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

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____________________

Kane King was a Class I Drachmann Alpha, a South Korean native who eventually graduated from the prestigious Greylaw Academy, was first overall in the NCAA square racing industry, had a total victory earning of 112.5 million USD in his young career, and was the son of two CEOs of a basically-billion dollar international conglomerate with companies ranging from bike parts to panini presses to military-grade tanks.

Rosalie Gossard was a Class I Rothrock Alpha, had attended the international St. Sainsbury Academy of Toulouse, France, was sixth overall in the NCAA square racing industry, had a total victory earning of 94.5 million USD in her young career, and was the second daughter of a Wallstreet broker and 80s renowned A-list Hollywood veteran actor.

Zahir Gupta was a Sacramento-born Class I Hawthorn Beta from a quaint public high school, was fifth overall in the NCAA square racing industry, had a total victory earning of 94.9 million USD in his young career, and was the only son of an all-girl line of descendants of a single mother CEO to a multi-million dollar graphic software company.

Kenzo Watanabe had gone from a Class III nobody to a Class I Huang Beta racer within the span of a year in Kyoto before coming to New York, was a mute from elementary to freshman year, was eighth overall in the NCAA square racing industry, had a total victory earning of 88.7 million USD in his young career, and was the only child of a high-demand, star-studded K-Pop producer.

Diego de la Cruz was a Class I Rothrock Beta who had worked his way up slowly from the measly Class III to Class I with the help of military school and unregulated Mormonism before becoming a devout agnostic, was eleventh overall in the NCAA square racing industry, had a total victory earning of 70.9 million USD in his young career, and was the abandoned son of a runaway mother and a two-star Michelin chef of the Florida coast.

Meredith Russo was a Class I Huang Beta who originated in Switzerland before covering ground from the Netherlands to the Amalfi Coast, was twelfth overall in the NCAA square racing industry, had a total victory earning of 70.1 million USD in her young career, and was a descendant in a long line of renowned Northern European square racers that had competed in just about anything from the Grand Prixs to the Olympics.

It was important to know everything you could about where you were to stay when your life depended on shady income and impermanent residencies. The devil was almost always in the details, and missing one could be the killing blow.

I supposed there was irony in the fact I (technically) owned no phone but did own a triple-encrypted computer with no exact memory to be traced but no limit to what it could access. There was also danger, considering if anyone but me opened it, it wouldn't take them more than a few minutes to realize the device wasn't really right in its mind. That risk hadn't occurred to me for years in that tiny Splinter unit.

It fucking occurred to me now.

"Sweet Jesus fuck-almighty," Nia swore as she let the bag thump resoundingly on the concrete step. "What for gracious Mother Earth's sake are you carrying in there?"

"You swear like a Southerner," I said, and took the bag over my shoulder. "Just books. Are you sweating?"

"You know, you got a lot of hidden strength in those tiny bones," she said. "Makes me wonder what you're hiding under that HELLO KITTY T-shirt."

"Another HELLO KITTY T-shirt," I said. "And then another. And then Kuromi. I'm like a matryoshka of HELLO KITTY." I glanced down the stairs and further towards the black gates, blocking off the Talon from outsiders' entry.

Nia let my duffel hit the concrete with a resounding thud. She placed her hands on her hips and blew a black lock from her face. Her nose wrinkled. "I think taking one step into this place would cost me my liver."

"Depends on your liver," I muttered. "Thanks again for helping me."

Nia clipped her bangs back and shrugged. "You live light. Are you sure you don't have more things you wanna bring?" She gestured at my backpack. "Unless you somehow crammed the rest in there."

I shrugged. "I'm not a materialistic guy, you know?" I replied.

She eyed me. "You're broke?"

I said, "Fatally."

She snickered like I was kidding. "Fair." Nia peered behind me and perked up. "I think there's someone here for you."

Dread. The immediate kind. Like a blackout.

I glanced over my shoulder towards the entrance, only to spot Zahir heading towards us with Diego at his heels. The two were surprisingly pristine for a Friday afternoon, his white shirt clean, Diego's linen pants smooth, the wind billowing through their soft fabrics as they approached us beneath the golden sun. Zahir spotted me through the gates. He waved with an easy grin full of pearls.

"You're early," he said as he traipsed down the steps.

"King made it sound like there'd be a bomb going off in my neck if I was late," I replied, and he crackled out a laugh.

Diego shucked off the hood of his knitted hoodie. "Where's your car?"

I pointed at Nia. Zahir brightened like the rising sun.

"Nia Zhang, as I live and breathe," he said. He held out his hand. "What're you doing here?"

"Dropping off your newest crow," she replied. She shook it firmly and flashed a rare smile up at him. "Where's your Mama Crow?"

Diego let out a snort at that. Zahir waved that away. "Meeting. The board has some words for us, it seems," he sighed, and it didn't take a genius to figure out what about. "I didn't know you two knew each other."

"Did you sneak him in?" Diego asked Nia. At her darting look, he let out a bellowing hoot. "I'm surprised you didn't snatch him up for your own lineup."

"I thought Corvus might be a better fit for him," she said.

"Oh, he must be terrible," Diego said with a glint. Nia grinned at that but didn't reply. Diego slid his eyes towards me and clapped his hands together. He went to grab my duffel. "We'll take this in, cobayo. You two can leave the rest off here, we'll make trips."

I frowned. "Make trips?"

"I mean to drop off the rest of your stuff." When I gave him a blank look, Diego did a double take. "Wait, don't tell me this is all you brought with you. Tell me you got a truck bed still waiting." I shook my head. He howled. "I couldn't fit my closet into these two bags."

