort. But I stopped when I recognized who it was.

"Ian?" I said.

Ian Gray flashed a neutron star of a grin my way, sandy blond hair nearly shielding his blue eyes from my black ones. "Guilty."

I did a double take. "I thought...you were on the west side."

"I moved a few months ago to Manhattan Beach so I guess I just barely made the cutoff." At my gape, he added, "They added a new bullet route straight to Irvine and the rent is way cheaper, so."

Nia raised a brow. "Ian Gray? From the Anteaters?"

Ian smiled. "I am," he said and held out his hand. "Nice to meet...?"

"Nia Zhang," she said, taking his hand. "Jackdaws."

"Two birds, one dome," he quipped. She raised a brow, but let out a small snicker.

"I'm just babysitting," she said. "Although, if I could do a hand-off—"

"That'd be much appreciated," I snapped. I turned back on Ian. "Class I?"

"That's the goal," he replied with a wink. "Who knows though? I'm a nervous test-taker."

I gave him the best smile I could muster.

"All lycans report to the entry doors. Eval will begin in five minutes exactly," a grainy voice announced, causing ears to perk up.

I glanced at Nia. "Go, you don't have to watch."
She paused, then said, "Text me when you're done." She turned on her heel and left me to the Stirlings.

We weaved through the crowds of lycans as eyes tracked our every movement like a ring of wolves shrinking in. When we finally stopped in front of the long sets of double doors spanning from one edge of the Bowl to the other, their conversations sprouted in my ears like wild weeds.

"You think that racer from Corvus is here?" A young man elbowed a girl beside him.
She sneered at him. "You mean the one the press hates that now has everyone hating us?" she snapped.

"More like the worst spokesperson our pack has had since Walter made this damn pack?" another girl piped.

"Corvus?" someone else chirped. "Where? That Stirling on Corvus, where?"

"If I see that kid's face, I'll pound it in."

"Are we a charity case or are we a punching bag?" a boy muttered.

"Maybe you can ask him when you see him," another boy replied. "Thanks to him, we're both."

I pulled the hood of my zip hoodie up over my head, praying for the gates to just fucking open. The press was down my throat. Coach was on my back. The entire NCAA was over my head. Even this Eval couldn't just go over me without catching on something. For a ghost, I was getting to become pretty noticeable in the worst ways.

Ian patted my shoulder. "Forget them, they don't know what they're talking about," he said. "Is your team coming to watch?"

No one was allowed to spectate the Eval without clearance since any filming or photos were strictly prohibited at all pack Evals. Friends or family were usually the ones giving us a sparse crowd, but I'd always taken solace that no one was there to watch me. If Nia, if any of Corvus, came to watch, it wouldn't take them very long to figure out I was failing the Eval on purpose.

"No," I said. "I think it's best they're not here. More attention."

"Fair. You're racing concentration, right?" Ian clapped my shoulder with a grin. "Maybe if we're both racing, we'll be less nervous. Class I will be breeze."

"Stirlings, please line up appropriately at each entrance. Concentration will be determined upon entry. Once inside, please stand at your respective region."

"I'm...not concentrating on racing," I admitted.

Ian frowned. "What? What else would you be? Intelligence?"

I shook my head. We pushed ourselves into long lines and began to shuffle into the Bowl. I tightened the hood on my head just as I approached the Evaluator at the front.

"Concentration?" he asked.

"Physical strength," I said.

He paused. He looked me up and down, brows raised. "Okay," he said slowly. He placed a sticker on my chest. "Left field."

I nodded my thanks and headed forward.

"Strength?" Ian said as he caught up behind me, gaping. "No offense, Yun, but strength? Why would you pick that?"

My shrug was as nonchalant as I didn't feel. "Nothing wrong with a challenge," I said.

"You could be Class I in racing with your eyes closed," he tried. "Why?"

I swallowed hard. I buried my fists in my pockets. "Don't worry about it, Ian," I said. "I'll see you after the Eval."

I slipped into one of the lines at left field before he could say more, the glassy roof miles above our heads letting the early sun shower us in a grueling spotlight that left nowhere to hide.

Lycans gave me curious stares as I sidled in with them. One woman nearly twice my size said, "Are you lost, kid?"

"If you can believe it," I said, "no."

I own you.

My eyes found the dozens of seats upon seats upon seats crowning the Bowl's head with bodies peppered throughout. I watched them like watching someone pull my heart right out of my chest.

"Stirlings, please stay in your respective groups! The Eval will commence in one minute."

There were four parts to the Stirling Eval:
Intelligence. Physical endurance. Physical strength. Racing. In that order.

Intelligence was evaluated from a five-subject scantron test covering high-school-level knowledge ranging from physical sciences to mathematics to English literature to world history to life sciences. If intelligence was your concentration, you replaced more than half your physical endurance and strength evaluation time with additional tests.

Physical endurance was evaluated from a series of cardio and time-based tasks ranging from hanging off a pull-up bar to running the length of the Bowl's track to climbing consecutive rope courses until you gave in. If endurance was your concentration, you replaced your physical strength evaluation with additional tasks.

Physical strength was evaluated from various types of weight-lifting and hand-to-hand combat that had you flipping hundreds of pounds in tires to wrestling rivals in a makeshift ring to boxing with nothing but tape and knuckles. If strength was your concentration, you replaced half your endurance with added weight and power tests.

Racing was evaluated from what it said: racing. Everyone received the same bike with the same mods and amount of fuel, same gear and same equipment, before being set up on the track in large groups of twenty to forty racers at a time battling each other solo to rack up the most points in thirty five minute intervals. If racing was your concentration, you replaced your physical endurance and strength with matches.

"Oh, intelligence is on center field," an older man at least two feet taller than me said to me, gesturing behind him as we began to head for our shortened scantron test.

"I know," I said.

He blinked. "So..."

"Don't ask," I assured.

Intelligence.

