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As I looked through the rain-streaked window of my second-story motel room, I realised how displaced I was from the rest of the world. A film had settled over my eyes and heart, as surely as the panes of glass had fogged up, caught in a tug-of-war between the indoor heating system and the icy slew of the alpine storm raging outside.

A fire burned in my memory, and its light was so harsh that it obscured everything but the vaguest semblance of things. I knew what I was supposed to feel today: anxious, perhaps even a little frightened, but ultimately determined to forge a new path for myself.

And yet I couldn't bring myself to care about the fact that I was embarking on my senior year in a brand new finishing school. I didn't dwell on the fact that everything I'd worked towards over the last five years had been razed to bitter ashes, all in the space of one night. And I certainly didn't fixate on the desperate thought that I only had one more year to make something of myself; one last chance to climb the social ranks and build a life worth living. The thoughts splattered against me and rolled clean away, like the raindrops on the window pane.

The mountains through my window were as starkly different from the open plains of my childhood as night and day. Gone were the wide, golden fields of Swan Hill; the omnipresent sun that had promised even my pasty skin a hint of colour.

The Great Dividing range was frigid — punishingly so. The snow-gums lining the motel's gravel driveway were stunted from years of inclement weather, their trunks striped with peeling bark. I frowned, wondering if I could weather a year up here. Werewolf finishing schools were notoriously brutal, as students had to battle for a social rank that would determine their quality of life after graduation, but Ridgeview Academy had an even bloodier reputation than most. It was where the highest ranking officials in our shadow society sent their spoilt little brats to network, which basically meant leveraging their family's influence to accrue a new generation of reverent lackeys. Where the Draco Malfoy tactic fell short, insidious mind games and displays of great violence came into play. An untimely death wasn't out of the question for anyone who enrolled.

And yet I felt nothing but tired as I considered my predicament. I'd already been stunted by what I'd endured at Swan Hill; the flashes of blood and fire that assaulted me every time I closed my eyes certainly diminished the quality of my sleep, and the restless nights had in turn affected my ability to function during the day. I'd only managed a few hours of rest before a nightmare had pulled me from the sheets this morning. The sky had been so dark that I'd been hard-pressed to make out anything beyond my reflection in the window. How long had I stared into those blood-shot eyes, searching for a hint of the girl I used to be?

More time passed; the rain slowly diminished, and the charcoal sky lightened into a bleak grey. Eventually I heard stomping and clanging from somewhere downstairs, announcing my brother's return to consciousness. Whether it was from sleep or an alcohol-induced coma, I couldn't be sure, but I guessed the latter from his intermittent groans, mumbled curses and impolite bodily noises. Supernatural hearing was definitely more of a curse than a blessing.

A glance at the clock on the bedside table told me I was running out of time. I sighed, my breath misting on the frosty glass. I reached out to wipe it away with the sleeve of my sweater, but hesitated at the last second.

"Enough brooding," I muttered, forcing myself to mimic something of my former enthusiasm for life. One trembling finger-stroke at a time, an obscene drawing came to life on the glass. I cracked a smile at the thought of a motel cleaner discovering the imprint left behind by the oily residue on my fingers.

"Time to go, Ivy," Roland bellowed from downstairs, intruding on my tiny sliver of happiness. "Hurry up, we can't afford to miss this checkout!"

No, we couldn't — we only had car change to our name. Part of that was thanks to the ridiculously expensive school fees we'd been forced to pay on such short notice, but I knew the money I'd scrounged up from selling most of my stuff should have carried us further than this. Roland had squandered my sacrifice on the only thing that gave him a rare sliver of happiness these days: booze.

"Coming," I called out, the word resulting in another patch of fog on the window pane. I rued the loss of its artistic potential as I gathered up the meagre assortment of my things, stuffing them haphazardly into my backpack.

As per Roland's request, I hurried, thundering down the stairs like my life depended on it. Over the school holidays, I'd found myself doing what my brother asked of me without question or complaint, even if it meant enabling his burgeoning alcoholism. It was easier than arguing with him, but I was kidding myself if I didn't acknowledge that my complacency was mostly spurred by guilt. We'd both been on the cusp of graduating from Swan Hill Academy last year, only to be called into the principal's office mere days before our final round of exams...

I shook my head, trying to clear it of ghostly flames. No, I couldn't blame Roland for being difficult. The only reason he'd been expelled was because of his association with me.