"I live light," I replied.

"As air," he commented.

Zahir said, "I heard the Jackdaws had a good season. Congrats. And thanks for handing Echo over to us."

"We did. And don't thank me yet," she replied. 

Zahir wavered just a moment before laughing that away. He took his hand away to pull out a ring of keys from his jeans before procuring an ultramarine thing much like a credit card. At the bottom, a silver ZAHIR GUPTA was emblazoned.

"Come on," he said. "We'll take this."

Nia waited only a beat for them to turn around before pulling my sleeve.

"Are you sure you're okay with being here? I could talk to King," she said, holding my shoulders. "I know you're a piece of work, Yun, but I'd rather you be my piece of work if you don't wanna be here."

"I think that's the nicest thing you've said to me this year," I said. Nia pushed my hair over my eyes and I batted her off. "It'll be fine, I have to adjust at some point. I'm not being sent to prison."

"Don't let them push you around," she told me pointedly. "That place is chock-full of snotty athletes with shit to say. You gotta be careful."

She was probably right, as walking into the Talon was a backhanded way of setting myself up to either get jumped or judged so far I breathed bedrock. But King's warning from the days before lingered like a yolk on my neck, an anvil around my throat that was as precarious as it was precious.

I shook my head. "Just trust me," I said. I spun on my heel. "Thanks again for helping me."

"Don't do something stupid, Yun!" Nia called.

"No promises," I murmured.

Zahir and Diego waved Nia goodbye. Zahir waited for me to reach the platform above the stone stairs, where the black gates awaited. He went to insert his card in the respective slot, and as he did, said, "How do you and Nia know each other? If you're not on the Jackdaws."

I considered that. "We share similar classes," I said.

The gate buzzed open and Zahir pushed it wide open for us to walk through. Up ahead, the pitch black tower of the Talon awaited with silver veins and glass faces. A gangly beast, a frozen lightning strike. Someone's home. Not mine.

Zahir pushed his card into the double doors' waiting slot. When it lit up green, he pushed it open, and glanced at me. "Welcome to the Talon, Echo," he said.

Avaldi was the personification of educational exorbitance, an opulent battlefield and a coveted Thunderdome. Its student body stretched from tokens to valedictorians, scholarship passengers to legacy children, the Artist and the Heiress, the greatest minds and the greatest luck. With such a name, with such a population, it was a school that could afford to dress itself up every now and then.

The Talon was such evidence.

We'd stepped into the lobby, as it appeared, wherein there was nothing for you to greet but black walls, a black help desk, black floors, and sets of guards posted in black uniforms. A set of double doors lied on either side of the vast room, one reading EAST and the other reading WEST above them. The only signs of color was a single woman at the front in a pressed, purple blazer.

She looked up at our approach. A silver name tag read UMA, partially covered by her chestnut curls. She stood and said, "Who's your friend?"

Zahir said, "New Corvus member, he's moving in today."

Uma peered down at me. "Really?"

"I've just got bad posture," I assured. "I'm much taller than this."

Diego laughed. "You barely see over the counter."

"I can see fine."

"Can you?" Zahir asked.

"How many height jabs are you all gonna make this year?" I snapped.

Zahir turned back to Uma. "He needs an access card, I think Coach put in the order a few days ago. Echo Yun?"

"Ah, yes." Uma turned around heading for the back counter. "Here we go."

She handed me the same purple and silver card. She slid it to me, and I took it to hold up to the light. ECHO YUN shone like jewels. My breath caught in my throat.

Uma smiled. "Use that for the front entrance here and your respective room. It can also open the activity centers across from here, the Corvidae, the cafeteria upstairs, and any of the quiet rooms on the third level."

I swallowed. "Thank you," I managed. 

Diego clapped me on the shoulder hard enough I nearly knocked my chin into the desk, breaking my daze. "Thanks, Uma," he said. "You're the best. Echo, she's the best. If you don't like Uma, you're sort of off your rocker, you know? Love you, Uma."

Uma simply waved us goodbye. "Of course, Diego."

Zahir pushed him ahead. He turned his eyes to me. "You'll like your room when you see it. It's more spacious than any of the dorms on campus."

Zahir swiped his card at the WEST entrance and Diego yanked it open for us. A security guard at the right gave them a single nod, gave me a strange look, then shrugged and beckoned us in.

"Maybe I should invest in insoles," I sighed.

Behind the doors lay an equally black corridor of glass doors labeled with silver plaques. Zahir slung my bag over his shoulder to point at each one as we passed.

"You can technically go through either entrance to get anywhere in the Talon, but the west entrance is mainly the one to take for the activity centers and cafeteria, while the study rooms and actual units are easier to access from the east," he explained. "This hall's got the gym, pool, kitchens, and dance studios." We turned the corner to come face to face with two doors at the end of a shorter hall. "That's the first aid office and that's just a back exit. First aid is usually only consistently open when Ramos is here, weekdays from six to five."

I blinked. I said, "Ramos?"

"Team nurse," he explained. We made it to the stairs at the end and ascended upwards. "She's a gem. You'll love her when you meet her."

Any person in the medical field was an immediate issue in my book, but I just gave him a placating nod and hoped I'd be able to delay such meeting until the furthest possible point. We passed the entrance to the second level. Zahir pointed through it. 

"Cafeterias," he said. "It's technically always open with some vending machines and bakery goods or drinks, but they serve breakfast from eight to ten, lunch from noon to two, and dinner from six to nine." He leaned over. "Dunkin' is always open, though."

"We would know," Diego said.

"How many meal credits?" I asked.

