Thursday May 28th 2015

Cesare flowed into a standing position, the serenity of the meditation smothering the worries of the day. He stretched muscles that burned pleasantly from Ashtanga Yoga. Taking up his towel, he headed out of the room.

Tomorrow was the end of school and everyone was in a fever pitch to get the fuck out of prison. They said school was a place where the young came to be nurtured and cared for, taught the skills to become responsible adults, and made ready to make lives for themselves.

The truth was, school was a gauntlet where you got points for using your friends as meat shields. You pushed them into the path of the blade to save your own skin, dodged around the spear thrust to last one more day, tripped the person in front of you so the tiger got him instead of you. School was a never-ending lesson on how to use others to get ahead.

Primrose was the fullness of the paradigm, not the abnormality. Parents threw their kids into the fighting pit, betting their kid would come out stronger. Those that made it out of the meat grinder, were the mangled remains of what could have been.

With torture and soul shattering pressure, they hoped to make diamonds out of base coal. Most crumbled into dust, few were transformed into greatness. Shattered kids were wiped off the table without a tear shed, the great held up as chosen. Cesare wondered how many kids would come back for a second term, how many parents would send their flesh and blood back into the abattoir that was Primrose.

Fresh from the showers, Cesare left his uniforms on the bed for the cleaning staff. It had been a year of wonder and horror, the best and worst of a life lived on the edge. Turning away from the pressed uniforms, he slipped his old, army bag over his shoulder.

Pulling up the gray hood on his sweater, he felt right in a way hard to pin down. It was more than a preference; it was a declaration of intent. After fighting for others, he was now on his own. He’d fought, bled, planned, and cried, his life drowning in the needs of those he loved. But it always came back to him being alone. That had terrified him, that no matter where he went, he'd be alone. But as he closed the rooms door behind him, he felt the satisfaction of simplicity.

Taking the stairs to the ground floor, his hand trailed over the banister, polished wood as cold as ice under his fingers. He’d miss this place with its old stone and black shadows, the deathly quiet of the morning, whispered secrets threading shadows. Hitting the bottom floor, the ebony darkness embraced him like a lover, caressing over skin and darkening his eyes.

The massive front doors opened for him, swinging wide as if eager to see the back of him. He’d brought bloody chaos, every step savaging the kids that crossed his path. As the months had bled into each other, the brutalizing tide swelled at his heels, drowning the school in carnage. Kids had died because of him; others had been disfigured beyond recognition.

The sun hadn't conquered the land from the gentle night, shadows and illusion still held sway over the campus, turning the world into a wonderland of safety. His combat boots picked up a sheen of dew from the grass as they ghosted across the earth.

There'd been no goodbyes. He’d worked with Alexandra and Anastasia to complete this phase of their training. Wrapping up the training with a finality that cemented skill into bone. The two had worked as hard as ever, even if their eyes lingered on him when they thought he wasn’t looking.

Thursday had been the last day of school, and while he hadn’t told them he'd be leaving, it wouldn’t be a surprise. He’d avoided making plans with any of them for Friday. It was better this way; they could go back to their glittering lives and he’d fade into the gray twilight of the streets. They lived in different worlds, and pretending different was ignorant.

Cesare stopped by the old willow tree, lingering on the memories of lunches he’d shared with Elizabeth. She'd never brought up the subject of him leaving, but the sadness in her eyes had spoken loudly. To see him cast aside and returned to the place that had brutalized his body and stripped his soul of good, hurt her in a way she'd never admit. What she didn’t understand was some cages could become home. The familiar pains and terrors old friends you longed to see again.

Or maybe she did, she’d refused to get any closer to him, preferring the silent melancholy of loneliness to the warmth of his offers. The sorrow in her eyes could be because she understood too well why he longed for the familiar hell of the streets. Dreams were fine things until you tried to make them real, then they twisted and turned, cutting your hands to ribbons and flesh into bloody strips.

Turning away from the tree, he watched the night as it approached. Peeling from the darkness, it was a deeper shade of night, a depth to it that made the stygian ocean of midnight shrink back in shuddering worship. Yellow eyes glowed, wild and gleefully untamed. Reality darkened at its steps, the earth shrinking away from the weight of the wolf that prowled the night with steps that reverberated across the strings of existence.

Cesare didn’t know what it was. All that mattered was it belonged to him, and he belonged to it. It was his pack, his friend, his brother, his sister, lover, and mate. Blooming in his mind, the petals of its nature opened, settling into his consciousness with a satisfaction that thrummed through the bond. Yesterday was gone and dead, today they were together, and tomorrow would take care of itself.

Stepping to his side, the wolf was large enough to meet his eyes directly. Pleasure, expectation, and joy boomed between them. His soul resonated like a plucked string at the rightness of the moment. This was how it was supposed to be, they belonged together. Beyond choice or taste, it was simply meant to be, like taking his first steps, breathing the caustic breath of air when you exit the womb, or the blinding glare of light against newborn eyes.

Cesare's hand ran through the sable pelt of the wolf, silky fur threading between his fingers. As one, they moved away from the tree and started for the trail leading into the world. Freedom called, a hunger to see what was over the next hill, a need to run and play and call to the moon mother. The needs woven into the meat of their souls had been caged and chained in this place of stone for too long.

Pulling out the letter, Cesare fingered well-worn paper. His lawyer could never be accused of spending four syllables when one would do. The sentence had warped and twisted the landscape of his heart. ‘I’ve found your mother.’