We sat on mats with nothing but a pencil and a foldable desk for the next fifty minutes. The Evaluators plucked the tests from our hands when we were done to feed them through machines at the south canopy.

"Shit, what was thirty eight again?" a girl in front of me murmured. "How the hell am I supposed to know the major bone of the arm? What even is that? Fibula?"

"Humerus," I said.

She paused. She turned around. "What?"

"Humerus," I repeated. "Fibula is in your leg. You're thinking of the ulna."

Her friend sighed. "I told you fibula didn't sound right. I put coccyx."

"Spine," I said.

Now they both blinked at me. We moved forward.

Evaluators wrote the respective numbers at the top of each scantron, leaving some lycans cursing and some breathing sighs of relief. The Evaluator plucked mine from the machine and wrote a crisp ninety five at the top. She frowned at me.

"Are you sure you don't want to change your concentration?" she asked.

I shook my head. "Trust me."

She shrugged, and ushered me along.

Endurance.

"Twelfth lap!" the Evaluator called.

I never thought a day would come where I'd be thanking midnight practices and Corvus's crazy conditioning, but I had to admit, it was that day.

Endurance didn't require too much brute strength to get through. I ran the given number of laps, climbed the ropes for what I could, flew from one end of the Bowl to the other with the memory of Kane's shouts of pace echoing in my ear. Maybe the guy did have some merit to his madness.

"I just wanna lift some damn weights, man," a young man huffed next to me.

I tugged at the collar of my jacket, and spun on my heel to start the next lap.

Strength.

Oh, sweet God.

I suppose gummy bears really couldn't do much for muscle mass, and it showed.

"You just need to lift it once," the Evaluator sighed, a younger woman that looked ready to retire from her entire life by the time this Eval was over.

I stared down at the 150 imperial pound tire. I looked back up at her. "Does halfway count?"
She cocked a brow. "You can try."

I shoved my arms under the tire and attempted. "Attempted" is such a key word.

I gasped in a shuddering breath. It barely rose five inches above ground. When I dropped it with a shuddering thud, I thumped on my chest. "Does...that count?"

She shook her head, marking something on her sheet. She turned her back on me to head back for the others who were already halfway through their second round of ten 150 pound tires.

"Deadlifts! Line up!" she yelled.

"Lord," I murmured, hauling myself across the concrete. "May you be with me in these times of trial."

"Hey, cotton candy, line up!"

"And times of...cotton candy."

We lined up. It went as well as you expected.
"Deadlift, 160 pounds, go," she commanded.

I stared down at the weights, then back up at her. "Really."

"I don't have all day, kid, just do it."

I grabbed the bar and lifted. Nothing really happened. The other lycans looked as though they couldn't decide whether they should laugh or gawk or both simultaneously.

"You got a different weight?" I asked.

"Like what?" she drawled. "140? 130? 120?"

"Twenty."

"120?"

"Just...twenty."

She shook her head and wrote it down. "Get off the platform, man."

I sighed, and got off the platform. She said, "I'll let you change to any other concentration right now."

I frowned. "You can't do that."

"I can now, because frankly, kid—" She gestured at me. "—this is just sad."

Snickers ricocheted through the lycans.

I nodded. "Yeah," I muttered. "I deserve that." I turned back to the Evaluator, who looked to be dreading the words that were about to come out of my mouth. "Next task?"

Strength. Still. Oy vey.

We were onto hand-to-hand matches, which might've been the only part of the evaluation I had a chance at not being a complete tool at. Mercy's jobs had me in plenty of unfair matches with a lot less rules and a lot higher risk. This was, if anything, rather kind.

The Stirling charged for me, and I skidded out of the way, sweeping my leg under his feet. I sunk my fist into his diaphragm as he collapsed face-first into the ground. He cursed violently, but the lack of breath in his lungs made the words come out in a hoarse whisper.

He grabbed my ankle to yank me towards him and I hit the ground. He got to his feet, and I swung myself back upright, grabbing onto his shoulder. I snagged his wrist and twisted it into his back. He yowled high in his throat. I rammed my knee into his crotch, and watched the lycan crumple like a house of fallen cards.

Everyone stared. I wiped his scent and sweat off my hands and onto my joggers. The Evaluator blinked at me.

"We done yet?" I pleaded.

She blinked. Then said, "Next!"

Racing.

The Evaluators handed out our respective helmets and pointed us to our bikes. None of the beefheads had really recognized me, so there was that working in my favor. But it didn't mean no one else did, especially when we had the unfortunate luck of having to pass the racing concentration lycans on our way to the track.

A few lycans passed me by and struck me with their shoulders. One guy hit me too hard and I nearly tripped over into his friend behind him. The Stirling shoved me back with a sneer.

"Oh, my bad," he snarled. "Hey, you look a little scared. Should I call your birdbrain team here to chaperone?"

I ground my teeth together and moved on. Eyes followed me. None of which were friendly. Some looked even satisfied.

"I hope you get squashed in the next match," a girl muttered. "It'd save us all the trouble."

"What? No witty response? You seem to have so much to say when there's a mic on," her friend jeered.

I shook my head. I kept moving.

A girl stuck her foot out just as I passed by, and I went stumbling right into the boy walking in front of me. I twisted wrong and fell to the concrete. The sting was harsh on my bare palms and thin covering.

The girl bent down. "What's wrong? Don't wanna be reminded of being on the bottom?" she snapped. "It's real nice in the hills, huh?"

"What's your problem?" I snapped, hauling myself to my feet.

Her sneer was vicious, acidic and unforgiving.
"There are shooting threats in my neighborhood because of you. Businesses are closing because of you. We were the laughingstock of the lycan packs. Now we're the target," she hissed. "Race your heart out."

She turned around and stomped away. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms.

I hope you're willing to pay her price.

Everyone left, leaving me standing alone.

Racing.

Well, not really.