"None. Talon cafeterias don't take school credits." Zahir flashed his card. "Just check in and it's a free-for-all. I think they figure their athletes would go broke if we used our credits here considering each one eats for three."

"Four at dinner," Diego said. "You'll see after practice."

"I anticipate," I murmured. Lycan athletes after six hours of practice, they might start eating the tables themselves. "So all the teams live here?"

"Everyone but fencing, tennis, golf, lacrosse, and baseball. They live in their own dorm on campus. Team vote of theirs in recent years, guess they like diverse mingling." Diego shrugged like the concept was hard to fathom. "Well, save for fencing. They're all bloodsuckers, so they live underground."

"What?"

"Diego, be more helpful," Zahir snapped. We climbed higher, and he spared me an apologetic face. "The elevator is out of service right now, but I'll show you it at the east entrance."

An elevator. Good God alive.

We hit the entrance for the third floor and Zahir gestured down the corridor. It was only recognizable by the fact it was the only place in the entire building where black was the minimal color, every other inch of it occupied by glass walls and doors. Inside, the rooms held long purple tables and blank TVs posted on the walls. 

"These are conference and quiet rooms, just places to study or do group projects in or hang out in," he said. "They usually only fill up late at night or early in the morning, when most get home from practice."

One siren in a room smiled at me, rows of fangs pearly and menacing. When she lifted her hand to wave, scales flexed down her arm and left the table damp. 

"Are those rooms..." I trailed off.

"Cleaned after? Should be. But water polo tends to be a bit domineering about their space," Zahir said. The siren glared. He hurried up the stairs. "Come on, next floor is ours."

It was dimmer than the others below. With square sconces as the sole providers of light, and every inch of available space made pitch black save for the wooden doors, it was difficult not to feel the walls press against each other at every step you took. I raised a brow at the morose decor.

"Are you all in permanent mourning?" I asked. "What's with all the black?"

Diego frowned. "Hey. Crows are black. It's on brand."

"If your brand is an inkpress," I said. "Using this much paint probably caused a national shortage."

Zahir shrugged. "It is the brand." He stopped at the second door on the left, then pointed to the first one on the right labeled 602 CORVUS above the peephole. "That's the girls' room."

"Lycan Central up here," Diego told me. "Top floor comes with the canines."

Zahir rolled his eyes at that, but nodded. "Don't have to worry about the other creatures here."

"Good to know," I murmured. 

"And this is us." Zahir turned around to head to the room diagonal from it, stopping to knock on the number plaque. Zahir inserted his card into the door's lock. It lit up green. He pushed the door open. "Welcome to our humble abode."

Fuck humble. To the great, gory depths of Hell.

The black took a momentary backseat upon entering, the walls an ashen gray and the doors an untouched honey wood. The floors were just a few mahogany brown hints away from black, though. Racks were pushed to the walls and demanded rows of shoes upon it, anything from flashy sports sneakers to silent sandals resting upon them.

The living room was immediate and succinct, nothing but a large, gray sectional and glass coffee table to give away its purpose. Ahead of it was the kitchen, which was far more lived in, its sinks halfway filled with dishes, a few baskets of fruit or protein snacks out for display, water bottles or energy drinks half empty and abandoned on black countertops. The square table was thoroughly unused, every seat still pushed in and the flat tops of the decorative candles undisturbed.

"We usually eat on the counters," Zahir explained, and gestured at the accompanying stools for emphasis. "We only use the table if people come over."

"So, we've never used the table," Diego scoffed. "It's also why our 'guest bedroom' is still the same way as when Meredith set it up two years ago." He pointed at me. "So, brand spankin' new for you, cobayo."

"Thanks?" I murmured. "So, everyone is in their own room?"

Zahir nodded. He gestured around the doors surrounding us. "My bedroom is the one on the far left, Diego is on the right, Kenzo is at the corner back here, and King is by the kitchen. You're over here." He pointed at the middle-most one.

"Four men in one unit doesn't get crazy?" I asked.

"No, no," Zahir assured, just as Diego said, "We've broken five lights and two stoves in two months."

"They've," Zahir corrected. "They've broken five lights and two stoves. As in Diego."

Diego feigned offense, hand to chest, then reconsidered. "It was mostly me."

"Mostly?"

"Mainly. Solid eighty seven percent my fault. Except the stove. Kenzo fell asleep making ramen."

I nodded. "Cool, well, I'm a microwave kind of guy, so don't worry about me." I headed for my respective room. "Thanks again for helping me out."

Zahir's smile returned and he shrugged. "Don't sweat it."

I pushed the bedroom's door open.

The bedroom was the only bright thing I'd seen all day. Plain white walls, plainer white ceiling. A large lamp on a bedside table and another on a long desk shouldered the burden of lighting the entire space with a damp, golden glow. A double bed was shoved into the opposite wall, nothing but a gray duvet and white pillows to keep its lived illusion going. The storage available were sets of drawers beneath it, and a clothing rack with nothing but empty hangers pushed into the corner.

Zahir set my bag on the desk chair. He stopped in front of the wall next to it, which wasn't a wall at all, but a sliding glass door that gave way to a thin wiry balcony. Avaldi was a jagged, green and steel city beneath it, pulsating with urban blood and neon lights. 

He gestured around us. "Nice, right?" he said. "Well, I think so, at least."

I shook my head, a little breathless. "No, it's...amazing." It was better than anything I'd ever witnessed, or would probably live to witness. "Thank you. Really."

He waved that off. "Don't thank me. You're part of Corvus now, you know?" His ease faltered into a certain solemnity for just a moment. "I know King made it seem a little daunting, but don't always think of it like that."

"A little?" I said.

