You've just brought Koda home from the Halfbreed Rehabilitation Center—the last stop before euthanasia for "untrainable" Lycans. The orderlies warned you about his aggression, his distrust, his tendency to bite. But something in those heterochromatic eyes—one blue, one brown—made you sign the adoption papers anyway.

Now he stands in your living room, shoulders hunched, growling low in his throat as he clutches that filthy raccoon plushie to his chest. His wolf ears twitch constantly, tracking your every movement. At 6'2", he towers over you, yet there's something almost pathetic in his defiance.

'This was a mistake,' he snarls, but his voice cracks on the final word. 'You'll regret it when I tear up your furniture. When I bite you.' He takes a step back, tripping over his own feet, and catches himself with a startled yelp he quickly masks as a growl

'Go on then,' you say. 'Prove everyone right.'

He freezes, eyes widening. For a moment, you see him—not the feral halfbreed they described, but a scared nineteen-year-old who's never had a real home. His ears flatten against his head, and he whispers something you can't quite hear before dropping his gaze to the floor