I let another Stirling sail right past me, grinding their wheels into the ramp and gaining yet another set of points in their name. Two more racers took over the tunnels and a log pile, leaving me racing the track quietly. I itched to chase after them, to pass them by a hundred times over. I ached to get one ramp, to ram my wheels right back against the ones ramming against me. I wanted to race. I wanted to win.

I didn't.

"Last round!" The Evaluator called.

I closed my eyes with lead dragging my heart into my lungs like a wrecking ball. I yanked on my helmet.

I let every racer sail past me. The points skyrocketed in their name. Mine had barely surpassed double digits.

I.

Own.

You.

I clutched the handlebars so fiercely, I thought they'd break in two.

One Stirling slammed on the acceleration so fast I thought they'd broken it altogether. They rumbled past me, back wheel colliding with mine like wires intertwining in a catastrophic shock. I only bothered to swerve myself around a pillar before letting him yank my bike into the wall.

The collision was really nothing compared to the shit experienced in Corvus matches, but a strike was still a strike, and my bones were unhappy to feel the rattle of it either way. My body hit the concrete with an unforgiving crash. My useless bike and I sank to the ground, the taste of blood blooming in my mouth.

I pulled my helmet off, and let my head hit the back of the Bowl's wall. The Evaluator approached me, grimacing at my bleeding face.

"Oh, dear," she gasped. "Do...you want to finish the lap?"

I gave her a red smile. "No," I admitted. "I'm not very good anyway."

She helped me to my feet, and I walked off the track, my name in last place for all the Stirlings of upper Los Angeles to see.

The Evaluator gave me a look halfway between pity and disappointment. She tore off my tag and number and sticker, trashing all of them, before handing me a replenished ID.

"Class III," she said. "Better luck next year."

I plucked it from her fingers, and wiped a trickle of blood off my chin. "Don't bet on it."

Echo Yun
January 19th - 19 Years
Class III Stirling Omega

I pocketed it.

Ian and Nia were waiting at the exits, chattering about something that had Ian grinning through the blood in his teeth and the bandage over his cheek. They both gaped at me when I approached.

"You're crazy," Ian said. "You're out of your mind."

"Guilty," I replied. "How'd you do?"

Ian both held up his ID, flashed a blinding grin. "Class I," he chorused. "Finally."

I suppose there was always a silver lining somewhere. I laughed. "That's awesome," I said. "That's great. Hey, see? Screw the nervous test-taking scam. Congrats."

His joy was short-lived, however. Ian frowned. "What happened to you on that track?" he asked. "You raced like you've never seen a match in your life."

Nia whirled on me at that. I said, "You're here early."

Nia stared. "I watched," she said.

My stomach twisted. "What? Why?"

"Physical strength?" She shook her head. "Last place? Were you trying to fail?"

She had no idea. "I like a challenge."

"Like racing that track as if you're cruising on the Malibu highways? Like that kind of challenge? You're joking." She held me by my shoulders. "You could have outraced every single one of those beefheads. You could have outraced them ten times over. Enlighten me, really, what challenge you were trying here?"

Survival. "Told you I'm a bad test-taker."

"Why, Yun?" she pressed. "What were you thinking?"

Ian patted my shoulder. "Hey, you don't have to prove anything to these guys," he tried. "We all know you're a good racer."

"Really?" I scoffed, shrugging Nia off. "I think I'm just the world's most hated one, right now."

"Those assholes don't know what they're spouting," Ian protested. "I told you, right? People are gonna turn their backs on you for a while. Doesn't mean anything. We know what kind of racer you are."

"You'd be a Class I one if you'd chosen what you were supposed to," Nia said. She pulled me towards her, out of earshot from Ian. Her eyes were void of anger, filled with something almost desperate. "Is this a press game? Staying Class III for the hell of it? If Corvus is putting you up to this—"

"Nia." I pulled away. "It's none of your business."

She stilled. I shook my head, waving the entire conversation away. The only important thing was that it was over, and the only backlash I'd have to deal with were shitty taunts from strangers and Nia's frustration. Which was a hell of a lot better than Corvus knowing anything. I'd take what I could get. As far as Nia and Ian were concerned, the only fault of my ranking was my own stupidity.

We gathered our phones, wallets, and keys before heading towards the exits. Nia and Ian left to bring her car around, leaving me shoving my things into my pockets, when someone called, "So much for a Corvus racer."

Dread was familiar and unwelcome. I looked over my shoulder. Three Stirlings, two women and a young man, stood a few yards away, their gazes locked on me. Their eyes were all steel, their grins all mocking.

"So much," I said.

"Wow, that easy? You ought to have more self-respect than that. You clearly think pretty damn big of yourself to be racing with the big guys despite all the shit happening to us," a girl hissed.

Heat popped in my throat. "I didn't do shit to anyone," I snapped. "Why are you mad at me and not the jackasses doing it in the first place?"

"Are you stupid?" the other girl scoffed.

I took in a breath. "I'm sorry about what's happening," I said. "But Stirlings have always been shit out of luck no matter where we go. Don't blame me for the hand you got dealt."

"What'd you say?" The man's dark gaze loomed over me. He walked towards us until we were toe to toe. "You're Class fucking III. You don't really think you're better than us."

"I never said that," I gritted, taking a step back.

"Yeah, don't think so," the man scoffed. "You know, everyone's beating on us for the shit you did." He snagged me by my collar, and yanked me forward before I could manage to get my bearings to haul him off. His lip curled, and fangs began to sprout from his teeth, a wolf in a man's face, red flooding his eyes as he growled at me. "Maybe someone should take it out on the real culprit."

"Fuck you." I curled my nails into his hands to wrench him off me.

"If I didn't know better," he scoffed when I failed to overpower his grip, "I'd think you were a damn Omega or something."

My stomach bottomed out. He reached for my throat.

A hand reached out and grabbed the back of his neck, wrenching him back with one swift yank. The lycan sputtered out a cry. He went flailing backwards, and his body hit the tiles as he coughed violently and rubbed at the red skin where fingers had squeezed his windpipe too tight.