Zahir cocked his head from right to left. "King can be a bit much, but he has good intentions," he tried. "Him and change don't go well together."

I hummed and put my bag on the bed. "Noted."

"But it's true," he pushed. "You being part of Corvus, that is. It's important to stick together."

I frowned at that. "What? Why?"

Diego shrugged in the doorway. "It's the world of Corvus, cobayo," he said plainly, almost with sympathy. "Things get messy fast sometimes, it's good to have a team around you to be there, that's all." He waved it away. "Don't mind King, he seems all 'big bad wolf' until you take a few laps, and then he's more of a perturbed kitten."

"A what."

"Point is, no pressure," he assured. "As long as you can race! And you, my man, can race." He spun on his heel. "We see you at practice!"

No pressure.

I could have laughed myself six feet under.

________________

Practice began as smoothly as you can imagine. Exhibit A:

"Three seconds over." King brushed past me to return to the starting line. "Go again."

I took a moment to catch both my breath and my temper. "Time," I breathed, "is a construct."

He didn't take the bait. "Yeah, our construct," he called over his shoulder. "So go again."

Wynter and Zoe groaned. Zoe rubbed the sweat from her eyes. "I think if I race this track one more time, I'll be married to it," she said.

Edwards raised a brow. "I'll be your flower girl," she drawled. "Get on the track."

"Miss Edwards," I said.

"Don't even, kid."

"Good madam."

"You wanna run this track barefoot?"

"Coach," I quickly ratified. "Can't you tell your hound that it's only been a week and a half and three seconds is a seriously thin margin to be lording over our heads?"

Edwards swung down from the stands to guide us back to where King stood by the start line, a stopwatch in his hand and Kenzo at his side, the two discussing something or other as they surveyed the track. He stood as the only Corvus member without his gear on, settling for a training jacket and joggers. Being under three layers of intensive gear, it was an understatement to say I envied him.

"Someone turn the AC on," I sighed.

"We're outside," Wynter said.

"Then close the fucking ozone holes," I said. 

"You three are gonna have to work up your endurance," Edwards said, tucking her clipboard under her arm, facing away from us. "If it helps you, you're all improving fairly rapidly."

"Tell the Doberman that," I said.

"I can hear you," King snapped, not even sparing me a glance.

"Can he?" I muttered to Zoe and Wynter, then opened my mouth with, "'Cause then I hope he can hear me when I say kiss my—"

Wynter clapped a hand over my mouth. "Nothing, kiss your nothing. You make me run laps, Yun, and I'll skin you in your sleep."

"Do it."

"You got an off switch?"

"Say 'please' real nice."

"All that hair dye seeped into your brain," she said.

"Bold of you to assume it can make it through my thick skull," I replied.

"Are you done?" Edwards pointed at King. "Good speed is prime cuts in racing. We've got one of the most difficult tracks of any NCAA racing team, so if you can make it around this, you're golden. Three seconds could be the space between second and first place. So don't go complaining until you can close the gap. Then talk to my hound."

King raised a brow at that, but headed back for the wall anyway, where Corvus was busy with agility drills. I gritted my teeth together and faced the track.

"Gear up," King told me. "Get on the track."

Wynter shook her head as we went. "This is crazy," she said.

I undid the straps of my helmet. "No," I sighed. "This is Corvus."

It took another four rounds for me to close my three seconds in and another six for Wynter and Zoe to follow. 

"You lean left," King called. "Start looking at the corners, stop looking next to you."

"How am I supposed to see people or things without looking next to me?" I snapped. 

"Peripheral awareness is non-negotiable," he said, still not looking at me as he watched Wynter and Zoe race on behind me, the scene reflected in his black eyes. "You should be able to see without having to look. Swiveling your head every which way is gonna throw your balance off. It's why your lines are sloppy."

"Are we going to race or not?" I asked.

"You're racing right now."

"This isn't racing."

"Everything is racing." King gestured at the upperclassmen mid-drill, at Zoe and Wynter, at the tunnel leading out of the track. "Racing is not riding a bike, you've got to have a good foundation. If not, you'll fall apart when things get serious and you'll be useless." He waved his hand in a half-hearted dismissal. "Take ten. We'll be back."

He was gone before I got the chance to argue. I groaned and resisted the pulsing urge to turn it into a yell. I took my leave to the pit.

I settled on the steps with my water and sore limbs. Zoe and Wynter approached me.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," I said.

"Sure," Wynter replied, which wasn't really a reply but I took it nonetheless. She grabbed her water and sat across from me. She took a swig, thought about something, then turned to me. She said, "What is the Stirling class process?" 

We all paused. It was as sudden as it was unwelcome. I stumbled. "What?"

"The Stirling class process," she repeated. "How they rank you. What is it?"

"Why?"

Zahir approached us, his helmet in his hand. "Can't be based on racing," he said. "I think you're the fastest freshman I've seen here."

"That's what I said," Zoe vouched, raising her hand. 

I hesitated. The process of deciding classes within packs varied from pack to pack, some with a bevy of tests and others with only one, most ranging from head to physique. Stirlings did it every three years, and I hadn't been anything but Class III since I was thirteen, and frankly, I planned to keep it that way for a while. Unless I died by the end of the year, but minor details.

"I'm not a good test-taker," I told them. "Bad nerves."

Rosalie approached me as we drank, sweaty from her workouts but in better shape than us three with our skin littered in bruises. I tipped my water bottle at her in greeting, but she'd heard enough.

"Really," she repeated, wholly unconvinced.

"Truly." I downed the last of my water. "When are we going to actually race with you?"

Rosalie took that dismissal with grace. "When you're worth racing with," she replied. 

