(EDITED)

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

KCLO3

Potassium chlorate.

Strong oxidizer. Burns purple. Highly explosive.

____________________________

"Corvus has been nicknamed to a 'halfway house' as of last week's match between them and the Rebels where they showcased their brand new line of subs, consisting of Stirling Beta, a Class III at that. With it, controversy has poured in from the fans—"

"Corvus fans are demanding an explanation from Avaldi University following an intense match between Corvus and UCLA's Bruins as to how nationally-ranked front port, Kane King, can be subbed by a Class III Stirling—"

"I think everyone is forgetting that that Stirling beat the top three of the Rebels' team, not only beat but destroyed! Now I'm not saying it's a good idea, but there is some credit to be given—"

"Many Stirlings have come forth with concerns about mixing two drastic ends of the lycan spectrums together as they state they 'don't need more targets on their backs'. It's gone so far as to an anonymous Padmore representative at IPRA even saying in an interview with NBC that they feel it's setting up the new three players for not only media hate, but real danger—"

"It's too controversial! It's too controversial. Even a Class III with a Class I is risky, but a Stirling? It's gotta be a publicity stunt!"

"Avaldi's board of student athletics said they are well aware of the situation and intend to support Corvus and Coach Emeline Edwards in their team decisions, however, they've made a point to emphasize they did not initially support it, considering the political backlash—"

"But I can't think that the NCAA didn't try to argue this decision, so they're must have been some kind of reason, I hope, I pray, for putting Yun in at this point in the season, and for letting him play in such a brutal match. I want to trust this team, they're nationally ranked for a reason. That match was truly something, I haven't seen a play like that in a very long time, but politics hold any sport in an iron grip, especially square racing, so the most we can do is wait and see."

_____________________

Contrary to your fairytales and fever-fueled eroticas, lycans and silver have a more complicated relationship than you think.

Every creature came with their weakness. Allicin sent bloodsuckers into anaphylactic shock, rock salt burned off siren skin, veganism was a surefire kill for gumiho, filtered water was all it took to scar bulgae, and caffeine usually put werewolves in the ER. Pick your poison.

Metallothioneins metabolize metals just fine for most eukaryotes to keep silver from being toxic, but somewhere along the screwy evolution of lycans, we'd lost a certain line of coding that metabolized silver and increased trace sulfur. It meant stronger ligaments and tendons, but it meant a hellish silver sulfide reaction—cue the black scars. So, you had two options: live with the it until it killed you, or get the 607.

The 607 was the alias of the 607 invasive solution corrosion surgery, a half-century old phenomenon consisting of cut, burn, neutralize, repeat. It was high risk, but it was also the only option of getting rid of the poison.

Nonetheless.

"Nonetheless," I said, "I think I've made some enemies."

Nia took a bite of her sandwich and angled it at me. "You think?" She scoffed through a mouthful of tomato. "Oh, you know."

The burning daisy yellow of the late-March afternoon swept over us, the shadows of the Talon's looming figure barely covering us from its soft burn. I sat on the steps in front of the Talon, Nia beside me, the gates behind me, and two veggie sandwiches to show for it between us. The reminder of the dreadful spring banquet following Kane's confession had elicited my best backup. And, frankly, my only backup.

"You look like shredded, wilted, sale-price lettuce," she said, shaking her head. "If you called me to help you, wrong person."

"Who was I supposed to call?"

"I don't know, Jesus?"

"I'm pretty sure I've been blocked by that contact for a while." I sighed, pushing my purple and orange waves from my face. "How long have you known Kane, by any chance?"

"Kane," she repeated, raising a brow at me. She hummed, took a bite of the sandwich. "Sophomore year? We only know each other because of the teams. We talked more when he became captain because we had to work out times to use the Corvidae."

"When did he get that tattoo?" I asked.

"What, that thing on his neck?" She frowned. "Can't remember. Why?"

I drummed my fingers on my legs. "The captain before him," I began, and watched Nia freeze. "Did you know her?"

Nia seemed to debate how to answer that. She pressed her lips tight together. "A little. She was nice. Kane and her were really close. I think he was like her troubled child, you know?"

"How?"

"What's with all the serious questions so early in the morning, man?" she said, waving that away. "I thought I was here to help you look less like a trampled cockroach for your banquet."

"What's the deal about this banquet?" I asked. "Isn't it just food and pretending to like each other?"

"You wish," she scoffed. "No, Echo, this isn't a banquet, it's the banquet. The NCAA D1 Spring Banquet is basically a walkthrough for picking out the blue-ribbon sows—it's a mild-mannered bloodbath." She pointed at my face. "And with last week's match, you're gearing to be culled."

"You know, I called you here for some bold-faced encouragement, not all this useless reality," I snapped. "At least be nice enough to help me out, then."

"With surviving? I'd ask your crow crew," she said. "But I can help you look decent. I raided my mom's closet. I managed to steal some old suit from her corporate days."

She reached behind her and rifled through her backpack, before procuring said suit and slamming it onto my knees, the polyester navy blue and just crappy enough to be of my standards. I raised a brow.

"Looks cheap," I said. "Did she buy this from some pixie thrift store?"

"Better. Werewolf flea market," she said.

I hummed. "Much better. What do I owe you?"

"Saving your head, and frankly, some makeup," she said, grimacing at the scratches and bruises still adorning my face and throat. "I don't take your bougie birds comes with a special-effects-for-fuckups-artist."

"He's on vacation right now," a new voice called.

We both turned around.