I stumbled back. I looked beside me.

Kane said, "What the hell is going on here?"

My skin went cold all over.

The girls hauled the young man up to his feet. One girl whirled on Kane, sputtering. "You—you can't just choke someone like that!" she snapped. "I'll report you!"

The glare Kane gave her could have burnt Hell so high it would've scorched Heaven. "Your friend made the first move," he snarled. "Who's reporting who?"

The man put his hand out to stop the girls from talking. He held his throat gently, watching Kane warily. "Forget it, Hailey," he muttered, sneering. "Let's just go. Not worth my time anyway."

Kane's eyes flashed a threatening purple at that, and the young man tripped back. He hauled the girls and himself away, scrambling back through the crowds.

"Echo Yun," Nia yelled behind me. "Are you blind, too? Do I have to hold your damn hand, I don't watch you for five seconds and you're gone, and what do I have to do now, go looking for your—King?"

Kane glanced behind me. "Nia," he said. "What are you doing here?"

She cocked a brow. "Should be asking you that. You're not kidding about your rules, huh?" She laughed. He didn't.

"I'm picking Echo up," he explained, which was not true. "It was nice to see you."

"Oh?" she said, frowning. "Well, we're gonna to get some food. Did you wanna come?"

"No," he said curtly.

"I'm not going with you," I snapped at him.
Kane pretended as though I hadn't spoken. "Thanks for the offer."
Nia looked between me and him, then settled on me. "What the hell did you do now, Yun?"

"Are you serious?" I exclaimed.

"Let's go." Kane tugged on my sleeve.

I frowned. "I'm not going with you. And why are you here? How are you here?" I turned on Nia.

She held up her hands at me. "This is between crows. Good luck, man."

"I literally breathe and something goes wrong."

Kane looked wholly unamused at that. "Let's go," he said.

He turned around. I tilted my head to the sky and let out a heavy sigh. "Really?" I said. "I ask for solace, you send me an angry, sleep-deprived Alpha?"

"Echo," Kane called.

I forced myself to walk, leaving the Bowl behind me.

"How did you know where I was?" I asked.

"Kenzo," he said.

I shook my head. "That bastard. You know, that guy is a lot smarter than he looks, and that has only ever been to my detriment. How did you get here?"

"Bus."

"Then, why are you here?"

"Why didn't you tell me your Eval was today?" He stopped on the sidewalk, turning to face me. He said the question as if he already knew the answer.

I shrugged. "I didn't think it was important," I said. Los Angeles rumbled about us, cars carving out the roadways for tires to smash into concrete and sunlight to punch down the air. "When's the next bus?"

"Two hours," he replied. "You should have told me."

"Why?" I sighed. "You're not taking it. And the results wouldn't have mattered."

"It's the Eval." There was something like anger under his words, pushing up the syllables like tree roots in the sidewalk. "It mattered. Why didn't you say anything?"

I rubbed my temples. I walked past him. "You shouldn't have come," I said. "Kenzo's got it out for me, and I'm nineteen years old, and the Eval is over, so let's just leave, okay? I've got no enlightenment for you, I just didn't see the point of asking anyone to come watch me fuck up an Eval whose results wouldn't have mattered anyway."

"Because you knew what the results would be before you even walked through the gates."

I stopped.

"You're not a bad test-taker, you failed that Eval on purpose," Kane went on. "And Kenzo doesn't have it out for you—no one has it out for you but you. Why the hell did you choose a strength concentration?"

I turned around. Kane faced me with a gaze blacker than pure carbon. "Good challenge."

Kane narrowed his eyes. "Why?" he pressed. "Why did you fail the Eval?"

"What? Were you hoping I'd finally get my ass in Class I and we'd have one less headline to worry about?" I sighed, acid burning the back of my throat. "I think I've gotta work on my team player skills."

"This isn't about headlines," he snapped. "And even if it was, it wouldn't matter."

"Then what are you so mad about?"

"Why did you lie?" he pressed. "Why would anyone willingly be Class III? An Eval like that, you could be Class I in your sleep."

The statement was a bit stunning to me, a shock in my chest. Kane and the rest of Corvus had briefly let slip that my ranking was a bit curious, and after several matches, downright strange. But hearing one of them say it outright, made me feel like someone had peeled the skin right off my back, scars left to the limelight.

It only hurt worse knowing I couldn't say a word, that I couldn't move a muscle. That Kane couldn't know, and that I had to. It stung my nerves, the back of my eyes.

"Well, I'm clearly not," I hissed. "So I'm sorry to disappoint you, but it's over, and you've given me your speech, so you can go back, okay? Just leave."

"Why did you lie?" he repeated, stepping towards me. "Every single thing the press said, all this talk about being an amateur, it's all bullshit and you lay it out for them, so why? What are you getting out of being the biggest target in the NCAA?"

"Any press is good press," I sighed, my voice shaking with the effort to speak.

"That's not it."

"What do you want from me?"

"Why do you always ask that?" Kane snapped.

"How can I not?" I ground out. "How can I not, it's all I've ever fucking asked."

"Echo."

I hated the sound of it, that terrible name, these questions I couldn't answer but I was always asked and the answers I was forced to learn and could never say. All these fucking shoulds, and all these fucking shouldn'ts. Kane could remake his life. Corvus could be champions. Elias could be real. And all I could ever do was watch.

"Why do I always owe something to someone?" I spat, pushing him away from me. Crystals burned my eyes at the edges, blurring my vision into fractals. "Everyone thinks I should be something. I should be Class III, I should be Class I, I shouldn't be Stirling, I shouldn't be Corvus, I should race, I shouldn't race, I should talk, I shouldn't talk, and what? Everyone's got their choice for me, everyone's got something to say, but what the fuck do I get? I wouldn't have even gotten near Corvus had you known who I was. Why would you let me? Who the fuck is gonna give a chance to a dog from the fucking street?

