A sudden jolt pulled me back to consciousness, the chill of my sheets grounding me in the unfamiliar surroundings of my small, cluttered apartment. My heart raced as the fog in my mind struggled to clear. What on earth had happened? Was that man from last night just a figment of some fevered dream?

The lingering, unpleasant taste in my mouth and the faint crust of vomit on the shirt I’d abandoned told a different story. The reality of last night was harsh and raw, and I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I reached out blindly for my phone on the nightstand, only to be greeted by the taunting glow of the red battery icon. Groaning in frustration, I hunted down my charger and wrestled it into the socket, fingers fumbling against the cold plastic. When the screen finally lit up, the sharp brightness made me squint and recoil, the time flashing 6:45 a.m.

Already morning? How had the hours slipped by so fast, leaving me adrift in a haze of confusion and embarrassment?

Dragging myself from bed, I stumbled toward the kitchen, the events of the previous evening replaying like a fragmented puzzle in my mind. First, the walk—all those quiet, darkened streets I’d wandered with nothing but the moon for company. Then the man—the striking, enigmatic figure whose shoes I’d ruined with my sudden sickness. After that, the memory blurred, but I sensed Isaac’s presence, like some guardian angel appearing from nowhere to haul me home. Did he know the man? Could there be some connection I hadn’t yet uncovered?

My thoughts settled briefly on Lenna, and with a sense of obligation, I pulled on a robe and headed to her door. Her wide smile greeted me, utterly unaffected by any signs of a hangover. I marveled at her resilience, her carefree air contrasting sharply with my own shaky nerves.

“I’m good,” she chirped, brushing off my concerns. “Isaac and I were just having a little fun.”

“Sounds like fun,” I murmured, forcing a weak laugh. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she launched into an unexpected tangent.

“Wait until you’ve been with a wer—” she began, then abruptly halted.

“With a what?” I asked, brow furrowing.

“Oh, a football player,” Lenna grinned slyly. “They’ve got stamina for days. Trust me.” She laughed, then slipped back into her apartment, leaving me to shake my head and retreat to my own space.

The shower’s hot water felt like a balm to my raw nerves, cascading down my back as I tried to wash away the night’s shame. The man’s face haunted me, his intense gaze and unsettling aura a stark contrast to his striking beauty. I vowed silently never to cross paths with him again. My cheeks flushed with the memory of my clumsy, drunken state, and I hastened to finish, eager to banish all traces of the evening from my mind.

Later, the shrill ring of the kettle pierced the quiet, and I scrambled to silence it, knowing I couldn’t endure that grating sound any longer. Sitting with a warm cup of green tea, I tried to soothe the queasy remnants lodged in my throat, but the sour taste lingered stubbornly.

The clock mocked me—8:47 a.m. I’d lost track of time, and my 9:15 class was looming. I cursed my choice of an early elective, slipping into sweatpants for the walk to campus, Lenna’s words echoing that everything was close enough to walk. The crisp morning air bit at my skin, sharpening my senses as I navigated the bustling paths toward the university.

Inside, the flood of students disoriented me, a weaving sea of unfamiliar faces and shifting sounds. I passed door after door, the numbers blurring until I found 103A. Settling near the front, I clung to the familiarity of my usual teacher’s pet habit, seeking some semblance of control in the chaos.

Suddenly, the quiet of an almost empty room shattered as someone slid into the seat beside me. Startled, I turned to see a girl with striking features and sharp eyes, her gaze quickly flicking from my face downward to the pendant resting against my collarbone.

“Hi, I’m Maya,” she said, voice low and curious.

I returned her smile, though uncertainty twisted in my chest. “Addy.”

Maya’s brow creased as she studied me. “Are you one of them?” she whispered, the question hanging heavy between us.

Confused, I blinked. “One of what?”

“Never mind,” she muttered, gathering her things and retreating to the back of the room.

That moment stirred a surge of emotions—shame, isolation, unease. The sting of being called human last night resurfaced sharply. I swallowed hard and told myself it was just this town’s way with outsiders, a strange, insular place wary of newcomers.

Flipping open my laptop, I pulled up the syllabus and noted that Professor Allan, the university’s youngest instructor, would be leading the class. As students trickled in, chatter filled the room until an authoritative silence fell when he entered. There was something magnetic about him, an unspoken command that seemed to bend the atmosphere.

When Professor Allan turned to face us, my breath hitched—the man from last night stood before me, his presence now impossible to ignore. Panic rooted me to my seat as I wished desperately for invisibility.

Why had I chosen to sit so close to the front?

Steeling myself, I rose, legs trembling, and approached him. He caught sight of me immediately, his piercing eyes locking onto mine with a shock mirrored in my own expression. As I opened my mouth to apologize quietly, he cut me off with a sharp remark.

“Glad to see you dressed appropriately today.”

My face flushed crimson as I stammered an apology, the embarrassment of last night’s scant attire crashing over me anew. The alcohol’s warmth had been a deceptive cloak, now replaced by suffocating shame.

“I was at a party... I just needed some fresh air. I didn’t know where I was going,” I babbled, desperate to explain. A raised hand silenced me.

“It’s time for class, Miss Hayes.”

Like a robot, I sank back into my chair, mind spinning. How did he know my name? I’d never mentioned it the night before, but then, much of that evening remained a blurred, fragmented memory. My attention drifted from the lecture, mesmerized by the subtle movements of his lips, the way our eyes occasionally met and the world seemed to freeze.

The final part of the lecture pierced through my haze—a slide declaring our first assignment: a 1500-word essay on Lycanthrope Local History, due September 14th. My skin prickled with unease. Lycanthropes? That wasn’t in the syllabus.

I skimmed the document again as Professor Allan detailed the specifics, none of which mentioned mythical creatures, yet here it was front and center in our coursework.

When class was dismissed, I gathered courage and approached him once more.

“Professor?” I ventured, noting a flicker of irritation on his face.

“Call me Klayton,” he interrupted, his tone clipped.

Unease twisted in my belly. “I’m sorry about last night, and I have a question about the assignment.” His silence was an invitation to continue as he packed up. “The syllabus doesn’t include anything about mythical creatures, so why does this topic relate to ancient history?”

Klayton’s stride toward me halted abruptly. His expression shifted, a hard edge clouding his features as he seemed to wrestle with himself. Then, with a voice stripped of softness, he responded, “Werewolves have much more to do with history than you think. Just complete the assignment and don’t question me again.”

He turned to leave, but paused, hand on the door. His gaze locked onto mine with a chilling earnestness. “Miss Hayes, if I were you, I wouldn’t get drunk like that again.”

His words hung in the air—soft in appearance, but laced with steel beneath the surface.

Left alone in the silent room, I remained rooted, my mind racing a thousand miles per hour. The next wave of students filing in startled me back to reality. Grabbing my belongings, I stepped out into the hallway, weighed down by a thousand questions and the undeniable sense that my life at Myersdale University was about to change in ways I couldn’t yet imagine.