The bell cracked through the air like a warning, not a release. Students scattered like startled birds down the front steps of the school, faces lit with gossip, exhaustion, and post-test relief. Among them, Jasper O’Connor and Paul Peregrine walked shoulder to shoulder, carved from entirely different elements, but moving in perfect rhythm.

Jasper's arm rested lazily across Paul’s shoulders — not for show, not even for comfort. It just belonged there, like his presence settled the wild snarl coiled beneath Paul’s skin. Paul didn’t shrink from it. He leaned in slightly, as though the tension buzzing in his muscles could be siphoned off by Jasper’s calm.

“You smell that?” Jasper asked, voice low and dark as wine.

Paul sniffed the air sharply, nostrils flaring. His eyes narrowed. “Smoke,” he muttered, scowling. “Again?”

Just ahead, across the courtyard, two familiar figures had collided like they always did — Eli and Dami. The vampire’s jaw was clenched, sleeves rolled up like he actually planned to throw a punch, while Dami, taller and bulkier in wolf-form or not, cracked his knuckles with a smirk that promised blood.

“She’s not one of you,” Eli growled. “She’s not something to patrol or control.”

“She’s not something to bleed either,” Dami barked back, stepping closer, their foreheads nearly touching now. “Stay away from her. I mean it.”

Paul let out a long breath through his nose. “Third time this week.”

“Fourth,” Jasper corrected, eyes following them with bored precision. “They’re losing creativity. I liked the library brawl better. At least the books flew.”

Paul grunted. “C’mon. I don’t feel like playing babysitter.”

They turned away without another glance, steps in sync as they crossed the street, fading into the rows of trees edging the neutral strip between territories. The air shifted, warmer, more alive.

And then— Paul froze.

He tilted his head to the side, nostrils flaring again. The way his spine straightened made Jasper pause too, grip on his shoulder loosening.

“What is it?” Jasper asked, already knowing.

Paul’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, lips parting. “Her,” he whispered. His voice rasped like something primal had just woken up inside his chest. “I can smell her.”

Jasper didn’t question it. He smirked, slow and satisfied, removing his arm to let the wolf follow instinct.

Paul’s boots crunched over leaves, fast and sure, his scent-driven urgency pushing them deeper into the trees, toward the edge of the town square. Jasper followed a step behind, hands in his pockets, sharp eyes glinting with amusement and quiet reverence. Paul, for all his fury and fire, became something else entirely when she was close. Worshipful. Desperate.

And then they saw her.

She stood at the edge of the market street — school bag slung over one shoulder, sweater sleeves tugged down over her hands — facing a boy neither of them recognized. He was grinning. Too close. Leaning in. Laughing too loud. And she... she wasn’t smiling. Her shoulders were stiff. Her eyes didn’t rise to meet his.

Paul’s growl was low. Barely audible. But Jasper felt it like a drumbeat under his feet.

The boy reached for her elbow.

Paul howled.

Not loud — but sharp, feral, the kind that made birds scatter from trees and spines go rigid. His feet moved before his mind caught up. Jasper followed, no longer smirking. His eyes were red now, bleeding into hunger, his fingers flexing inside his coat.

The boy looked up.

Too late.

Paul was already on him.

Fist collided with jaw. The crack echoed. The boy flew back, crumpling into the brick wall behind him with a gasp of pain and confusion.

Jasper moved faster than thought, stepping between Paul and the kid before it turned into a mauling. His hand found the back of Paul’s neck, firm but not forceful.

“Easy,” Jasper said softly, calmly. “She’s here. She’s okay. Eyes on her, not him.”

Paul’s chest heaved, shoulders still rising like the wolf inside wasn’t ready to let go — but the touch grounded him. Always did. His eyes flicked toward her.

She was looking at them now. Shocked. Eyes wide, lips parted.

Paul’s growl died in his throat.

He blinked once.

Then took a step toward her.

Jasper held his place, eyes flicking to the boy — now scrambling upright with blood on his chin. “Walk away,” he warned, voice smooth and dead serious. “Now.”

The boy ran.

Paul didn’t notice. His attention was locked on her — drawn in by her scent, her silence, the slight tremble in her fingers as she pushed her sleeves up again.

He stopped just a few feet from her. The air buzzed with tension, thick and unspoken.

Jasper joined him, brushing a speck of blood off his cuff. “You okay?” he asked her, voice gentler now.

She nodded, slowly.

Paul’s lips parted. He looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t choose between apology or threat. His hand flexed at his side.

“I could smell you,” he murmured, voice rough and low. “From blocks away.”

Jasper glanced at Paul, then at her. “You shouldn’t be out here alone. Especially not looking that good.”

Paul shot him a look, half glare, half gratitude.

And then — because neither of them could help it — they both stepped just a little closer.

The world could burn. But right here? Right now?

She was safe.

And that was all that mattered.