It was a slap in the face from a mile away. Still, the blow stung.

I tilted my head back against the wall. Zoe said, "At the rate we're going, we'll be on the bench when the season starts."

I couldn't afford the bench. I didn't have the seconds to spare worrying about getting off of it. My hands stung with sweat in the cuts, with aches from hanging onto handlebars for dear life. I bit my tongue so hard it burned.

Everything is racing.

I got to my feet. "Not if we can help it."

Eight struck like the ominous ring of a town square clock tower. I heard it reverberating from the corners of the track, through the unceasing rhythm of my exhausted heart. Sweat soaked through my undershirt, seeped into my gloves, made my skin wet and numb. We'd cleared the track so many times, I swore I could race it blindfolded.

Edwards had let us run ourselves ragged into the concrete, our bikes racing head to head against each other, against ourselves, with her and the upperclassmen to watch. The frustration of it made the time tick faster. But the frustration itself only grew.

"Good effort, rookies," she called. "Wash up, change out. You're free to go."

I stared at her. "We haven't even raced."

"You've been racing for hours," she argued.

"Against who?"

"The only person you need to be worrying about." King tilted his head towards the locker rooms, where the upperclassmen were already headed. "When you're good enough on your own, then we race."

Wynter brushed herself off as she walked towards where they stood on the platform. "You're just gonna leave us to our own devices until you think we're good enough to race with?"

"I've told you what you're doing wrong." King swung himself over the railing to plant his feet on the concrete. He headed towards the locker rooms. His nonchalance was almost insouciant. "I've told you what to stop or start doing. You've got a track, you've got gear, you've got a bike. Your own devices?" He said the last part almost mockingly.

I pursed my lips. I called, "You can't leave us as a bunch of benchwarmers."

King paused. He turned around. His gaze was all poison.

"I never said I would," he told me. "Stop arguing. Stop rushing. Change out."

"This isn't—"

"I said," King snapped, taking a step towards me and leaning down until we were eye-level, "change out."

He left Wynter and I in his wake. The stadium lights began to dim. The sensors flickered off. Eight had struck. We were done.

I closed my eyes and let my head fall back. I cursed the darkening sky.

Wynter sighed in defeat. She patted my shoulder, and followed after King. "Come on, he's got a point," she muttered. "Let's just get some fucking food at that gothic resort of theirs and call it a night."

I turned on my heel and faced the Corvidae down the tunnel. I gripped the helmet tighter in my hand. The smell of sweat and metal and burnt rubber filled my nose. My whole chest squeezed. Either with greed or with anger. If there was a difference.

We retreated to the lockers.

I set my helmet down on the bench slicing through the aisle. King was the only other one in my row, his locker situated on the side opposite of mine on the other end. He didn't acknowledge me upon entering, but I still paused.

The pause made him look up. He raised a brow, but didn't comment. I said, "I thought no one else was in this row."

"Thought wrong," he said, cracking open his locker door. "It's a locker room."

Communal changing wasn't anything avoidable, but it sent ice spikes into my spine at the idea of it nonetheless. With only a few of us, there was space to catch a breath. It didn't stop my fingers pressing into my hip, though, feeling the ridges of a brand seared to the skin.

"Can't I change in the other aisle?" I asked.

"You can change in the Hudson River for all I care." 

I took that retort with (some) grace and settled for this aisle. I undid my locker door undid the straps and buckles of my gear. The layers were like heaven to free myself from, and my skin breathed for the first time in six hours. 

I dared a glance at King when changing back into my jeans out of my own caution. He had his shirt halfway over his head, his lower back exposed in the light for only a breath of a second. My eyes froze on the starburst of black ink that snaked from his side up his spine, a blur of shadow-infested veins. 

My mind never got the chance to do a double take before he was pulling the rest of his shirt over and hauling on his jacket over top. I yanked my head back to my locker and pulled on the rest of my clothes as fast as humanly possible before slamming the door shut.

I high-tailed it outside. The image of the black lines lingered in my head like spindly-legged spiders. I rolled it between my teeth. A tattoo?

"Hey." My head swiveled left to find Wynter heading for me. She frowned. "You...okay?"

I chewed my lip. "Yeah, fine. Hey, I might just eat on my own, grab something downtown."

"Nice try, kid." Rosalie came from behind her, blonde waves tied in an elaborate clipped updo. CORVUS SQUARE RACING was scrawled beneath a purple crow on her black hoodie. "Get breakfast on your own, you're eating dinner with us."

"Don't tell me there's a rule," I sighed. 

"There's a rule," she said. "Corvus always eats dinner together. Besides, I doubt you three even know how to navigate the cafeterias, so you're coming with us." 

"You people need emotional support dogs or something," I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "This much time together can't be a healthy thing."

Rosalie glared. "You got better things to do?"

"Probably. Give me five minutes in an empty room, I could start making characters out of the walls."

"Let's get you to dinner just to shut you up with some food," Wynter said. "I think the only thing faster than you on a bike is your mouth unsupervised."

"You know, some people call that being quick-witted."

"I admire your deniability skills."

"Flirting in broad daylight," I said, and she sent a scathing glare. I held up my hands. 

"No one," King snapped, appearing from the lockers with his own sports bag slung over his shoulder and his hoodie the same as Rosalie's, "is flirting with anyone."

"Third rule of Corvus?" I murmured to Wynter.

"Third rule of Corvus," Rosalie said on cue, and Wynter snickered. "No dating within the team."

I rolled my eyes. "I need a pamphlet on these Girl Scouts."

"What'd you call us?"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Diego slung an arm over King's shoulders, clearing his throat. "What's for dinner? I want bolognese."