Kane stood behind the gates, clad in a Powerpuff Girls hoodie and cotton pants patterned with what seemed to be little dancing crows. He held an iced americano in one hand, his black eyes and its likely-disapproving glare shrouded by a pair of gray sunglasses. He tilted the drink at Nia in a bored acknowledgment.

"You must be his assistant," he said.

"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on," she called. "You look like a west-side bloodsucker with those gaudy shades. Isn't it a bit early for you to be scouring the streets for souls to suck up?"

"Bless your heart," I told her.

Kane smirked. "You look like a hairless sphinx with that new haircut."

"I'll kill you," she said, getting to her feet to brush herself off. "I'll slit that pretty throat and release all those innocent souls."

"God knows yours won't be in there then." Kane pushed his sunglasses up, and grimaced at the suit. "Did you tear that off a werewolf?"

"I'll tear something off of someone," I snapped. "You said we had to dress nice for the banquet."

"My question stands." He frowned at Nia. "You give him this?" She nodded. He shook his head, snagging it from me to toss back to her. "If you needed clothes, you should've asked."

"You loan him your clothes, he might drown," she snickered, and I shot her a look. She held up her hands. "I tried. Captain's orders."

I gaped. Kane waved her goodbye. She winked, then turned a suddenly solemn look on me. "Bloodbath, Yun. Say as little as possible, got it? Be subtle."

The advice was almost comical. But, I smiled, and said, "Got it."

We headed inside the Talon. Kane flashed his card at the door and headed for the elevator. "Why'd you call Nia?" he asked. "I told you that Zahir was going shopping."

"Can't help my green thumb. I figured she had something lying around."

Kane frowned. "It's the spring banquet, you should dress nice." The afternoon was pungent with sun, saved by spare clouds and thick walls. His americano perspired in his hand. "I have an old suit you can wear."

We went inside. Most of the team was gone in favor of last-minute shopping or lunch breaks or rare slivers of study time. I pursed my lips, following Kane towards the bedrooms.

"I don't think any suit is going to save me very much," I said dryly, and gestured at my face. "Unless your guy is off vacation in the next hour."

Kane paused at his door. He looked me over, frowning at my face. "Thought it would've healed by now," he said.

I hesitated. "Slow healing," I said. "Oh, to be an Alpha?" I slithered past him. "I hope your suit's blue. Might be nice contrast to the dried blood."

Kane didn't move for a few moments as he considered me. Then, he turned on his heel to head for the bathroom. "Come here," he said.

Kane's and my rooms shared an adjoining bathroom, but we'd avoided seeing each other in it for the most part since we had different schedules. My side was horribly bare compared to his, nothing but the necessary toothbrush, toothpaste, and hair comb occupying the white cabinet. Kane's was less modest, carefully crafted with creams and serums encased in frosty bottles or glassy jars, decorated with strange tools or tubes at its sides. I hadn't even checked the drawers.

"Here." He opened the bottom cabinet and dropped a small first aid kit on the counter. "Fix yourself up," he said. "We'll put makeup on the rest of it."

"You guys take banquets seriously," I said. "Makeup?"

Kane reached over to the drawer on his side and opened it. Jars and bottles of makeup littered the inside, unused and used brushes alike scattered between them. I gaped. I said, "Why do you have that?"

"Just help yourself as best you can," he said, and disappeared into his room.

Captain's orders. I got to work.

I'd done my best to cover the worse wounds by the time Kane returned, a mocha-colored pile of polyester and silk in his arms. He set it on my side of the bathroom, then turned to face me, humming.

"Get on the counter," he said. When I hesitated, he added, "I'll be quick. Besides, faster we start, the better it'll look and the less looks you'll get."

Less looks was exactly what I needed, so I acquiesced and gingerly hopped onto the marble. Kane grabbed two bottles, a jar, and a brush. My fingers curled into the marble's edge. The air was thick with silence, the faint scent of soap, the fainter scent of silver. Up close, I stared at the black ink in his neck.

He poured two creams onto the back of his hand to mix them with a brush. I peered closer at his neck. Kane didn't look up, but said, "Can I help you?"

I paused. "How long have you had it?" I asked. "The silver."

He patted the cream over my cheek. "A little while."

"Does it hurt?"

Kane blinked, looking caught off-guard at the question. He was close enough I could see the silvery dots on the black scars. "Sometimes," he said. "Not anymore than racing does."

"Is that why you have the makeup?" I asked.

He hesitated. "No," he said. "That's not why."

"Then, why?"

He stared. Alphas always healed over, even the worst of wounds wouldn't leave scars with enough time. I wondered how many cuts had marred his face that he got to walk away from. I wondered what it was like.

"Convenient," he settled on, then in quiet Korean, "Some things are harder to explain."

The words were delicate. I dared to say, "What was Corvus like, when you first came onto the team?"

Kane's hand stopped at my cheekbone. I wondered how anyone, Corvus, Nia, could know what he was thinking, could learn the language of his unreadable face. I could barely hear its syllables.

He dropped the brush on a paper towel and grabbed another to wipe off his hand. He took a new dish of powder from the drawer and took some up with his finger. The touch was gentle and foreign on my forehead.

"Every team is different when new racers come in and old racers leave," he explained. "It's different when you're the new kid."

"Nia said you were a troubled child."

I thought he'd scoff that away, but he let out a surprised laugh, a thing that fled as fast as it appeared. "Something like that," he admitted. "Don't ask around too much, Corvus will never shut up about it."

"Kane King, the troubled child. What'd you do? Vandalize the streets?"

"Not in so many words." I gaped. He waved me away. "I'm kidding."

"Kidding? Did you just make a joke? Did you paint me into a clown?"