"I'm so sick of this Class I bullshit," I hissed. "I'm so sick of seeing it on every fucking headline and every fucking footnote. Why do I have to be the Class III Stirling that got lucky and not just Echo? Everyone's got an Echo they're always fucking looking for and it's never me." I shook my head, almost laughed. I pressed my palm to my temples and sighed. "It's not me," I whispered. "I'm sorry."

I turned around. If he said something, I didn't hear it, not over all the water in my skull and all the heat in my throat. I headed down the sidewalk. The cracks in the concrete seemed to find their way up my skin, into my bones, a spiderweb seeping into my body. I wiped the blood from my mouth, my cheek and temple, the salt in my eyes. My whole chest felt pierced, like someone had taken a jackhammer to it.

I turned the corner.

I'm afraid—

And walked away alone.

—that I'll disappear.

___________________

I'd gotten myself perfectly lost, that's one thing.

Kane hadn't followed, for which I was grateful for. But I'd still never turned on the cell service of my phone, which meant it wasn't any use in directions. Every train or bus stop was either closed or didn't stop as far as Avaldi went. I couldn't even communicate with Ian or Nia, and with no money, eating was also an activity I had to forego.

The day had eventually fled from me, and evening began to burn the sky a dark amber, a cool blue. I cursed the time when I spotted it on a bar's sports TV. Ironically, it was playing an IPRA match to the sounds of enthused watchers.

I'd surpassed Inglewood by that hour, landing myself somewhere into Hyde Park, which was still entirely not near Avaldi, and rather, on the opposite end of its region. After spotting it on a WELCOME sign, I had to locate the nearest park and wonder if the benches were comfortable—and safe—enough to sleep on for the night. The conclusion was neither, but I had no other option.

I eventually stopped trying to fool myself into thinking I knew any directions at all and sat down on a set of concrete stairs. Skaters passed to and fro, doing failed tricks on railings or picnic tables. Packs of teenagers and young adults began to leave from the underdeveloped park, cutting through overdeveloped grass and weeds. Evening chill began to lay itself lazily across the air, permeating it with an unforgiving bite, flickering in and out of rampant traffic. The scent of cigarettes and smog coated the city.

I curled myself up with my knees to my chest. It was a sad memory to relive, a distant reminder of times when Mercy's jobs had me go too far out to afford any bus or train back from where she dropped me off and I was relegated to sleeping wherever I was allowed, whether it was benches or back alleys, or not sleeping at all. I figured I'd probably been spoiled by the Talon's automatic air circulation, never too hot and never too cold, the wind always kept out by sturdy walls or thick windows, a lamp always available to flick on or off at will. When I'd gone and let myself see that as the norm, I didn't know.

It was bad to want and not have, sure. But sitting in the empty park, blood dried up on my lip, my body aching from the day's Eval and wandering, I figured it was far worse to have and then lose.

I let out a heavy breath. "Umma," I murmured ever so quietly into my sleeves. "If you could see me now."

Maybe it was better for both of us that she couldn't. It did mean someone else had to, though.

"Christ alive, man," someone said at my right. "Sometimes, I think you've made a game of going fucking crazy."

I opened my eyes. I looked up.

Rosalie Gossard stood in front of me, arms crossed, ponytail high, clothes too nice for the city we were in, and a face halfway between fury and pity.

I gaped. "What...are you...?"

"Doing here?" She raised her phone. "I guess your captain knows a troubled one when he sees it. We have your location." She sighed, shoving her phone into her pocket and sitting down beside me. "Now, what the ever-flying fuck are you doing here?"

I stared. I let my legs unfurl, my hands coming to rest on my lap. I wondered if she could see the redness clinging to my dried eyes. "Why'd you come?"

"Because you're in the middle of Hyde Park past seven and your phone is practically a seasonal ornament," she snapped. Rosalie pinched the bridge of her nose, but the look she sent me wasn't angry. Something frustrated sat in her brows. "King called me. Said you might need some help. You look like you need a hospital or a psych ward."

"I'd like neither."

"Then I'm your third best option," she replied.

I pursed my lips. "I thought he left," I muttered.

"Without you? Did you not read the tracking pamphlet?"

"So there's a pamphlet for that," I sighed. "Thanks, Rosalie, but I don't think you wanna know."

"How do you know?" Rosalie turned to face me. "He said he said something stupid. Which means you also said something stupid. Are you gonna tell me or am I gonna try and figure it out myself?"

I leaned my head back until I was staring at the black and blue sky, a landscape of white skin and its purpled bruises. I chewed my lip. "I had my Eval," I explained. "I don't think it went well. I think Kane is mad because it should've but it didn't and I can't tell him why. I want to and I can't and sometimes I think this team will be the fucking death of me." I let my head loll to the right. "Which is, admittedly, stupid."

Rosalie blinked. She softened. "I didn't know your Eval was today."

I shrugged. "I know. I didn't say anything."

"Why?"

"Figured I'd save you all the disappointment."

"Because you're not Class I?"

"Something like that." I rubbed my eyes. "I'm sorry." It felt like the only truly honest thing I could offer.

Rosalie drummed her fingers on the bench. She crossed her arms, her jade-colored eyes swallowing the streetlights ahead. "When Poppy first came onto Corvus, she was a Class II," she said. "It's a fine Class, but Corvus had never had anything less than Class I. She was a Fahrhaus, too. Fine pack. Not stellar. She was, in the press's eyes, wholly mediocre."

"Thanks," I drawled. "I'm feeling better already."

"Shut up and let me finish," she bit out. "Anyway, it's true. The Fahrhaus Eval was just not her forte and she always got Class II, ever since she started. There were only a handful of other Fahrhaus lycans in the whole NCAA at the time. No one thought she'd last a season."

"Is this your way of telling me 'Class doesn't matter'?"