I stared at King's back from behind. Zoe came beside me with a nudge.

"Hey," she said. "You okay?"

I tugged at my collar, and said, "Perfect."

Corvus averaged a height of 63 inches and 149 pounds, or 160 centimeters and 67 kilograms. There were two Class I Alphas on the team. Alphas were second-most common at thirty two percent of the lycan population, betas ranking highest at fifty one percent, and omegas standing at a measly seventeen percent. Class I Betas and Alphas typically shared characteristics like height advantage, physical endurance, faster metabolisms, longer attention spans, better eyesight, higher stem cells, lower risk of disease, better information retention, and appetites like no other.

"All right, here's how it goes." Diego pushed us three ahead of the line behind Kenzo, right where the double doors were open to enter, a hundred other athletes sandwiching us between the front and back of the endless lines. "This is Cafe A. That's Cafe B, Cafe C, Cafe D, and Cafe Café."

"Wait, what?"

"Cafe E. It's just the one with the best coffee," Meredith said.

"Dunkin'?" I asked.

They all turned to me with a smile. "Dunkin'."

"And no soccer players," Rosalie added pointedly, then wrinkled her nose. "They prefer Coffee Bean."

"Nothing wrong with preferences," Meredith placated.

"Except when they're wrong. Like Coffee Bean."

"You should go tell them that," Diego told her. "I'm sure they'd appreciate your insight."

"I'm sure I'd appreciate you not interrupting me."

Diego made a mocking face at that and Rosalie made a move towards him before Zahir reached around to snag her by the back of her hood. "Nice try," he said.

Diego sent her a smug look and pushed us forward. "Now. Technically, your card can get you into any of these babies, but it's an unspoken rule about who goes where."

"Can there be more spoken rules?" I asked. "Or even written ones? Like in a pamphlet?"

"Cafe A is the biggest, it's where we sit, lacrosse and football like it in there, too. B is out of the sun so swimming and volleyball are in there. C and D are melting pots. E is a free-for-all. For coffee. Lots of coffee. Don't interrupt the bloodsuckers in the morning though, they get territorial about the americanos." Diego took our cards and swiped them through the available monitor on the side of the door before pushing them back into our hands and winking. "Now be free."

"Wait, what? What's inside?"

"What else?" Rosalie scoffed. "A cafeteria."

We entered.

The dining hall was a glass-windowed monstrosity, walls absorbing every inch of the golden light from above, the floors a glossy black to reflect our faces back to us. Tables upon tables were set up with purple upholstered chairs filling fast with chattering students. Button-tufted booths were pushed to each side of the hall, their black tables already littered with trays or plates of glistening dishes. A handful of food stands were littered about along the walls, their neon signs flashing in a beckon for us to come closer to their warm, fresh aromas. 

"Holy mother." I shook my head. 

Meredith laughed at that. She snagged onto Zahir's sleeve and gasped at a girl's passing plate. "Hey, it's fettuccini today."

"It's heaven after all," Zoe breathed. "We made it." She pointed. "Dunkin'?"

We all turned. The pink and orange beast loomed over like a hazardous king of caffeine and pastries, its subjects flocking to it with eager stomachs. 

"Huh," I muttered. "They weren't kidding."

I watched a bulgae pass with a singed tray full of garlic bread and two plates of plain pastrami, his face emblazoned with veins of fire and his eyes twin flames. He smiled, and his black hair smoked in ribbons.

"Hey," he said, tongue flicking embers where it escaped lips. "You lost, kid?"

"Yeah, kid," Wynter cooed. "Where are your parents?"

"I'll bite you," I said.

Zoe ushered us away with a smile. "He's with us, thank you."

I ducked under another student's tray only to nearly crash into a table behind me. Wynter snagged me by the sleeve. 

"You'll get us killed," she snapped.

"I think my life is flashing before my eyes," I gasped. "I think I see light."

"That's a wet floor sign."

Zoe brushed herself off and took a step, only to narrowly smash into the back of a Goliath-worthy man hurrying right into her path. She yelped and scrambled back towards us in the corner. 

"How are we supposed to get any food here if we can't even get in line?" Zoe asked. "I can't even tell where the rest of them went."

"Shout King's name and we'll just follow the trail of acrid contempt. Ow." I rubbed my arm, frowning at Wynter.

"Angle your cleverness in a direction that keeps us from starving. Or death by stampede," she snapped.

As eager as I was to simply make a run for it right back to the Splinter and call it a definitive night, I wasn't ready to give King or Rosalie the satisfaction of knowing we couldn't even handle ourselves in a damn cafeteria. I wasn't much of many things, but hell if I wasn't the petty type. 

I said, "On three, we make a run for that pasta bar."

"If we get run over?" Wynter asked. 

"Not if we're fast enough."

"Yun—"

We ran.

I ducked under arms and slinked through bodies, most of my vision clouded by sheer exhaustion to really care much for where exactly I was headed. As long as there was something edible available, it didn't really matter.

"Isn't the pasta bar the other way?" Wynter gasped at my right as she narrowly avoided a tray knocking her in her temple. "I think that's the salad bar."

I turned my head to frown at her, but kept going. "The what?" I asked. 

"Yun, wait!" Zoe snapped.

I turned my head back, and greeted darkness.

Well, in a body form. A tall, unforgiving, and currently careening body form. 

I slammed full force into the stranger, taking both of us out and down to the ground within a matter of merciless seconds. My head thumped against cotton and bone, ears ringing far too loud for me to hear any of the shouts that followed us after. Or it was the shame.

I groaned. I planted my hand on what I presumed was the floor, but was frankly too soft to be such a thing. I froze.