I was nearly at the bottom of the stairs when he shambled into view, a bottle of bourbon in each hand. "Where's your shit?" he slurred, bending down to pick up the box containing his belongings. Several awkward attempts later, he realised the bottles were compromising his grip and downed the remaining contents before carelessly tossing the trash over his shoulder.

My lip curled with a mixture of revulsion and begrudging respect. He'd only bought those yesterday. "In here," I said, lifting the straps on my shoulders for emphasis. My green backpack was worn and fraying, but I took comfort in its familiarity and the solid weight of everything I owned against my back.

"Alright," Roland muttered, shifting the box to his left arm. After several fumbled attempts at the lock, the front door swung open. "Get in the car, then."

I took one look at him, swaying on his feet, and then one look at the rundown Holden Commodore waiting for us in the parking lot. I didn't trust the tread on those tires for one second after all the skids Roland had put them through over the years. He'd never outgrown his boyish excitement at inheriting the family car — or his childish reluctance to get it serviced regularly.

Not to mention it was still raining, and Roland was already intoxicated, despite having just woken up. Our regenerative abilities burned through alcohol with utmost efficiency, making it very difficult to get drunk, let alone stay drunk through the night. I frowned, struggling to think of anything more terrifying than being a passenger as he navigated winding mountain roads in his current state.

"Let me drive," I said, holding my hand out for the keys.

His dark eyes flashed with anger. "Excuse me?"

"You're going to get us killed," I said bluntly. "Or put others on the road at risk. Let me drive the rest of the way — it's only fifteen minutes from here."

Roland's nostrils flared. "Fifteen minutes for me, maybe. You're walking."

Tossing the motel keys over his shoulder for me to deal with, he stalked towards the car, wrenching the passenger door open. My frown deepened when he pointedly deposited his box of things in my usual seat, and I scowled when he flipped me off after getting behind the wheel. Music blared the second he turned the key in the ignition. Rubber screamed as he pulled abruptly away from the curb.

I glared in the direction he'd gone, long after his burgundy car was swallowed up by the mist.

───── ☾ ─────

There was only one way to make it to campus on time for my first day of school: a straight trek through the woods.

The gnarled trees offered little protection from the rain, and without an umbrella, I fast became soaked. Wishing I'd had the foresight to change into my shifting leathers before leaving, I set about navigating the muddy trail on deplorably human feet, keeping to higher ground wherever possible.

It was a tedious process, repeatedly putting one foot in front of the other. Save for the instance I had to pick a leech off my scandalously exposed ankle, every moment proved despairingly similar to the last. It was the same feeling of cold seeping into my socks; the same sinus-searing eucalyptus that I drew in with every breath; the same acidic burn in my calves and thighs as I gradually made my way up a hill that never seemed to end. I found myself even more skeptical than usual of the amount of tinder profiles that listed hiking as a hobby. There was no way anybody found this fun.

I almost wished I'd risked a car ride with Roland. At least nose-diving off a cliff would make for an entertaining —

A branch snapped, interrupting my train of thought. I came to an abrupt stop, sniffing the air as I looked for the source of the sound. It was a useless instinct; the rain had dampened all my senses.

"Hello?" I called out.

My query was met with roaring rain, but I wasn't placated. Any sensible animal would have taken cover hours ago. Whatever was out here felt confident in its ability to take me on.

I crouched, cautiously scanning the trees, searching by touch for a rock that was heavy enough to hit somebody with. My fingers closed around a loose piece of slate. It had a tapered edge that would be perfect for driving between someone's ribs.

"Show yourself," I hissed.

Something flickered in my peripheral vision and I swung around, driving the rock towards the oncoming threat with the full momentum of my body. By the time I realised it was a kid coming at me — barely old enough to be in high school — it was too late to pull back.

There was the horrible, muted thud of stone hitting flesh, and the boy crumpled with a cry of pain. Horrified at what I'd done, I cast the rock aside and dropped to my knees, yanking up the bottom of his shirt to assess the damage. He'd spared himself impalement by dodging the point of the rock, but suffered some nasty scrapes along his ribs.

To my surprise, they'd already stopped weeping blood and fluid. I watched with wide eyes as the minor wounds closed, and the underlying swelling steadily drained away. The remaining bruises were quick to purple, yellow, and then fade away all together. A full week of human recovery had been crammed into thirty seconds.

"You're lucky," I snarled, pulling away. "I could have killed you, you know."