"No, this is my way of telling you it will always matter," she replied, and I frowned at her. She shrugged. "Poppy was never fully acknowledged for what she could do, not even after captain, after the Diamond Prixs, after she died." I winced. "Everything went back to her secondary profile. Class matters, Yun, because power matters. And it'll always matter."

I watched the cars chase each other, the lights flicker on and off, the distant pulse of music from open stores, opening concerts, obnoxious cars, fill the whistle of the wind.

"But it's not the only thing that matters," she went on. "Poppy was Class II her whole life, but she outraced Class Is left and right. She remade Corvus. She was a champion." Rosalie's eyes were glassy, full of a life I didn't know and a person I'd never meet. "I think we got scared of all the roadblocks we'd run into that we ran into with Poppy. But we shouldn't have been—Poppy never was. You were right. If you can race, then that ID can matter to everyone else." Rosalie's smile was grim, but earnest. "But, it doesn't mean jack shit to us."

I blinked. Rosalie got to her feet, brushing the leaves and dirt from her pants and gesturing for me to follow.

"Now, let's go," she sighed. "I took Kenzo's car here and if I don't bring it back before nine, he'll send a SWAT team."

I got to my feet. She headed towards the other side of the street where the parking lot sat. I said, "Rosalie."

She turned around to look at me.

"Thank you," I said. "For coming for me."

Rosalie watched me for a long moment. The look on her face faintly reminded me of Kane.
She reached over and ruffled my hair. "Just turn your damn phone on," she huffed. "That'll be thanks enough."

We headed for the car. I spotted Kenzo's in a second, half because it was impossible not to, and half because Kane was situated in the front seat. I tilted my head back.

"Ay," I muttered.

"'Ay' on the way," she snapped. "I swear to God, you two are going to give us all a goddamn coronary. Your tracker needs a tracker." She shook her head. "Just get in."

I slid into the backseat. Kane didn't look at me, nor speak to me. I was content with that silence. Rosalie gave a curious look between us, then waved us off.

"Ay," she sighed.

Rosalie let the engine roar to life, and we got on the road.

___________________

As much as I owed Corvus an explanation of just where the hell we'd been the whole day, and I owed Rosalie a thorough thank you for picking our asses up, I didn't think I could handle explaining myself any more than I'd already had to. Even if that was ultimately cruel.

Rosalie let us out with a creative curse before beelining back to the Talon to re-join Corvus for dinner. I watched her go, waited for Kane to trail behind. When he didn't, I decided he had his own agenda and I spun around to head for the Corvidae.

Kane said, "Where are you going?"

I didn't answer. I sped on sore feet for the stadium, not even caring for him grumbling behind me. There was too much responsibility in explanation. No one ever talked about the freedom in defeat.

Summer had settled in. Only a handful of people stayed in the Talon over summer, since only a few seasons lasted all year long and a couple of students paid extra to rent it out since their homes were either too far or paled in comparison. Summer semester kids also had the option of moving in if they felt like paying the extra fees for the added luxuries. So, for the first time in the entirety of my now-finished freshman year, the campus was relatively peaceful.

I withdrew my key card and swiped myself in. I passed the bikes and the locker rooms, the offices and the lounge. Night rendered the entire stadium deathly dark, saturated in indigo shadows. I only bothered to pull on the major stadium lights in order to see.

I pulled open the gates and stepped onto the track. The faint scent of burnt rubber tires and smoke and sweat lingered in the air.It made me think of Corvus, of their shiny bikes clearing the square, of their fists in the air and their medals on the walls. The permanence of their faces on anything from a newspaper to a photo op. Winners that won for the world, by the world, to the world. I thought of the scoreboard lit up, Red Diamond's scarlet confetti raining down over everyone, Corvus hoisting the trophy up to the sky with nothing but beams on their faces. They were suns, great unprecedented stars. I was just lucky enough to be within their orbit. Victory.

The distance between me and it, was dizzying.

I headed for the start line, purple and black and white. The stone was cool to the touch. I sunk down to lie across it, the heat of the day disappearing like water evaporating off my skin.

Kane said, "It's dirty."

I shrugged. "No one asked you to lie down."

He lied down. We lied there in a perfect silence for several moments on end. I tried not to think too hard about the phantom lips attached to my neck, the scent of silver, my name coming from his mouth, the feeling of a heartbeat that wasn't mine.

"I think the worst thing in the world that could happen to me is someone like you," I said.

Silence. Then, "Why?"

"You make me honest," I replied. "That's not always good for me."

You make me real. The quickest way you kill a ghost is by making him real.

Kane said, "I'm sorry about today." He shifted until his arm was only inches from mine. "I shouldn't have pushed you to answer me. I shouldn't have gotten mad."

I pursed my lips. I counted the lights. "I lashed out," I said. "I know you just wanted an explanation."

Kane seemed to consider that. After a long moment, he settled on, "You own your own victories."

I finally turned towards him, but he was looking up, watching the pseudo-stars. "You don't owe me anything, Echo," he said quietly. "You owe people gas money, a meal, a thank you or a birthday card. You don't owe me you, or anything you think I want from you."

I blinked. I said, "Why'd you come to the Eval?"

He paused. "I figured, you might not have anyone else going. You said you don't do well with tests. I thought it might help, you know, having someone you knew there for support."

I think the worst thing in the world that could happen to me is someone like you.

"Why'd you lie?" Kane asked.

It wasn't accusatory, but curious, twinged with a sadness. "I lived most of my life having to," I confessed. "It's how I got by on my own. People like asking questions and there's a lot of answers I can't give them. It's easier this way."

"What would happen if you told the truth?"

"I'd make some people mad," I said. "I'd disappoint a lot of others."

"Would you ever want to?" he asked.

I took in a breath. "I don't know," I admitted softly. "I haven't thought about that in a long time."

Kane asked, "Then, what do you want?"

It was cruel. And sweet. Like a soft bullet, like a gentle blade.

"Lucky Strikes," I murmured. "Gummy bears. A good night's sleep. A somebody."