"Can't make someone something they already are," he retorted. He brushed his finger along my temple. "I was a bit of an idiot."

"Was?"

He pushed my face away. "You'd know."

"Oh, I would." I pushed my hair back. "If you're a secret makeup artist, why not share the talent?"

"I do if people ask, but it's not a common favor," he said. I frowned at that. Kane moved onto my other cheekbone, packing the makeup around my bandage. "I use it."

"The makeup?" I asked, and he nodded. "It's the twenty first century, I don't judge."

"Not for that, smartass." He brushed a strand of hair from my face, and my skin burned where his fingers grazed it.

"Then, for what?"

Kane swiped the powder under my eye. He closed the dish and set it back in the drawer. He shrugged. "Sometimes, it's easier to have just slipped down a hill."

My world went a little sideways. We stared at each other, like waiting, like wondering. I wanted to ask about the silver. About Poppy. About what his hill had been, or was. This is not your world.

Kane pushed my hair from my ear to pat something sticky onto my cheekbone. The motion was peculiar, too delicate for comfort, too close for safety. My eyes traced the black veins from his throat down the slope of his collarbone.

I said, "Are you okay?"

Kane's eyes stared at me, carbon black and uncharted. The words were osmium on my skin, heavier than tungsten where it clung to the cells. A heartbeat echoed somewhere in my temples. Whose it was was indeterminable.

Kane shut the dish and put away the brushes. "Are you?" he asked.

It stayed taut between us, thin as wire and cutting into my skin.

A knock came at the door. "Hey, we're out in thirty, start getting ready, before Coach skins us all for decorative rugs!" Diego yelled. "Be fashionably late, yeah?"

Kane grabbed the clothes from the counter and tossed them to me. He turned his back and headed for his room. I clutched the silky fabric.

"Thank you," I said. "I owe you."

Kane just shook his head. "You don't," he said.

When he disappeared and left me alone on the counter, I realized neither of us had bothered to answer the other.

_____________________

The SoCal NCAA Division I Square Racing Spring Banquet—yes, that's the full name, yes, it's all capitalized—was a gathering of the D1 racing teams from San Luis Obispo all the way down to San Diego. It had been hosted anywhere from Beverly Hills to DTLA, from five star hotels to party halls. For this year, they had settled on the Platinum Banquet Hall in Van Nuys, Los Angeles, which stood to hold all 190 lycans for four hours of unadulterated, unregulated, collegian fun. Cue the confetti. It's a woo-hoo for me. Woo-hoo!

It was a popular venue for anything from weddings to quinceañeras to birthdays to a bi-annual alien convention no one could ever seem to shut down no matter how hard they tried—long live the Martian Gods. It sat between a firetruck red taco house and an equally competitive Salvadoran restaurant, with a pleasant view of Panorama Car Planet corpse, a 24/7 IHOP, and the soul-draining Van Nuys Boulevard traffic that would only ever ease at the bright hour of 3AM or the sunset of our forsaken earth in the sweet release of Armageddon.

Edwards, classy in a black suit and purple tie, drove us in the van, unbothered about squishing Corvus's outfits into the leather seats because, quote, "you're all spoiled brats and need to experience discomfort like the rest of the real world", which gave them something to choke on long enough for her to close the door in our faces. Kane had already cut me off about returning the suit, claiming it was too small for him anyway, so I figured it was only his fault that it would be wrinkled beyond repair as I was crammed between him and Zoe.

Nia was not joking about the formality of the banquet. Corvus had come out of the Talon dressed to the nines, the girls wrapped in subtle jewels and boisterous satins, lips dotted with rouge as red as the bottoms of their heels. The men had donned suits that scaled from pitch black to deep green to champagne, sleek as rain and dotted with silver.

"Where'd you get that?" I asked, gesturing at Zoe's wine-red dress as she hopped inside.

"We bought it, thank you," she replied, stroking her braided hair and preening.

"I'm surprised you haven't gone on a shopping spree with your earnings, Yun," Wynter called to me.

"You could really do with a new closet," Rosalie said.

"Or a closet in general," Kane muttered. He was a white dove in a murder of crows, his blazer as pale as the chiffon shirt underneath. The black snakes on his throat were stark and unmistakable. A single silver crow dangled from his ear, mid-flight. He looked down at me. "Stop holding the sleeves like that, you'll wrinkle them."

"Because Zoe's ass on half my leg isn't gonna be what does it," I muttered.

"No helping this arse," she agreed, and gave me a smug look when I glared.

Rosalie scooted over for Zoe, then pointed at my face. "Speaking of," she said. "We're taking you shopping."

I gave her a deadpan stare. "Over my dead body." She wouldn't have to wait long.

"It's been planned. Can't change the plan. We go next week."

"I'll run away. I'll join the circus."

"You're already here," Kane muttered.

"Well, then it explains why you're here," I said, and he pushed my hair over my face.

The drive was quick between conversation and anticipations, until the van eventually slowed into the parking lot. Coach parked, then turned the engine off and swiveled around in her seat.

"All right, listen here," she said. "I want everyone on good behavior and no unnecessary trouble. Everyone better be civil for as long as we're in there, and that means no shots—" She pointed at Diego, who gasped. "—no picking fights—" She pointed at Rosalie, who sneered. "—no filming people picking fights—" She pointed at Kenzo, who shrugged. "—and no brooding in isolation instead of being a normal human that knows how to smile when someone says hello, whether you know them or not—" She pointed at Kane, who grunted what was either an okay or a fuck you. "—and no, I mean no, bad attitudes." She pointed at me.