"And I could have killed you," the kid snarled back, pushing himself up into a sitting position. "What the hell were you thinking, trying to stab me with a rock like that?"

"What was I thinking? You tried to attack me!"

He shook his head, slick strands of dark hair falling into his violet eyes. "No, I tried to scare you. There's a difference."

"You're what, ten?" I asked, throwing my hands up in the air. "Didn't your parents ever tell you that traipsing around in the woods by yourself is a bad idea?"

"I'm twelve," he corrected me, looking miffed at my miscalculation. "And if it's such a bad idea, then why are you traipsing about the woods by yourself?"

"I..." had been outsmarted by a twelve-year-old boy. There was an awkward pause while I gathered my extremely scattered wits, during which he attempted to brush the dirt off his leather trousers. It turned to mud beneath his rain-slicked hands, making the trousers look even worse.

The boy gave up with a curse, surprisingly colourful considering his youth. "I'm going to have to go back to campus for a fresh pair."

"You mean Ridgeview Academy?" I asked, hoping that was the case.

I tried not to dwell on the fact that an entry level student could afford more than one set of shifting leathers. While all werewolves were required to donate their hides post mortem, we were an innately violent species, and our hides weren't always salvageable. The shifting leathers made from our dead were a precious commodity; only the privileged could afford clothes that could morph along with them, instead of being ripped violently to shreds.

"Duh." The boy rolled his eyes, as if I was an idiot. "I'm Ethan Cane."

"Ethan Cane?"

"The principal's son," he elaborated, picking a gum leaf off of his shoulder and flicking it away. "Well, sort of. Cane reckons my mum cheated on him, but she died giving birth to me and he couldn't find my real dad afterward, so we're stuck together now."

Well, that was a lot to take in. One fact stuck, however: I was an idiot. I hadn't even made it to campus, and I'd already screwed up in a way that could get Roland and I expelled again. It was one thing to feel disconnected from the challenge of starting from scratch at Ridgeview Academy, but jeopardising our last chance at graduating from a werewolf finishing school...

"I'm new," I admitted, mentally berating myself. "I'm... sorry for beating you up. It won't happen again."

"It's okay," Ethan reassured me. "According to my dad, that's most of what goes on in secondary school — kids beating up other kids. You just beat all the other students to the punch."

I blinked stupidly. "Was that a pun?"

"That depends on whether it was funny," he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Not particularly," I teased, finding myself smiling despite the worry eating away at my chest. I couldn't afford to be expelled again. Literally — there were only two werewolf finishing schools in Victoria, and I was no longer welcome at Swan Hill Academy. I also didn't have the means to move interstate if I messed things up at Ridgeview. And if I failed to graduate...

I shuddered at the prospect of living my entire life as a servant at the City Alpha's estate, deemed too incompetent by the community to join a district pack and too dangerous to go rogue and forge a life for myself. Failing to graduate was essentially a prison sentence. And failing to comply with that prison sentence...

I'd seen what the life of a fugitive had done to my mother.

"Then it was most definitely a pun," Ethan declared, setting off into the thick of the woods. "No respectable pun is funny."

"Where are you going?" I asked, taking a single step after him. I wasn't sure if I should take any more than that. "Why were you even out here in the first place?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?" Ethan rebutted, looking over his shoulder. Realising that I wasn't behind him, Ethan fixed me with an entirely adult look of exasperation that went at odds with the puppy fat in his cheeks. "Come on, I'm taking you back to campus. We both need to get changed, and my dad will kill us if we miss the first assembly of the year."

And so I trailed after the boy I'd almost killed, a little dumbfounded by the sudden turn of events, but not displeased. Ethan chattered like no tomorrow, and much of what he said was mystifying or naively inappropriate, but I savoured the bite of irritation that chafed with every nonsensical word that poured out of his mouth.

It was a relief, to feel a spark of anything after the last two months, during which I'd slipped further and further into apathy. I suppose it was necessary in order to survive such close quarters with Roland, I thought, looking back with a grimace. We'd been so swept up in the nauseating monotony of making ends meet, abstaining from even the smallest of joys in order to save up enough money for our tuition, that I'd forgotten that I could aspire for more.

The fire roaring in my brain dimmed, allowing the world around me to regain some colour. I noted the greens and browns of the forest for the first time, made richer by the grey backdrop of the sky. The fear and determination I'd been standing vigil for all night finally started trickling in.

Ridgeview Academy was our last shot at freedom — not only from a life of slavery, but from each other.

I had to make it count.