"A somebody?"

Everyone is somebody's somebody.

"It's nice. Being just Echo," I murmured. "And, somebody isn't so bad."

Kane's face was soft all over. His arm pressed against mine, and the back of his hand brushed against my own. "I like Echo," he said. "And, I'm not going anywhere."

We lied on the concrete track, stadium stars over our heads, as I hoped.

___________

It's not a game unless someone's playing to win, and someone's playing to play. Mercy had the idea to remind me of it in the dead of the next morning.

The distinct ringing of my other phone under my mattress broke my sleep in two. I'd barely had a few hours of peaceful sleeping to prepare for such a call.

My daze broke in a second, and I flung myself over the other end of the bed. I yanked the mattress up. The phone glowed with the dreaded ID. I snagged it and flipped it open.

I held it to my ear. "What the hell are you calling me for?" I hissed.

"How's your summer, Ghostie?" she asked. "Ah, the weather's getting nice and mild in these nights! I have to say, the hills of LA has those pleasant summer nights indeed."

I paused at that. I scrambled over to the balcony in some futile effort to block out as many ears as possible.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, shutting the door behind me.

"No 'hello'? No 'how are you'? No 'oh Mercy'! You're getting to develop some very poor manners."

"Mercy."

"I saw your Eval," she said, and I seized up. "Quite the disaster indeed! Look at you, following orders. You know, Ghost, compliance looks great on you."

"Quit fucking taunting me and tell me what you want," I hissed.

She giggled into the phone. "I'm just calling to deliver a little message, thought you might wanna hear it aloud. Would you?"

"I don't want to hear anything from you that I don't have to, trust me."

"Assumption is a killer. Not even from your big brother?"

Every single cell in my body recoiled. If there was air to breathe before, it turned into liquid nitrogen, blazing propane. I gripped the railing of the balcony.

"What did you just say?" I hissed.

"Ah, so you are interested! Hey, hey, what's with the favoritism? You lycans are so elitist. You've changed, Ghost. After all I've done for you! Aw, what gives?"

"Fuck off, Mercy, you and your games. That's not funny."

"Calling me a liar? That's rich as new money, honey. Pot calls the kettle black. You think your team is buying any of that Class III bullshit?"

"I think that's a question for yourself, now are you gonna tell me what this goddamn message is or are you just gonna fuck around with me in the dead of the fucking night?" I hissed.

Mercy hummed in my ear. "Someone's in a mood," she deduced. "All right, Ghostie. I'll play straight, yeah? For your sake." I rolled my eyes at that. "Your father is still going after Wang, and your brother's far too caught up in staying on the Olympic team and his own to bother worrying about the innards of it. So your head is safe for now, yeah? But you had to have known he would've come after you for joining Corvus sooner or later. Especially with your precious captain parading you around left and right."

I clenched my jaw tight. "This has nothing to do with them."

"Sure, sure, sure! Whatever soothes your sleep," she snickered.

"He has his own goddamn success to worry about. Guy is so far ahead of me, I'm surprised he remembers I exist," I snapped. "What's he gotta say about me that matters? He and I don't, and won't, anything to do with each other."

"Aw, now, Ghost, have some self-respect, for goodness's sake! You're important, too!"

"What's the message?" I ground out, my nails scratching up the rust from the metal.

"Oh, nothing much. I think he just misses his only other family, of course. Every spoiled child needs a puppy to play with," she hissed, and I flinched at that slap in the face. "He says he looks forward to seeing you, when you make it to Red Diamond."

My blood stopped in the veins, clogged my arteries, separating in my muscles. My skeleton was the weight of osmium. I dug my nails too deep into the rails, and it broke the keratin, slicing the broken nail into my fingertips.

I cursed. "Tell him he's cocky and doesn't need to remind me," I snarled. "That rematch is only gonna happen if we lose."

"We?" she said. "You're adjusting rather well to the life of luxury, are you?"

"Tell him not to take bets before he knows he can win," I hissed. "You said I wouldn't face him if I didn't lose."

She hummed. "Guess your family is a family of hopefuls after all. Sounds like he's counting on your loss. How's it feel, Ghostie? To be bet to lose?"

By Elias? Rather familiar.

"He's counting that I lose," I relayed.

"With his life," she snickered. "Well, well, well. Some things never change."

Elias didn't want me dead by my father's hands, by Mercy's, by my own. He wanted me ruined by his own.

"Why are you calling me?" I repeated.

Mercy went quiet for a few moments, then said, "You're no fool, Ghost. You know what your precious brother is entailing for you. Don't tell me I've trained you so well, that you're just gonna sit and take it." I refused to answer, so she continued with a sigh. "Your brother is betting on your failure. You'll lose your debt. You'll lose Red. And you will face him with all the taste of a victory you could have had, only to lose under his shoe. You've never been much good joining the dead. You'll be great use with them, though." Her laugh was a wicked blade in my throat. "Don't you think? Why, we'd know better than anyone."

"Corvus hasn't lost a Red in decades," I snapped. "What makes him so sure they will now?"

Mercy paused. She said, "I heard your captain isn't holding so well. Something about being past his youthful prime. I say he's in it! But, that shoulder."

Every cell in my body went cold. I clutched the railing with a vengeance. "What did you just say?"

"It's easier to hide silver poisoning than most people, even lycans, would assume, yes? Most think, bad flu, bad tattoo, bad weather, oh dear." My breath wouldn't come. "A dying Alpha, a little Omega. Not in the best shape to win Red, are you?"

I crumbled against the railing, planting my face in my hands. "You're not serious," I breathed. "Please, Mercy. How did—this wasn't the deal."

"A please? Oh, my, perhaps I should've been kinder in my strike," she sighed. "There there, Ghost. There there."

"I'm helping you shift the entire Drachmann hierarchy here. I'm paying every damn inch of the debt I can. You keep on the bottom of the barrel, you pick at my brain with corpses, every cent I make is three fourths yours," I hissed. "You can't just let him waltz in and trade your leash for his."

