Chapter 2 Nothing is Following The Script

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

A sharp electronic tone broke the silence.

I bolted upright. My first instinct was ‘danger’, and so, I threw a wild punch into the dark. My hand hit something solid and plastic, sending it crashing to the floor.

I looked around in a blind panic. Where was the valley? Where was the smoke? Where was the iron blade?

I slammed both hands against my chest, waiting for the wet, sticky heat of blood but there was nothing. My skin was unbroken and maddeningly clean.

I scrambled to my feet, the sheets beneath me smelling of lavender rather than the iron-scent of gore of battlefield smoke. I sprinted to the wardrobe mirror, desperate for the sight of my own battle-scarred reflection.

Instead, a girl stared back at me. She is seventeen and terrifyingly delicate. The silver scar from the lion soldier’s dagger was gone; my hands that were once calloused and stained by years of gripping a blade, were soft and pale.

"What..." I whispered.

Hold on… my voice didn't sound like a war-hardened general's anymore! It was lighter. It was the voice of a teenager!

“What the hell is happening?”

I looked at the uniform hanging on the back of the chair beside the bed.

It was a navy-blue blazer with gold trim. Embroidered on the breast pocket was a coat of arms: a stylized dragon, a wolf, a lion, and a phoenix circling a central tower.

The Astraea Academy for Elite Shifters.

I grabbed the smartphone that had fallen to the floor. The screen was cracked, but the digital display lit up clearly.

I looked at the date on the glowing glass. September 1st, six years ago.

I had died in the mud of a battlefield, a traitor to everyone I loved. And here I was, trapped in the skin of a girl who hadn't yet learned how to hold a blade.

“How is this possible?” I breathed.

What was this even? Reincarnation? Reborn?

“How about a second chance? Have you considered that?” My usually quiet wolf piped up. I could almost picture her rolling her eyes.

A second chance…

A palm unconsciously went on my chest. The moon has given me a second chance. I had no idea how this could be possible but… If I am here, then the war hasn't started. Kaelene hasn’t betrayed me. Liandrin is still my best friend.

I could fix it. I could save my pack. I could burn the men who would kill me, but this time, I’d be the one holding the blade. I was armed with six years of dead-man's knowledge. I had the map of every ambush, and every secret weakness in the Shifter Lord’s regime. I was going to rewrite the ending, and I would make them suffer for every second of my previous life.

This time, I wasn't the prey. This time, I would be the hunter. This time, I refused to die for them.

Five minutes ago, I had been choking on my own blood in the Valley of Ashes. Now I heard the hum of a mini-fridge and students shouting in the courtyard below.

"A little observation first." I glanced around.

The room was small. Standard freshman housing for Astraea Academy’s integration program. Concrete walls painted institutional beige… two desks, two wardrobes, two…

I stopped. My gaze locked onto the far side of the room. There were three desks, three wardrobes, and three beds.

A cold spike of adrenaline shot straight down my spine. I bolted to my feet, my duffel bag tumbling off the mattress and spilling my meager rogue belongings across the linoleum floor.

No. This is wrong.

I forced myself through the fog of memory. Room 214 had always been a double. The academy never wasted space on rogues.

The third bed was very real. It was already made, covered in a silver-threaded duvet that cost more than a rogue pack’s winter rations.

A tremor started in my jaw. Reincarnation was supposed to be a reset. Wake up at the beginning, avoid your mistakes, rewrite the ending.

But a third bed didn't belong in room 214.

"Did they change the registration?" I muttered, my fingers curling into tight fists. "Did the Shifter Lord admit more rogues this time?"

If something as trivial as room assignments had changed, then my memories weren't a blueprint anymore. They were a faulty script.

The political factions I could have easily manipulated, the exact day Kaelen would try to offer me his first deceitful smile… all of it was suddenly floating in a sea of uncertainty.

The brass doorknob jiggled.

The sound triggered my battle instincts. In less than a second, I dropped my weight, shifting into a low combat stance, my hands curling into claws as my wolf surged, begging to rip through the throat of whatever threat was coming through that frame.

The door swung wide.

A girl kicked it open with the heel of her boot, her hands occupied with balancing a pink frosted donut on top of a cardboard coffee tray. She had her platinum-silver hair tied up in a messy bun with a fountain pen stuck through it, and her uniform blazer was completely unbuttoned, revealing a vintage graphic tee underneath.

She paused in the doorway, staring at me as I crouched in the center of the room like a rabid animal ready to pounce.

She didn't reach for a weapon or drop her coffee. She just blinked her wide silvery eyes and took a massive bite of the donut.

"Uh," she said around a mouthful of pastry. "Are we doing yoga, or is there a very aggressive spider on the floor?"

I didn't break my stance. My nostrils flared, drawing in her scent. I expected the musk of a wolf, or maybe the sharp tang of a tiger shifter. Instead, the air in the small room instantly filled with the scent of crushed peppercorns, and old volcanic ash.

A dragon.

My lungs seized. The scent of volcanic ash dragged me straight back to the Valley of Ashes… to the gold-scaled dragons raining fire, flesh melting beneath armor, soldiers screaming as they burned.

Dragons… They were the enemies.

"Who are you? This is the rogue wing.”