Kieran’s voice was calm, almost amused, but his eyes held the storm. "Whatever you have to say better be important, Lorraine Anderson, or I will rip out your tongue myself."
I didn’t flinch. I was too tired. Too hollow.
"It is important," I said, reaching slowly into my pocket. I pulled out the bloodied strip of fabric, now dried and stiff in my hand. "This was in her hand. The girl they murdered."
Kieran’s gaze dropped to the fabric, but he didn’t reach for it yet. He tilted his head, his expression unreadable.
"She was a feral and hanging in the cafeteria like a slaughtered animal," I continued. "Her body broken, chest cracked open like soone wanted to make a show out of it. But she fought back. She died clutching this."
Still, he didn’t move. His eyes returned to mine.
"And you brought this to .... why?"
"Because I saw who did it. Or, at least, I saw him leave. He moved too fast for to get a proper look, but I saw his uniform. It had a red collar. That ans Lycan."
Kieran raised an eyebrow. "You’re sure?"
"I know what I saw. I might be a feral, but I’m not blind."
He stared at the fabric in my hand again, but his voice remained skeptical. "You expect to believe that a Lycan, one of my people, murdered a feral girl in the middle of the academy and just ran off like a coward?"
"I don’t expect you to believe anything," I replied. "I’m asking for your help."
He narrowed his eyes. "Help with what exactly?"
"You have heightened senses," I said. "Your kind can pick out scents through layers of lies and blood. I want you to sll this. Find out who it belongs to. That piece of fabric, whoever wore that uniform, he’s the one who did it."
Kieran was silent
A long, dangerous silence.
Then he took a step forward, finally taking the strip of cloth from my hand. He turned it over between his fingers, examining the blood-soaked threads with mild interest.
But then he looked at again, slower this ti, and said sothing that made my stomach tighten.
"And how do you know the Lycan who did this... wasn’t ?"
The question hung between us like a dagger.
My heart beat once. Twice.
And then I t his gaze with steady eyes.
"Because you wouldn’t go that low," I said quietly. "You are not the type to hide when you kill. You don’t need to."
A flicker of surprise passed over his face. Just for a second. Then it vanished, replaced by the faintest curl of a smile.
"Hmm," he murmured, eyes gleaming with sothing unreadable. "You really are a fascinating little feral."
He held the fabric up to his nose, inhaled deeply, then closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, sothing had shifted in his expression, subtle, but I noticed.
"Well?" I asked.
Kieran didn’t answer imdiately. He folded the cloth carefully and slid it into the inside pocket of his uniform coat.
"I’ll find out who it belongs to," he said, voice cool. "But you wont be ready for what might co next."
I stepped closer. "I don’t care. I need to know who did this."
He gave a single, quiet laugh. "You’re bold, I’ll give you that. Bold and reckless."
"I’m still alive, aren’t I?"
"For now," he said, already turning away. "Stay quiet. Tell no one else about this. I’ll co to you when I have answers."
I thought that was it. That he’d taken the fabric and vanished like smoke, mysterious, untouchable, infuriating. But barely three steps away, he paused.
Without turning back, he said, "This is a pointless hunt, you know."
I blinked. "What?"
Kieran slowly turned, his expression sharp, cold. "You’re chasing ghosts, Lorraine. No one cares that a feral died. Least of all the academy. If she’s dead, it’s her fault, for being weak. That’s how it’s always been."
My fists clenched at my sides. "That’s not true."
He arched an eyebrow. "Isn’t it? Tell then, if we do find out who killed her, what exactly will your weak little self do about it? Take them on? Fight them? Expose them?" His voice dipped into sothing crueler. "They’ll bury you before you even get the chance."
"I’ll speak up," I said, my voice sharp and rising. "That’s the first step. That’s what nobody’s doing. That’s why they keep killing us. Because we’re quiet. Because we let them."
Kieran stared at like I’d just sprouted a second head.
"I’m not going to sit back and watch people like drop dead like flies," I pressed on. "They expect us to be quiet. Afraid. But we need to start protesting. We need to start speaking up—"
He scoffed, the sound low and dangerous. "You speak like a drear."
"No, I speak like soone who’s tired of being treated like dirt."
His eyes darkened. "Things won’t change, Lorraine. This system, this hierarchy, it’s been in place for centuries. Ferals have always been the bottom of the food chain. You’re not going to rewrite the entire werewolf world with a rally cry."
"Maybe not overnight," I said, fire building in my chest. "But sobody has to start. Soone has to be first."
Kieran studied for a long mont. Sothing flickered in his eyes, pity, maybe. Or interest. Or both.
And then he gave aa short, humorless laugh. "Ferals are weaklings. Cowards. They don’t even try to fight for themselves. That’s the truth."
"They’re scared."
"Exactly. Fear is weakness."
I stepped closer, refusing to look away. "Then I’ll prove to you that they can be more."
He tilted his head.
"You want my help?" he asked.
I nodded. "Yes."
"Fine," he said. "You have one day."
I blinked. "What?"
"One day," he repeated. "To show that your precious ferals can co together. Speak with one voice. Protest. Demand justice." His smile turned sharp. "If you can actually get those cowards to stand with you, then maybe, maybe, I’ll take this hunt seriously."
"And if I don’t?"
"Then you’re wasting both our ti. And I’ll burn that fabric myself."
His words cut deep, but I didn’t back down.
"One day," I repeated, more to myself than him. "That’s all I need."
He gave a final nod, then turned away, leaving once again, this ti with the impossible burning in my chest and a single, suffocating truth:
If I failed to unite the ferals... then there would be no hope for us, our fate would be sealed, and we’ll all just keep dropping dead one by one.
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