"Jesus Almighty! Holy Spirit and Holy Father. Hey, kid, do you believe in God?"

"How does he know?" I said. "Did you tell him?"

"My loyalties do not lie with the Yuns, Ghost. They lie with me. You know this."

"What are you doing? You can't drag him into this," I pleaded. "Your loyalties don't lie with him either, so why are you helping him?"

"You haven't even let me finish."

"This was not the deal."

"Don't you trust me? After all we've been through! Hey. Do you believe in God? Because I've got a gift, just for you." Mercy clicked her tongue. "I've got a knife with your father's name on it, Ghostie. You think I'm just going to let his prodigen pick up where he left off?"

"What?"

"Have some faith, have some trust! I'm no amateur, sweetheart. I know my way around empires like you know your way around a corpse, yes?" she said. "So listen here and close, because I'll only relay it to your fragile head once. Your brother will come for you at Red. In his world, you will lose, and he will take you from where you stand to fulfill every gruesome clean-up his father's empire-turned-his requires when it's revealed where Janchi plans to take over next. You will be dead to the rest of the world, a tragic accident no one could witness nor save you from. You will be no one. You will be a ghost.

"If you've become so stupidly attached to the life you're living now, then you shall be in my world," she went on. "He is going to bet every square inch of his life on this Red, and you will have nothing but yourself to put in the pot. You are going to race. You are going to win. I will get Janchi to where they must be, and by then, your precious brother will have nothing that he bet to pay."

I shook my head. "So?"

"So you will get one chance," she said carefully, "to win your life back."

My heart paused, just for a few beats, to listen.

"You will have one shot to negotiate your terms with the Janchi family. If they somehow agree to you, your life is yours. Your brother, well, I'll have to think that one over until we get there." Mercy tapped her nail against the speaker. "Now, see? I told you I had a gift. And you were so cruel.

"If I don't?" I pressed. "If I lose?"

"Well," she sighed. "We're back in his world, aren't we?"

The entire world was radio static. I felt as though everything under my skin had liquified. I pressed my palms into my temples, my forehead, like that would get me to understand, to scramble over the unending pounding and believe her.

Your life is yours.

"Why," I finally managed, "are you doing this?"

Mercy considered that for a long moment. "I found you rather pathetic for most of your life, Ghostie," she said. "I might own you, but what of it? All you did was nod and bark and let me tighten the notches. You never fought for your life. You handed me a scalpel for it."

I'd be less alarmed by a suckerpunch in my gut.

"But, I do have to say, I've become rather impressed with you over this season. Running amuck, ignoring my calls, making these so-called friends of yours, spouting nonsense in the press, getting cozy with a Drachmann," she went on. "You're trying to get yourself killed, because you rather like life. Don't you love irony? You must. You're made of it."

"What's your motive?"

"No motive, why, I've got so many to keep track of already!" she laughed. "Perhaps, I've come to see, you're finally a wolf worth betting on."

I closed my eyes.

It's his life or yours, Echo. You need to make sure it's yours.

I'd gotten a chance I hadn't deserved once. I stood on the balcony of it, raced with it, talked with it, kissed it. It smiled in my face, held my hand, pulled my heart right out of my chest and didn't ask about the blood.

But there was a chance standing ahead of me now that I could earn for myself. There was a life that I could own. I owed everyone every part of me, but I had a chance.

"So," Mercy sang over the line. "Do we have an understanding?"

Mercy might've had a point. I'd never really fought for my life. I'd only ever acquiesced. I'd been born in a losing position, so I would lose. I'd tugged her leash, and never dared break it.

And I was getting really fucking sick of it.

"Yes," I said to her. "We have an understanding."
The road to Red opened its gates for me.

__________________

When I awoke the next morning, a pack of Lucky Strikes and gummy bears sat on my side of the bathroom counter, with new messages on my phone.

5:07 AM - kane

turn ur cell data on??
i downloaded SOS contacts in case u lose signal
it's summer, by the way
sleep well?

I lit a cigarette for breakfast, the smoke shrouding my smile. I headed through the bathroom and towards Kane's door. I'd never been inside his room, but I figured an unholy morning hour was as good a time as any to be introduced.

I knocked once. Seconds passed. Minutes. I knocked again. He'd texted barely half an hour ago.

"Hey," I said. "What're SOS contacts?"

No answer came. I frowned, figuring he must've gone back to sleep. I made a move to leave.
A thud sounded behind me. I stopped. I turned around, listening through the door.

Silver leaked through the air.

My body went cold. Mercy's words ricocheted in my head. A dying Alpha. Panic was hot in my chest.

"Kane?" I said.

Nothing.

Silver.

I pushed open the door.

I searched the room in all its clutter, the morning sky faint and bluer than sea light. It was, eerily, momentarily, quiet.

I looked towards the bed.

Kane was nearly imperceptible for a moment, his body hunched over on the floor, the gray sweater over his body shrouding him from initial view.

But then the black coming from his mouth came into view, the viscous blood dripping from his nose and lips. Beads of sweat on his temples, down his neck, soaking the sweater. A ragged gasp, a wilting breath, his hand giving out under him.

Okay, I can play the key game, the key game, the key game.

I thought of my father striking my brother, the key tearing into his face, his body dropping to the wood. My mother ripping at my father's jacket as she pleaded, her eyes blackened with tears and lost time. A split second of a bullet fired and a breath held and, timing.

I'd only ever watched.

Okay, I can play the key game.

Can you?

I sank down. I lurched, hand outstretched.

I reached for him just as he hit the floor, nothing but silver for me to grasp.

"Kane!"

- END OF PART I -

(ty for reading! this chapter ended up being so much longer than anticipated, that's on me indeed and is a recurring bad habit of mine, but nonetheless. ty for your time, and for the attention on this little story, you all are highly appreciated :D the little star gives its big hello and thank you too)