Everyone at Blackstone looked like they belonged.
Even the weird ones had some kind of vibe. Like they chose to be weird. Like they wore it on purpose. Ronan just looked… lost.
He tried not to care. He kept his hoodie up, his earbuds in—even when nothing was playing—and his eyes low. It didn't help.
They saw him anyway.
Not because he was loud. But because he wasn't.
Because he didn't have the shoes, or the hair, or the bloodline. Because everyone else moved like they were born to be here, and he moved like he was still trying to convince himself it wasn't a mistake.
And maybe it was.
His roommate, Zack, made it clear from day one.
"You're in the wrong dorm, dude," Zack had said, tossing his gym bag onto the bed like he owned the air in the room. "This floor's for legacies. You got dropped off by mistake or what?"
Ronan didn't answer. Just unpacked his duffel bag slowly. T-shirt. Jeans. Toothbrush.
No silver spoons in sight.
"Cool," Zack muttered. "Silent stray. That's not creepy at all."
And just like that, he was labeled.
Stray.
Like a dog someone forgot to put down.
That night, Ronan couldn't sleep.
Not because of the bed. Or the cold. Or the silence.
But because he could feel it—like something heavy sitting on his chest. That kind of quiet you only get when the whole world is waiting for something to go wrong.
So he left.
Didn't say anything. Just grabbed his hoodie, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked. Out of the dorm, across the campus lawn. Past the tennis courts, the lit-up library windows, the little statue with moss growing out its ears.
Eventually, the path ended and the woods began.
He wasn't planning to go in. Just stood there a while. Breathing.
It was quiet. Not fake quiet. Real quiet. The kind that sinks into your bones.
The kind that feels almost… safe.
Ronan stepped forward. Just a little.
One foot.
Two.
The trees opened up around him like a secret, and for a second—just one second—he felt something settle in his chest. Something that wasn't fear.
Then it snapped.
Literally.
A twig cracked behind him.
Before he could even turn, something yanked him back.
A hand slammed over his mouth.
Another locked his arms.
His heart went off like a car alarm. He tried to twist, kick, shout—nothing. He was pinned, swallowed whole by the shadows and arms and weight.
Then the voice came.
Right by his ear.
Low. Cruel.
"Well, well. Look who wandered off the leash."
Ronan froze.
He knew that voice.
Greg.
One of Zack's packmates. Smug, thick-necked, always grinning like he was in on a joke no one else got.
Other voices followed. More guys. Some laughing. Some quiet.
But they all had that energy. The kind that turns people into games.
"You thought you could blend in?" Greg sneered. "Bro, this is Blackstone. We don't take in shelter mutts."
Ronan didn't say anything.
He didn't beg.
Not because he wasn't terrified—he was.
But begging? That's when they really started enjoying it. That's when it turned from scare-the-new-kid into something uglier. He'd seen it before.
So he just breathed.
Slow.
Quiet.
Eyes low, mind racing. Wait. Wait. Maybe they'll just scare you a bit. Maybe they'll just—
A shove hit him out of nowhere.
His back slammed into a tree. His head whipped back. Stars exploded behind his eyes.
Someone laughed.
"Oops."
And then they were gone.
Just like that.
Footsteps crunching away.
Branches swaying.
Gone.
He didn't get up right away.
His ears rang. Blood tickled down the side of his face. His breath came in short, sharp pulls.
And then—
The quiet changed.
No wind.
No bugs.
Just stillness.
Heavy.
Like something watching.
Then—
A sound.
Not from outside.
From inside.
"Seriously? That's it? That's how you go down? Pathetic."
Ronan flinched.
"What the hell…"
The voice wasn't real. Couldn't be.
But it was there. Sharp. Dry. Almost… annoyed.
"I wake up from a twenty-year nap for this? Come on, kid. At least try to be interesting."
He sat up slowly, head pounding.
"Who's there?"
"Me, genius. Inside you. Don't freak out."
"I'm freaking out."
"Don't."
Ronan blinked.
The trees looked clearer now. Brighter. Like someone turned up the contrast.
His body hurt less too. Not gone. But… manageable.
"You can thank me later. For now, we're gonna get up. You're gonna walk. And maybe next time, don't wander into the woods smelling like fear and leftover cafeteria pizza."
"What are you?"
"Wolf spirit. Ancient. Grumpy. Sharing your skull now, apparently. Long story."
Ronan let that sink in.
He wiped the blood from his temple with his sleeve.
Staggered to his feet.
He should've been terrified.
But somehow?
It felt more like waking up.
"Welcome to Blackstone, kid," the voice said. "Let's try not to die tomorrow."