"I didn't say anything," I argued.

"Let's keep it that way," Rosalie said, and pushed open the door.

If lycans could be fun at anything, it was at a party.

A mile sat between the floor and ceiling, the chandeliers a sextet of crystalline abominations hanging from the ceiling that might've been cream at some point, but were coated in a bright blue glow from the culprit bulbs. Draperies and bubblegum pink sconces coated the walls, shoving the dressed tables together until they were elbow-to-elbow on the linoleum tiles. Reporters and accompanying cameras photographed everything from hors d'oeuvre trays to gilded heels to emerald coats. Indecipherable music and thunderous chatter encased the banquet in an atrium of musky cologne, peony perfume, and shimmering liquor.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," I murmured to Zoe.

"With glee?" she breathed.

"Does glee taste like stomach acid?"

"I hope it tastes like Shirley Temples," Wynter said. "Where's the bar in here?"

Lycans were permitted to drink at eighteen with such increased metabolisms, but drinking was far too risky for me to have ever tried my hand at such. It left me slipping away from the two and heading for Kane instead, where he was snagging Rosalie and Diego by their shoulders and spouting something about drinking on an empty stomach. Kenzo and Edwards had already disappeared to find a table. I glanced around, found Meredith, and said, "There's food here, isn't there? As in, free food?"

She threw her head back in a laugh. "We think alike, Echo," she said, winking. "It's a full spread. Promise."

Wynter and Zoe froze at that. They hurried towards us.

"If you're thinking of sneaking food back, I've got inside pockets," she said, patting her jacket.

"What do I look like, a financially stable, tax-paying twenty nine year old?" I said. "Of course I'm sneaking food back. "

"You're frugal beyond repair and I like it," Wynter said with a nod. She opened her blazer. "I heard there's pigs in a blanket somewhere."

Kane said behind me, "Please don't steal the food."

"You have got to stop eavesdropping," I said.

"If you didn't talk so damn loud."

If the trays ever ended, I couldn't see it. The scents were savory assaults, infiltrating my nose and refusing to retreat. I couldn't have even told you what half of them were upon seeing them, some too delicate for me to have come across before, others too delicious for me to have had the chance to experience prior. Wynter handed me a plate, licking her lips.

"Screw it," she said. "Let's steal some."

A woman smiled at us from behind the shrimp scampi. "There are to-go boxes at the end of the table."

"Fuck yes," we both said.

I grabbed what I could fit for the most part. The last of the table was barbecue, so I slid out of line early headed for the drink stand instead. I took a lemonade, and headed for Corvus's table to sit between Kane and Zoe.

Up on the screens ahead, a slideshow recounted last year's season's stats and achievements of each school. The sound of shouting, cameras clicking, lively chattering, and friendly bickering filled the space's volume to the brim.

Meredith spotted me as my eyes drank it in. She grinned as bright as her diamond studs. "Good party, right?" she laughed.

I shrugged. "Yes? It's big."

"Ah, cobayo, don't tell me you've never been to a Class I party," Diego said, setting down two cosmos in front of him and Zahir. Rosalie raised a brow at it, and he frowned. "What? I like the cranberry flavor."

She took a swig of her beer. "I didn't say anything."

"I've never been to a party," I said.

They all stared at me. Diego gaped.

"Like, any party?" he asked. "Birthdays? Bar mitzvahs? Graduation?"

I shook my head. Parties needed gifts, which needed money, which I obviously didn't ever have. It also needed time, which was either swallowed by Mercy or surviving said Mercy, or now, Corvus. Attending a party for anything but work had never occurred to me.

Meredith's smile faltered, but she waved it away and clasped her hands together in an effort to ratify. "Well, then, we're happy to be your first. Right, guys?"

Corvus exchanged glances, but nodded. Diego beamed at me and ruffled my hair.

"Hey, even better," he said. "You'll learn how to party the right way from the get-go. We're a great time, you know."

Rosalie said, "But it's not a party unless you drink. You're nineteen, right?"

Give or take a few fibbed months. "I'm allergic to alcohol."

"That's the first issue we'll fix," Diego said.

Zahir flicked his ear before turning to me. "King doesn't drink either. There's more than drinks in a party. Diego." He raised his glass at me. "First rule of real partying is to just have fun with it. Try talking to other people, network a little, you know?"

Rosalie downed half her beer and nodded. "Let's get it over with."

Corvus was number one in the entirety of NCAA square racing, with a starting lineup of economic and social powerhouse descendants, and more victory money earned in their short college career than most people could fathom earning in four lifetimes. They might take janky midterms alongside you, sleep through morning classes in last night's sweats, and crack jokes with the best of subpar collegian humor, but it was important not to forget the fact they were also magazine covers, news headlines, and IPRA-bound prodigies.

It was difficult from time to time since they lived in the Talon, where, if anything, people actively ignored Corvus, or at least pretended they were nothing but fellow athletes. Corvus also proved to have vicious isolationism issues, and refused to have any close friendships with anyone outside of the team. For a group of lycans who were so very well-known, they certainly didn't bother to know anyone else very well.

Being in the heart of the banquet hall, you could at least see that in big, bold, black letters.

Boisterous conversation bloomed from all the corners, coaches intermingling, enthused racers catching up, whiskey and wine coolers fueling the noise level up from conversational to celebratory. The only members of Corvus that even bothered to socialize were Meredith and Zahir, sending waves or smiles to passing faces. The rest of Corvus talked as if it was almost painful.

Meredith frowned at them. "Come on, guys, I thought we were going to try being more friendly this time around," she said. "Coach is over by the Tritons."

