Ashmoor Unseen Wolf

Diana's POV

I hated mornings.

Not because I was lazy, but because of my dad's relentless military workouts.

His voice came like a drill command through my door, but I pretended to still be asleep.

"Diana, stand up," he commanded, yanking the blanket off me.

"Good morning, Dad," I mumbled, in a half-hearted attempt to look like I'd been sleeping.

"What are the rules, young lady?"

"Always wake up before dawn, be tougher than life itself, always be on alert…" I started to recite, but he cut me off.

"You've already broken two rules. Four times your regular workout after school," he snapped, then marched off, slamming the door behind him.

I sighed, wondering why he was so strict with Mum and me.

Maybe all the soldiers were like that, or perhaps this was his way of reminding me that life doesn't give handouts.

Or even.

It was because he had too much debt to pay off since my grandfather died, leaving behind a mountain of debt for dad, and to make matters worse, he was an only son.

I didn't want to go to school.

School meant facing Stephanie again. But saying that out loud would only earn me a lecture on "mental resilience."

So, I took a quick bath, tied my curly blonde hair into a messy bun, and stared at my reflection:

Luminous green eyes, hoodie off one shoulder, jeans frayed but clean. My backpack was heavy with overdue textbooks.

I descended the stairs to the smell of toast and the soft hum of my mom's radio. My dad had already left for work, and my mom gave me a quick kiss on the forehead, eyes full of concern that she never voiced aloud.

"Eat quickly. I'll drop you off." She said, pulling a chair out for me.

"No, Mum. I'll ride my bicycle."

"You're sure you don't want me to drop you off?" my mum asked.

"I'm good," I lied with a practiced smile. "Riding clears my head."

The car was ancient, it was older than me, with the loud embarrassing 'Vroom! Vroom!' a roar that seemed to announce its presence to the world. The constant smoke clouds made me cringe.

Being seen in this car was basically a social death wish.

Outside, the fog clung to the streets. I wrapped my hood around my face and set off to school, the cool air rushing past me.

For no reason I could pinpoint, a spark of happiness ignited within me, casting a warm glow over the gray morning.

Halfway to school, the traffic suddenly grounded to a halt.

Already running late, I considered abandoning my bicycle and walking, but then I saw the cause of the jam: a sleek convoy of armored cars inching through the intersection, a stark contrast to my rusty old bicycle.

I wasn't usually curious, I kept to myself. But today was different. Something about the convoy sparked my curiosity.

Before I knew it, I'd pushed my way to the front of the jam, my eyes fixed on the sleek vehicles. Wondering Who was inside. The respectful bows from the onlookers only fueled my curiosity.

"That must be the president," I mumbled, my heart racing unnaturally.

Off

The red light stayed frozen. Traffic officers waved and barked orders.

One car stood out, sleeker, shinier, commanding. Its tinted window rolled down.

Revealing the face of a breathtakingly handsome guy. A boy, maybe in his early twenties, leaned forward.

Messy brown hair fell into ocean-deep blue eyes. His pink lips curled into a smile that hit me like a lightning strike.

His eyes met mine and for a heartbeat, everything slowed.

The roar of engines dulled. The gray sky behind him seemed to shimmer, unreal. I could almost hear... music? No. Just the thud of my racing heart.

I dismissed the presidential theory: This guy was too young, too gorgeous. The presidents I'd seen in the papers were older, more dignified. Maybe he was the president's son.

There was an inexplicable connection between us, but before I could grasp it, I inched closer on my bicycle, flashing a shy smile.

His gaze met mine and just then his smile faded into a disgusted look.

"Hey, freak," he called through the open window. "You missed your way or something?"

His words cut deep. I clenched my jaw, realizing too late that I'd overplayed my hand.

Before I could backpedal, he ordered the driver to roll down the tinted window, and he drenched me with water from his bottle.

My hoodie, jeans, and books were soaked. The sound of his laughter still echoed as the convoy sped off, tires screeching in unison.

I stood there, dripping, my cheeks burning with humiliation, until a traffic officer finally waved me off the road.

By the time I reached school, the front of my hoodie had dried into a crusty mess.

I kept my head down as I walked past groups of students, each little pocket of conversation pausing just long enough for me to feel it.

"Look, it's Swamp Queen!"

Stephenie the bully cooed as I walked closer to her. She and her girls already had their phones out. Their laughter sliced deeper than any insult.

"Stephenie, stop!" I begged, raising my arm to shield my face from the camera view of my drenched, humiliated self.

But Stephenie was relentless. She yanked my arm down, exposing my face to the camera.

The morning's humiliation came flooding back, the arrogant boy, the drenched clothes, and now this. Tears I'd been holding back broke free, streaming down my face.

"Oh baby, don't cry. We're just getting started," Dora said with faux sympathy. She's one of the notorious bad girls in her crew.

Stephanie walked closer, smirked and slapped my books out of my arms. Pages flew like dead leaves across the school compound.

As I knelt to gather them, a page from my fantasy novel fluttered loose, a dog-eared copy of The Moonborn Prophecy, my favorite. A silver wolf glowed on the cover.

"You still read that crap?" One of the girls snorted.

"Witches and wolves aren't real," Stephenie sneered. "Grow up already."

I didn't reply. I just picked up my book, dusted it off, got into my bicycle and rode off, finally got to my class.

The rest of the day crawled by, his face replaying in my mind, how fast a smile could turn into cruelty.

When the final bell rang, I trudged home, relieved to escape the monotony.

When I got home, the silence in the house felt different, thicker.

My mum sat on the couch, hands clasped in her lap like she was preparing for battle.

"Mum? What's wrong?"

She looked up, hesitant. "Your dad got transferred. We're moving."

I blinked. "Where?"

"San Francisco. In two weeks."

The floor shifted beneath me. Again? Another city. Another school. Another battle.

"It's a fresh start," she whispered.

I nodded slowly. Maybe it was. We have moved more than fifteen times due to my dad's military work, this time maybe things will be different.

In San Francisco, no one will know me as "Swamp Queen." Maybe I have finally found space to breathe.

"We'll pack tonight. If we delay, we might lose the apartment they're giving us," she added.

"Okay," I said, this time genuinely smiling.

At this point my joy knew no bounds, I wasn't familiar with San Francisco but at least I'll be free from Stephanie and her crew.

And maybe that boy in the convoy was just the final push I needed to stop believing in fairy tales.

The moonlight cast a silver glow over my room as I packed, the soft light illuminating my belongings.

The Moonborn Prophecy was the final piece I tucked into my suitcase.

For someone who didn't believe in magic, I still found myself whispering to the silver moon on the cover.

"Please… let something change."

But my thoughts betrayed the plea, drifting to the enigmatic stranger with the mesmerizing gaze.

Why did his eyes… look less like a boy, and more like a god?