"Oh," a voice, faintly of Wynter's mockery, "you're in for it now."

I shoved myself upright and looked down.

King blinked away his daze from his place against the tiles. Strangers had gathered around us to spectate, some laughing, some as in shock as I was. An abandoned salad sat skewed beyond repair beside his head. Lettuce decorated his black waves. 

I wasn't in for it.

I was plain done for.

King pushed himself onto his elbows, and looked at me. The expression that dawned on his face was unmatched and unrivaled by even the darkest demons of Hell itself.

I cleared my throat. "Sesame chicken salad," I said, glancing at the dressing that had spilled on his shoulder. I reached up to pluck off the lettuce from his hair. "Great with the wontons. This isn't dry clean, is it?" His eye twitched. I pressed my lips thin. "Has anyone ever told you you've got better bone structure up close?"

King said, "Get the fuck off of me."

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Whoa, whoa!" someone hooted. "Hey, King, you trying to introduce us to someone?"

"You look plenty cozy down there, King," someone snickered.

"Kane King in action at the cafeteria." Diego peered at us, the rest of Corvus watching us with mild amusement. He crouched down with a beaming smile. "And here we thought you two weren't gonna get along."

I made a move to get up, but King was already getting to his feet, shoving me off of him with a swipe of his hand. He brushed off what was once a salad from his body and blew a piece of arugula from his face. His ears could rival the tomatoes on the tile.

"Are you all right?" Zoe asked, helping me to my feet.

I brushed myself off. "Sure," I muttered.

King turned on his heel. His glare shot right through my skin like twin blades. "Do you think you're funny? Am I standing on a joke I can't see?"

I blinked. "I'm, at most, humorous," I said. "I'm sorry. I didn't see you."

King grabbed a handful of napkins to wipe up the mess. I went to help him, but he flicked my hand away before I could even reach the napkins. When he trashed the mess, he tore off his hoodie, leaving him in a plain shirt and only faintly smelling of sesame dressing. 

"I can help," I said.

"Can you?" he snapped, and I paused. 

"It was an accident," I gritted.

King shook his head at that, expression taut. He pushed past me and let his shoulder crack me to the left without remorse.

"You seem all too familiar with those," he spat.

I bit the hot metal at that. I opened my mouth to retort back, but Wynter held her hand up and shook her head.

"We've caused enough ruckus," she told me. "Let's just get our food and get out of here."

I stared at the place where we'd fallen, at the strangers' eyes watching us, watching King, watching me. The night wrapped white moonlight around me, a spotlight I never asked for pushing all attention to my shadow. I closed my eyes and sighed.

Zahir cleared his throat. "If it helps, I've seen worse."

Rosalie raised a brow at me. She took her tray of bolognese and spun on her heel, heading after King. "I haven't," she scoffed.

The night would never end.

Corvus occupied the biggest booth at the right wall between two windows, where all six of them had crowded into the half-circle seat in a strangely specific order. Zahir was seated on the far left, circling around to the right in the order of Wynter, Rosalie, Zoe, King, me, and Meredith. The uproar was immediate in several categories.

"I'm not sitting with him," King and I said at the same time, pointing at each other.

"You sit with your sub," Rosalie said, and pointed at King. "You made that suggestion first."

"Suggestion," he repeated. "That's not a rule."

"If it is, could you add that to the pamphlet?" I said.

"I hear talking," he said, rubbing his temples. "Why do I hear talking?"

"I'm hearing more rules," I said. "Why are there so many rules? The questions could go on."

"Maybe we should discontinue this dinner thing," he muttered.

I sat up. "Works for me."

"Sit down," Rosalie snapped. I sat down. "Can we just eat in peace and pretend that we didn't recruit a chicken without its damn head for our lineup?"

"If I was a chicken without a head," I said, "I'd be a pretty one."

"Maybe the new rule should be limiting your syllables," Wynter said.

"Frankly," I sighed, "you'd be doing me a service."

Diego clapped his hands together. "Hello? Dinner? Anyone remember that? I know King's show was a nice distraction and whatnot but—"

"Spare me," King muttered.

"—let's eat already. I go any longer without food, I'll start digesting my own organs."

"Solely to forget about what I just saw in the last ten minutes," Rosalie said, "I'll agree with you on that."

Ah, yes. The appetite.

In a sheer matter of seconds, food from every tray of Corvus was exchanged amongst each other, from pasta to green bowls to brownies to sodas. Some split bowls, others entire pizzas, subs shared from one to the other. King facilitated most of the exchanges, standing up to help transfer dishes or foods from one person to the other, and snapping at Diego to quit trying to grab more pizza your eyes are bigger than your damn stomach now sit the fuck down, for Christ's sake, etcetera. If I was less terrified at the entire show, it was almost sweet.

We watched while eating our own meals with mild horror and interest as Corvus single-handedly devoured the dozens of plates before them with barely a blink in between. Their conversations flew from every known topic of celebrities to conspiracies to classes to classmates and back again. Even Zoe and Wynter gave their own occasional add-ins, which were strangely welcomed amidst the chaos. I was content to sit back and watch, along with King and Kenzo as they only spoke occasionally.

"...anything to eat?"

I blinked away my daze. I turned my head only to realize King was talking, only to realize he was talking to me, despite the fact his gaze was forward. When my reply never came, he sighed, and repeated, "Didn't you get anything to eat?"

I frowned. "No."

"Why not?"

"Why does it matter? You didn't get anything."

"I did, it just happened to take a flight halfway here," he said rather pointedly. He pushed a plate of caesar salad and teriyaki chicken at me. "Eat. You'll need it."