"UCSD didn't even make it to Green Diamond last year," Rosalie replied. "What are we supposed to say to them?"

"Maybe, hello? It might be nice just to mingle."

"If we mingle with anyone, it'll be SB," Diego said, and tilted his head to the farther corner. "Those Gauchos know how to party."

"And they're friendly," Meredith added.

"Good for them."

Meredith ignored her and turned to Kane. "King?" she tried, giving him a sweet smile.

Kane gave her a dead look. "They're competition."

"We don't have to talk about racing."

Kane sipped his water. "I don't like crowds anyway."

"Hey, Coach said no isolated brooding," Diego pointed out. "Let's grab some postres. They've got a whole spread by the drinks out. We can teach Cotton Candy over here how to have conversations that don't make people want his head on a pike."

"When pigs fly," Wynter scoffed, but got to her feet anyway.

Zahir and Meredith hauled everyone out of their seats, save for Kane, ushering us through the gilded racers. The scent of sweat and dying colognes permeated the air, alcohol stiffening it like a thickening agent.Corvus began to lighten up beneath the violet glow, their voices slowly coming to through the crowds, greetings flying out every now and then. And I figured I could bear it for the sake of.

"Yun, get your ass over here!" Diego yanked me by my wrist through the sea of people in one swift gesture. "Be social, say hello."

"Er, hello?" I tried.

They all peered down at me. One girl said, "Is this your little brother?"

Zoe patted my shoulder in sympathy. Zahir shook his head at them. "These are our new recruits. Best rookies in town."

They stuck their hands out with a resonating, "Nice to meet you."

"The Class III Stirling," another deduced, sneering.

"The Class III Stirling?" everyone exclaimed.

"Here we go," I said.

If I was told to recount any of the next twenty people Corvus shoved me face first into, I couldn't tell you one of them. I'd shaken more hands in twenty minutes than I had in years prior, and answered the same list of questions and statements so many times that by the fifth round, I was on autopilot.

"Is that your real name?" a woman asked me.

"Sadly, yes."

"You're pretty good for a Stirling," a young man said.

"Gee thanks."

"Are you allowed to have that hair?" a younger girl asked.

"Morally, probably not."

"It's great Corvus is expanding to include less fortunate," a girl gushed.

"Social justice warriors, let me tell you."

"You're shorter in person," a man bluntly said.

"Eh, twice the menace."

"Where are you from?"

"Just around."

"Do you have an Instagram?"

"Social media is a killer."

"Who are your parents?"

"No one you'd know."

"Biochem! Do you want to be a doctor?"

"Nope, just alive."

"Do you plan to go pro?"

"Dunno, I don't even plan breakfast."

"What schools did you go to?"

"I'm bad with names."

"Where did you grow up?"

"I'm bad with maps."

"What are your season stats?"

"I'm bad with numbers."

"How'd you learn to race like that?"

"I'm bad with orders."

By the time my hands were sore from being clutched by so many others and my throat was hoarse from shouting over the noise of the crowds, Corvus finally began to close their conversations out and head for desserts and drinks. I retreated to where Wynter was grabbing a slice of cheesecake.

"I think I know now why this team keeps to themselves," I said. "Did I criticize them for being isolationists, because I take it all back with remorse."

"You actually did relatively decent," she said. "All things considered. We might close this night with less damage than I thought."

"Never say never," Kenzo said behind us. He reached between our bodies to grab a slice of red velvet, then pointed his fork at me. "For you."

"Good to know I'm building a reputation," I muttered.

Rosalie appeared at my side. "Let's keep that to a minimum," she told me pointedly. "Grab dessert. I think we're gonna leave in half an hour before Diego and Zahir forget how to see straight."

The promise of the night closing was enough to get me moving. Zoe found me soon enough, her face painted with unmarred joy, two slices of tiramisu in her hands.

"That was amazing," she said. "It was so cool to see all those racers in one room. Some of them are going straight into IPRA next year, you know." She grinned dreamily. "It's amazing."

"Oh?"

"Just to see how far some of them are going," she explained, handing me one of the slices. "It gives me some hope, you know? A goal."

"IPRA?" I said.

Zoe frowned at me. "Oh, come on, Yun, you can't tell me you're gonna go into med school or something! Even these athletes can see you're good." She nudged me with a knowing look. "We stick around with Corvus, that could be us someday."

I went speechless. Zoe shrugged, pointing to where Corvus congregated. But my feet were frozen. Someday. She said it like an inevitability yet to occur. I watched her go, watched Corvus's members find their respective places amongst each other . They smiled. They laughed. They looked as they always had, even with two extra subs to fill in: a real team.

And I watched.

When I found it in myself to settle beside Zoe, Rosie was already wagging a finger at me. "The night isn't over, Yun, so now that we've survived that, we're all staying right here until we get the go-ahead."

"Now, Rosie," Diego crowed. "Don't be antisocial. You'll turn into a part-time hermit, like King."

"Don't let him hear that."

Wynter peered past me with a mouthful of cake. "He doesn't seem antisocial," she said, pointing ahead.

We looked where she was pointing. Kane stood at the drink stand, a few feet from a broad-shouldered man in a dark green suit, his back to us. He held a drink out between them, but Kane looked at it, and him, as though it'd been poisoned.

Rosalie nearly dropped her slice of cheesecake. "That fucker," she said, going for the two, but Zahir grabbed her arm.

"Where's Coach?" he asked Kenzo.

"Bar," Kenzo said. "Let her go. End the banquet early."

"Not helping. Mer, go get King."

