Oryen only had two days before the Fire Hawks tryouts and team announcement. He didn't see Lazro in that time, nor did Beau pay him any visits. Whatever spare moment he had, he dedicated to faylan practice. Reyz turned up each morning, true to his word, and under his tutelage Oryen improved. He could keep his seat more often than not. He could retrieve the ball, pass to teammates. He excelled at dragging other riders off their partners, while no one else could shake him.

He couldn't score.

At least, not from a wolf's back. At night, when he was alone, on foot? Sure.

It wasn't enough, and he knew it.

Tryouts came and went. Many people came to observe the hopefuls, including Serove, watching from the stands with arms crossed and a smug tilt to the slash of his mouth. Lazro wasn't among the spectators. Busy as he was, it stung Oryen's already beleaguered pride. I'm doing this for you, he thought.

Under the baking sun and scrutiny, he performed worse than usual.

"It's just nerves," Reyz told him. "Shake it off. It's all in your head."

Maybe that was true, but Oryen found it hard to focus with Serove's sardonic laugh reaching him from the stands.

Reyz's shrill whistle called an end to the tryouts. Oryen's hopes were ground as fine as the sand and grit under his feet when he dismounted Neev's back and crowded with the rest of the werewolves to hear Reyz's verdict. Many of the spectators lingered, hovering within earshot. Oryen's heart thundered, his clothes clinging to his skin like wet paper. He considered leaving. He knew he'd failed, and he'd rather wash the shame and sweat off than hear another self-satisfied gloat from Serove.

"Right, I've got my team," Reyz said, tapping his clipboard. "No hard feelings if you didn't make it. You all put in a great effort. But no more dawdling, onto the names. Noxx, you're with Vexx. Obviously."

Oryen cringed. Noxx was in the Kappas with him. He'd been one of the werewolves to haze him on his first day, and had a crooked nose to show for it. Next to him was an equally beefy woman who could only be his sister. They high-fived one another.

"Neev, you're with Jezarri."

Oryen's mouth fell open. He hadn't noticed Jezarri during tryouts. He looked around to see a sleek, slate gray wolf perk her ears, and Neev—in human form now, her chestnut brown hair in a messy bun—stood next to her. Oryen had assumed Neev would play as a wolf, given how often she did during practice. He watched the two bump shoulders in mutual congratulation, and his own meagre hopes dwindled. If he'd made the team, he'd most likely be partnered with Neev.

"And lastly, my partner," Reyz said. "Oryen."

The people around them all fell silent. If not for their quiet, Oryen would have thought he'd misheard. Instead of joy or even relief, all anxiety thrummed through him like an out of tune guitar string. While Reyz said, "The five of you, I'll be seeing you bright and early for practice," and rattled off a brief pep talk, Oryen caught muttering from the crowd. Perks of being the Alpha's bro. That was Serove, his grumble just loud enough to be heard. A few disappointed werewolves cast him bitter looks.

As the crowd dispersed, he pushed through it and came to a stop in front of Reyz. He didn't even know what he was about to say until it left his mouth.

"You can't make me a part of the team."

"Congrat— Wha?"

"Reyz, I sucked. You can't put me on the team. It looks like flat out nepotism, and I'm going to bring the whole team's morale down." And I don't deserve to be a part of it, but that went unspoken.

Reyz froze in the midst of whatever protest he'd formed. He looked into Oryen's eyes. It was a little uncomfortable. Reyz had the kind of eyes that could be any colour, depending which way the wind blew, but they looked wolfish and yellow now. A foreign instinct overcame Oryen to look away. To make himself low. To bare his throat. With a jolt like a kick to the ribs, he realized it was an urge to show submission to someone higher in the hierarchy. He didn't cave to it though, as though if he denied the ways he was transforming he could stop it from happening at all, halt the changing phases of the moon.

"Come with me," Reyz said. He put an arm around Oryen's shoulder and guided him away from the remaining werewolves, into the arena, to the goalposts towering over their heads. He thrust a faylan stick into Oryen's hands and tossed the ball toward him. Without thinking, Oryen caught it before it hit him in the face. Reyz's eyebrows shot up, as though he'd already proved a point, but he said,

"Shoot for top goal."

"I missed it every time at tryouts—"

"Ignore the people watching, pretend I'm not even here."

Oryen didn't see the point. Tryouts were over. He could still hear some of the werewolves who'd come to watch, all gathered in the stands and talking about the results in scandalized tones of disapproval. Oryen had brought his own foul karma down on Reyz too.

"Ignore them," Reyz said. "Or better yet, get pissed! They don't know what you can do."

Something in his tone gave Oryen pause. Reyz fixed him with an unblinking, knowing look and jerked his chin toward the hex. Oryen took a few steps back from it. He sighed. Tried to relax his shoulders.

He could score on top goal. On foot, by himself, in the dead of night when no one was watching.

Unless somebody had been watching.

Reyz said, "Shoot."

Oryen closed his eyes. He pretended the sun wasn't burning the back of his neck, or the poisonous looks of a few dozen resentful werewolves. He tried to remember what the night air felt like, the way his blood sang with silver moonlight on his face. When he opened his eyes, he didn't give himself time to view the spectators in his periphery, or even Reyz right in front of him. He looked at the hexagonal hoop suspended thirty feet in the air, took it at a running leap. His stick whistled as it cracked through the air. The ball was a blur. It whizzed through the goal, just as it had in his nights of practice.

He wished he could feel exultant, but it was a measly triumph. It came too late. Only a few of the lingering spectators had even seen it, though they no longer exchanged whispers.

Reyz strode forward and clasped Oryen by the shoulders. "It's not favouritism. The game's about partnership. You're new. You need more practice, sure. But you've got talent. You've only been at this a week and you're already riding like you were born to it. More important than any of that, we work well together." He pulled away and pointed at the people watching. "I don't give a fuck what they think. Neither should you. Yeah, you're the Alpha's brother, but Lazro didn't get where he is now by chance. Maybe the greatness in him is in you too."

Oryen blanched. The words reminded him of the prick of a scalpel. He fought the swell of feeling making his chest too tight. For reasons beyond wolfish instinct, he couldn't meet Reyz's eyes.

He found his voice enough to say, "I won't let you down."