I stared at the plate. The act itself left a burning sensation in my stomach, a thick, unpleasant feeling in my throat. I grimaced. "I don't—"

"Your turns are too wide still," King said, ignoring me in favor of returning to his conversation with Zahir.

Zahir wiped his mouth and sighed, leaning back against the booth. "It's the left. I'm always a few degrees off."

"I told you to work on that last season," King said, sipping his water.

Zahir shrugged. "I've lived and learned."

Rosalie waved him off. "Well, all my turns are shit. I can't ever speed up fast enough." She sighed. "We've got some serious work for the next few months."

"You complained about that last season," King said. "Does anyone do what I tell them?"

"No," they chorused, and he sighed.

I sighed, taking up a fork to steal a crouton. I said, without thinking, "Markers."

The conversation skidded to a halt at my voice. I stopped. They turned to me.

"What?" Rosalie asked.

I hesitated, but she didn't let up. I stole another crouton.

"It's...overestimation. No front as a marker means you can overshoot how long you have. Turn too late and the wheels burn. You fix the bike tilt instead. It'll cancel out the speed loss."

Corvus glanced among each other at that, looking somewhere between confused and satiated. Rosalie considered me the same way a cat would consider a fly on the wall. But, to everyone's surprise, it wasn't her that replied, but Kenzo.

"You," he said from the other side, his eyes zeroing in, "watch well."

"Hey, King," Diego laughed. "How come you didn't say that in the first place?"

King ignored him in favor of finally looking at me. His black eyes watched like watching a frog dissection in real time, cutting past skin and muscle to peer at the bone structure, to see which direction the blood ran. I tugged at my collar.

"It's just my guess," I hurried, holding up my hands.

Meredith smiled at me. "Good guess," she said.

Before I could reply, King stood up. "It's five to nine. Let's clean up."

I was, for once, grateful for that interruption. We gathered up all our leftovers and trash, wiping the table clean before heading out of Cafe A to the stairs.

Zoe came to my side and said, "For someone who's never raced for real before, you know quite a bit about how to."

My lip twitched. Maybe in amusement. Maybe in the mockery of it all, in the blindness of that statement, in the ridiculousness of everything around me. 

I shrugged. "Irony."

She took it without question, and we disappeared upstairs.

Exhaustion hit me like freight train going twice the speed of a bullet train the moment I entered the unit. I didn't seem to be alone as Diego and Zahir bid us only a measly goodnight before disappearing to their rooms to catch up on classwork from the day. With my own stack of papers to attend to and all the convoluted events swishing around in my skull, I headed for the room.

"Echo."

I stopped in my tracks. Either a funeral or a celebration awaited me, but nonetheless, I turned around. Like I had a choice. 

King stood a few feet from me. Black eyes zeroed in on mine like a missile target system. I rocked back and forth on my toes.

"Ah," I said in some attempt to lighten the god-awful atmosphere that gaze created. "We're on first-name basis now, I see you. That's honestly preferable, because King is just a wild name, let me tell you."

He raised a brow. "That's not what I was gonna say."

"Well. Implications are implications, Kane."

"Don't call me that."

"Old Man Kane?"

"No."

"Kane Kong."

"Well, fine, I thought that one was pretty good," I muttered. 

He seemed to take some peace in pretending I hadn't spoken and mulled onward. "Your keycard opens the Corvidae. Meet me there at ten."

"What—tonight?"

"Tomorrow," he said. 

"Why?"

King stared. "Why else?" he asked. "To race."

"Now?"

"Now," he affirmed. "And every Saturday until you actually can."

I would've been less struck by a cannonball to the stomach. My world tilted vertical for a moment. I sucked in a shuddering breath.

"What?" I managed. 

King frowned. "What?"

"I can't," I blurted.

He looked almost offended. "What do you mean you can't? There's no 'you can't'."

"I mean, I can't."

"Why not?"

"Er, sleep?"

"It's practice," he said. "What's more important?"

Jobs, was what. Mercy would have my head and then some if I turned her down. Saying no wasn't even within realm of possibility, at least not one where I got out alive afterwards. Tonight, then what? All the nights thereafter? Mercy would turn her leash into a steel chain, and throw away the key.

But racing, even if it had to be with King, was like being offered solid gold. And even if it was King, he was still a national champion, a two-time Red Diamond winner, first overall in the entire world of NCAA racing. More than gold. It was solid diamonds.

"Why?" I asked. 

King paused. He said, "Why?"

"Why spend any more time than you need on me?" I said. 

He gave me a look like I'd just asked if the sky was blue. "You're the one most out of shape," he said. "This isn't a compliment on your skillset. It's an attempt to get you where you need to be in time for the season. If anything, it's a correction. If you're not up to par with Corvus by the Diamond Prix—" He gestured towards the door. "—Corvus will move on without you."

That fatal reminder all over again. The gaps around my figure where I didn't quite fit, the screws that didn't go in all the way, the constant, looming warning that where I was would not be where I'd stay. 

A race, if you will.

"Then, Saturday," I said, and held out my hand. 

He stared. He tilted his head. Not hunting, not searching, like a predator would look at prey, but with intent, with exposure, like a scientist would look through a microscope.

He took my hand in his, and shook it once. "Saturday," he said. 

I went to bed, and dreamt of rubber smoking until it burned every last piece of earth to ash.

__________________

I.GHOST - New Message

'Merci' has sent you a message. View it here.

I.GHOST - Merci

Hey Ghostie
U busy this Saturday?
Hint hint!
There's a correct answer :)

(tysm for reading! this chapter is v long again, but i'm still figuring out where to put my feet on this story so hopefully it's not too clunky. the little star thanks you as well :))))