"Why?" I asked. "Who is that?"

No one answered me. Their party-prone atmosphere had been sucked out of them in an instant. They watched the two men like they had watched Baluyot on the track. Like they were just waiting to rip out something vital.

Meredith was moving in seconds and heading for Kane. I turned to Zoe.

"Who is that?" I asked.

Zoe frowned. "I can't tell."

The man in the green reached for Kane, but Meredith slipped in between them just in time to block his hand. Her grin was as sweet as usual, but her eyes were void of sincerity, watching the man like waiting for him to move wrong. She blocked the drink with her palm to its body. He said something to her, then to Kane. Kane didn't give Meredith or him the chance to speak, turning around and heading back towards us.

"What the hell did he want?" Rosalie asked.

Kane shook his head. "Nothing. It was nothing," he said. He pushed his ringed fingers through his hair, but they faltered. "Forget it. Eat your food."

Diego said, "Bullshit, man. I swear to God I'm gonna—"

"Nothing," Meredith hurried, elbowing him. "We'll do nothing. Not if King doesn't want us to. Let's just enjoy the banquet, okay?"

"Wait, who was that?" Wynter pushed.

"No one," Kane said curtly.

"Didn't seem like no one."

Kane shook his head. "Just...don't worry about it." He gestured at our plates. "Eat. We've gotta talk to a few reporters, Coach let us know."

No one argued him on it, begrudgingly returning to their desserts. The look on his face was severe, taut as rope and trapped somewhere. His black eyes darted about him, the crowd a crescendo around us, shoving Corvus arm-to-arm where we stood. When I was shoved into Kane from a careless stranger, his body was shaking something awful. Whoever the man had been, he wasn't anyone friendly.

"Here," I tried, offering my plate. "It's good."

Kane pushed it back. "Just eat," he said, and when he looked at me, there was the faintest ghost of a stiff smile that was as unbelievable as it was unwanted. "I'm not hungry."

I was tempted to call bullshit, but the man looked like he'd been punched as it was, so I settled for leaving the plate where it was between us and picking off my end in case he changed his mind. It was a poor attempt at solidarity, especially when I didn't even know what I was consolidating against or for. But, for once, I'd take Rosalie's advice and stick to Corvus's side.

The group ate dessert in silence up until Coach reappeared with a brownie and a bottle of Merlot to go around. When we all greeted her half-heartedly, she frowned.

"I just brought you all premium free alcohol and you're not clawing for it?" she muttered. "What happened now?"

"Not a plot for murder," Diego said, turning his gaze back to where the green man had been. "Not that, of course."

"Or an unfortunate accident," Rosalie added. "A terrible, unfortunate accident."

Coach shook her head. "I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that. Freshmen, look alive, Terri Howards is gonna interview you in five."

I choked on my tiramisu. "Let's talk about that unfortunate accident," I said to Rosalie.

Zoe swiveled her head to Coach. "Terri Howards? Like, Howl Wolf Terri Howards?" When Coach nodded, Zoe's fork hit her plate with a clatter. "Bloody hell, you're kidding me."

I frowned. "Who's Terri Howards?"

Corvus did a double take. Zahir pulled something up on his phone and flashed it at me. "She's a famous writer and reporter of Howl Wolf magazine. She's usually everyone's hotspot for finding out racers' lives outside of the track. Like a social blogger."

I gave a strained laugh. "I get you." I turned to Coach. "I'd like to exempt myself."

"That's funny you think you get a choice." She pointed behind me. "You're up. And for the love of God, please be civil."

Zoe hauled Wynter off her last bite and me from my sweet, safe cavern beside Kane. "Come on, come on," she said. "This is our first real editorial interview!"

My heart began to ricochet against my ribs. The news had already had their field day with me, I didn't need live witnesses to go with it. It wasn't like I could avoid cameras or reporters, but it sure as hell did me well to try, especially with my skin painted in makeup that high definition lenses would surely pick up on in no time. The last thing I needed was a clear shot of my face for a damn magazine where it didn't need to be.

"Really, Zoe," I urged. "I don't think—"

"Well, well, well! Look who we've got here!"

We turned around.

Terri Howards was dressed to the nines, and to the beads, wrapped in black leather and white pearls worth more than every tooth in my mouth. Gray eyes bore into me below dark brown bangs as she peered at each of us closely like a lioness examining her prey. A photographer was already posing his camera at us to her left, the unmistakable shutter of photos like piercing shrills in my ear. At last, Terri said, "If it isn't the new crows in the nest, Corvus's very own freshmen recruits!"

Eyes across the banquet hall shuddered to us at the sound of Corvus and freshmen. The chatter snapped from obnoxious banter to hushed whispers. Eyes bore into me like pushing needles into a voodoo doll. I felt the sting of glares and sneers and curious gawking in every inch of my well-lit skin.

Terri stuck her recorder out at us as she began to babble. "You all look so beautiful! And handsome." She sent a wink my way. I would've given it back to her if I could. "This is your very first spring banquet with Corvus, how are you all feeling?"

"Fantastic," Zoe said. "We're very happy to be here with our new team."

"And the food," Wynter added. "Definitely the food."

I turned my head. My chest seized when I spotted the distinct snarl of Baluyot staring right back at me. The Rebels were unabashed at showing off their disgust, their faces bordering on mockery as they glowered. Baluyot drew his thumb across his mouth, and gave me a murderous grin.

I fought for breath.

"You three have definitely been making some serious waves in the square racing industry since your recruitment, especially you, Echo. Such a unique name, by the way," she said. "How does it feel knowing you are the first Stirling to ever be recruited onto Corvus in its history?"

"It's...cool."

She nodded vigorously. "You've received a lot of backlash upon joining. Your racing is very good for your Class ranking. Why is that, by the way? Many Stirlings say that you should be moving straight to Class I in the next Eval, all things considered, and if you don't, your position on the team is questionable. Are you at all intimidated by this controversy?"

"I'm a nervous test-taker," was all I could think to say.

Terri frowned at that deflect. "Do you hope to move up to Class I?"

"I...think it's up to my evaluators."

"But do you hope to?"

"Hope's pointless," I said. "Doesn't matter what I hope. Just what I do."

"And will you?"

I eyed her. "Evaluator's choice."

Terri craned her neck, narrowing her eyes. "Do you think it's fair that there are no Class IIIs in D1 square racing? After all, if you've made it..." She smiled. "Some are saying your recruitment with Corvus was...motivated," she added, and I nearly broke my neck snapping my eyes up to her. "And that your joining of Corvus was not through...conventional means, if you will. Is it that you're simply an undermined racer, or, that you and Corvus are not such strangers after all?"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Was this stranger really implying that I had cheated, or worse, bribed my way into Corvus? I didn't know if I felt complimented by how calculated some people thought I was, or downright slashed by the idea my position was built by shifty hands.

Worse was likely the fact Terri even dared to ask me, and record it.

I stared for a long moment. Zoe cleared her throat. "I think those accusations are a bit bold of those people to say about Echo, especially after seeing how he races, yes?"

"He was there with us at the tryout, at every practice, from day one. There was no motivation. He wants to race with good racers, who doesn't?" Wynter defended.

"They're only speculation," Terri defended.

The words were out before I could bite them down. "Bullshit speculation," I said.

Listening lycans around us went silent, their whispers turning into gasps, some into snickers. Wynter jabbed an elbow into me. I ignored it. Terri blinked at me.

"I'm sorry?" she sputtered.

"I said your speculations are bullshit," I spat, louder. "I mean, it's one thing to call me a cheat and a liar for scheming my way onto a team, but that's some serious gall to accuse Corvus of sinking that low, too."

"I did not think I was doing that, thank you," Terri sneered.

"Aren't you?" I shot back. "You can call it someone else's speculations all you want, but if you believe it, just say it outright. It's pretty bold to accuse someone else of being shady when you're the one that can't ask a clear question."

"Echo," Zoe hissed.

"As for the 'accusations', yeah, I've got an answer. If these people have nothing better to do than accuse a team they're so-called 'fans' of playing dirty for something as simple as a recruitment tryout just to justify trashing some teenager on the internet that doesn't fit into their racing fantasy, then maybe they should spend a little less time typing pointless gossip conspiracies about people they've never even met and a little more time learning how to make their lives interesting enough to focus on instead."

Terri gaped at me, all the mirth stripped from her expression to leave it bleached in shock. The photographer held the camera between us, unsure, glancing nervously at Terri. Zoe had her face buried in her hands, and Wynter was looking somewhere in the direction of Corvus.

I figured that was my cue to retreat and I gave Terri a quick salute. "Thanks for the interview," I said. "It was good talking to you." I swiveled on my heel, and headed back for the group.

The banquet hall scattered into conversation, their eyes following us as we returned to the table. Meredith was massaging her temples. Zahir and Diego were gesturing helplessly. Kane was pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering something unintelligible. Rosalie snagged a martini that was gone in seconds. And Kenzo looked amused for the first time since I'd ever met him.

"What?" I asked.

Diego sighed. "Ah, it was fun while it lasted."

"We've barely been here for an hour," Rosalie snapped.

"Oh, my goodness," Meredith said.

"Twenty seconds too long with that one over there. Jesus, cobayo, you got a serious mouth on you, what's the deal?"

"I didn't say anything untrue."

"No," Zahir admitted with a heavy sigh. "That's the problem."

"Sometimes, I think you try to get yourself killed," Rosalie said.

"Oh, my goodness," Meredith said.

Wynter and Zoe sidled up behind me. "Well, that went about as bad as it could've," Wynter said. "On the bright side, that van is black, and the blood won't show when we gut him."

I shrugged at Edwards. "Coach, I just answered the question. You told me it'll be quick."

"Don't speak, I said," she sighed. "Speak very, very little, I said."

"Oh, my goodness," Meredith said.

The group immediately erupted in talks of damage control, the only person unbothered by it being Kenzo whose blank stare was slightly turned up in something that could've been a smile as he watched Terri. I was content to let them hash out my untimely fate for the next few hours. I glanced at Kane, who still hadn't stopped shaking. His face was eerily pale.

I cleared my throat. "Bad shrimp?" I tried.

Kane looked at me. His eyes were nothing short of horrified. He said in perfect Korean, "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"Oh, it's in Korean," Diego said. "I'm not breaking that up."

"Nice knowing you," Rosalie said, completely unsympathetic.

I held up a hand. "I said I didn't want to do it," I snapped.

"Ya, micheosseo?" Kane snapped. "When we said do a quick interview, we didn't mean hand out the torches to the entire public to burn you down with."

"Whoa, I go up and defend your honors and I'm the culprit? Not my fault you were too busy brooding over the big bad broccolini over there," I said, jutting my thumb in the other direction. "Which, by the way, will someone tell me the deal on that because it feels worthwhile to note enemy territory."

"You are a talking brain tumor," he said.

"That stung. I'm gonna use that. Where's Terri?" I said, rising.

Diego pushed the wine to Kane. "Ready to forego sobriety yet?"

"Give it an hour," he muttered.

Wynter flicked me in the temple. "For someone so small," she said, "you sure make some big messes."

"It's a talent."

"Eat your damn cake and just pray the tabloids don't murder you."

I said, "Coach? Back me up."

Coach looked amongst all of us, and said, "I think I'm going to retire early."

Corvus toasted to that, and the night roiled onward, no mercy for me in sight.

Which sounds like I'm kidding.

But as if they could hear that silent mourning of mine, someone broke my daze from behind.

"Hey, Corvus, right?"

I whipped around.

A young man, lithe and tall and dressed in golden yellow like a Ticonderoga pencil, waved carefully at us. He stuck out his hand to me, and turned a blue-eyed, sandy-haired smile on me that was likely the friendliest thing I'd seen all night.

"Ian Gray. Starting front starboard, UCI Anteaters," he said, his voice bright as spring. "Nice to meet you."

It took me a few moments for me to recuperate from my bitter daze and register that introduction.

The UCI Anteaters were seventh in all of NCAA D1 racing. We had yet to verse them, but rumor had it that they were practically a beta-Corvus in the making. So what one of them was doing talking to me like I was just another one of them was nothing if not suspicious.

I clumsily stumbled to take his hand and half-expected it to electrocute me. When it didn't, I managed, "Echo Yun. Nice to meet you."

"Ah, so you're Echo Yun," he said with a laugh. "Heard a lot about you."

"Probably nothing good, then," I said.

Ian beamed. "No, no, nothing like that. We saw a few of your matches. Haven't seen a rookie race like that since your captain took to the track." He gestured at Corvus behind me.

I blinked. I swiveled my head around through the crowds. "Is...someone daring you to do this?"

Ian did a double take. "Oh, what? No, nothing like that. I just thought..." He shrugged. "I heard you talking to Howards."

That made my spine stiffen. I took a step back. "Ah. Right."

Ian must've seen the unease on me because he tried to ratify that statement in the next second. "She's always a bit of a piranha when it comes to new faces, and I know the press has been ripping you since last week." He flashed me a lopsided smile. "That was gutsy, you telling her off. I don't think I've ever heard someone say something like that to her face. Kind of wish I had those nerves."

Like I needed the reminder of the hole I'd dug myself into. But his tone was void of condescension, something acknowledging in that voice. "Thanks, I guess," I said. "It's the press game. Corvus is gonna gut me."

He shrugged. "They just play the game, but it's different for you. I get it."

I frowned. "Get it," I repeated.

Ian's smile was softer. "Class II Stirling Beta," he said, gesturing at himself. "The press game never really does let up on our end."

I gaped. "Wait, how are you—"

"Class II?" he said, and I nodded. He shrugged. "Nervous test-taker."

The insane part of me let out a shocked laugh. "But, I've never seen you at the Eval before."

"I'm from Catseye, we take our Eval on the other side of the Bowl."

I'd have been less shocked by electrocution. A nuclear bomb, even. Catseye. Class II. Stirling. Starting front starboard. Oh, it was too incredible to be real.

"Holy shit," was all I could say.

"Basically," he laughed. "I wanted to reach out earlier but I couldn't find you on any socials."

"Social media debilitates sense of self," I said, then added, "And I've got no phone."

"Hey, same. I use the library computer."

If I could be any lighter in that moment, I didn't know it. It was divine intervention.

"You're a first year, right?" At my nod, Ian hummed. "Yeah, my first year was hell. I don't think the press took one day off on me. It was tough. I'm pretty sure I nearly quit at least once a week, although you seem to have thicker skin than me. But I just thought, you know, it wouldn't hurt. To know it gets better with time."

I searched the room, spotting reporters and cameramen and Terri fucking Howards. "How much time?"

"We're lycans, politics are unavoidable," he said. "But, you can race. Corvus is standing by you, too. That means something. Don't discount your team, you know? They're not amateurs. They know who they're recruiting."

I turned to look behind me, then at him. I frowned. "Why are you telling me this?"

Ian paused, tapping his fingers against his golden pants. The look he gave me wasn't sympathy, but rather a quiet solidarity. "Dunno," he admitted. "I thought it'd be nice to know someone who gets it."

I waited for more, but there was none, and the simplicity of the gesture struck me in my blindspot. Ian didn't wait for me to get my bearings, but extended his hand one more time instead.

"It was good to meet you, Echo," he said. "Hit me up when social media stops debilitating senses of self, yeah?"

"I'm dreaming," I said, and laughed something real. I grasped his hand. "Yeah," I said. "I will."

I watched Ian walk back to the Anteaters and settle in next to them like a puzzle piece settling into its rightful spot. Class II Stirling Beta. Starting front starboard. Top ten of NCAA D1.

I glanced at Corvus. My whole chest ached, pulled at the tendons and nerves until they stretched thin. I thought perhaps meeting Ian would make the weight on my shoulders lighter, and it did, for a second. Yet with it, came a crushing reality: Ian had made it with time available and a team he made a family. But that was time I didn't have, and a team that wasn't really mine.

Corvus were fixtures in the racing world, legends-to-be. I was a debt case, a loose end, a ticking time bomb in a bloody world they'd never have to know. When my brother came for me, I'd be a charity case that went wrong and a press headline soon to die out. Like Poppy. Like a ghost.

Meredith found me a moment later, my hand still aloft in the air. She glanced from me, to Ian, and back again. "New friend?" she asked me, hooking her arm with mine to guide me back towards their group.

"Maybe," I replied.

They're not amateurs. They know who they're recruiting.

I could only hope that they didn't.