I picked at the food on my tray—some kind of warm, meat-scented mash that looked like oatmeal but felt... denser. Like it had weight beyond just calories.

  “Eat,” Cal said through a mouthful. “Tastes better than it looks, promise. Weird, right? It’s like my body wants this.”

  Kit sat across from us, eyes flicking around the room like he was clocking exits. He had that “quiet panic” look he got during thunderstorms back home. Now it just seemed to be his default setting.

  “First bite’s the worst,” he muttered. “Then it kind of grows on you.”

  I tried a spoonful. Warm. Savory. Almost smoky. And annoyingly… good. I hated that it tasted right. Like my body knew something my brain hadn’t signed off on.

  Then the cafeteria doors hissed open.

  I didn’t look up at first. Just caught a flicker of white in the corner of my eye.

  Wings.

  Something in me snapped to attention.

  I looked—and saw her.

  Sam.

  She moved with a kind of weightless grace, each step more like a placement than a motion. Her long white wings arched behind her like a cloak of feathers, catching the overhead light in soft, glowing threads. She’d pulled her hair back into a loose braid, and her uniform looked a little too big on her, like it hadn’t caught up with her new frame.

  My pulse ticked up before I could stop it.

  She scanned the room—and that’s when something strange happened.

  I inhaled.

  Not on purpose. Not a deep sniff or anything. Just… a breath. And with it came a flood of information. Crisp, cool. Clean. Like fresh wind through trees. There was something electric under it, too—light and fluttering, just beneath the surface.

  I blinked. My head tilted slightly without thinking.

  I was tracking her.

  Like a scent trail. Like I could find her in a crowd without even seeing her.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  I looked away fast, clenching my jaw. What the hell was that?

  “Leo?” Cal leaned toward me. “You good?”

  I nodded, swallowing dry air. “Yeah. Just... nerves.”

  Kit watched me carefully but said nothing.

  Sam spotted me.

  And smiled.

  My heart did something complicated.

  She waved as she walked over, wings tucking close to her back with practiced ease. There was something careful in the way she moved. Like she didn’t quite trust her feet to belong to her yet—but she still made it look effortless.

  “Hey,” she said, sliding into the seat beside me. “Guess we both survived.”

  I tried to smile. “Barely.”

  She looked at me properly then—really looked. Her eyes widened just a bit, flicking from my ears to my claws to my tail.

  “Whoa. You’re… different.”

  I gave a dry laugh. “Yeah. You too.”

  She tilted her head, smiling. “Wings kind of make it obvious, huh?”

  “You look…” I hesitated. The words came out softer than I meant. “...beautiful.”

  Her cheeks went pink, and she looked down at her tray. “Thanks,” she said quietly. “You’re not so bad yourself. Very... foxy.”

  I groaned. “No. No puns.”

  Cal snorted into his protein mush. “Too late. You're stuck with pun-girl now.”

  Sam grinned, then glanced at me again—slightly more cautious now. “You doing okay?”

  I hesitated.

  That scent still clung faintly in the air. That flicker of motion that felt like it should be chased.

  Not her. The part of her that wasn’t her anymore. The part they gave her.

  “I’m adjusting,” I said finally. “Still figuring out which thoughts are mine.”

  She nodded like she understood more than I expected. “Same.”

  Her eyes lingered on my claws for a second. Then she looked away.

  We were all trying not to stare at each other.

  Because none of us looked like who we used to be.

  After we sat down, Sam picked at her food with small, careful motions. Every so often, a feather would twitch on instinct, like her wings had their own nervous system. The light caught on them in little flickers—white and silver, soft and delicate in a way that made my stomach knot.

  Not the bad kind of knot. Not exactly.

  More like… the kind you get when your mouth waters and you don’t know why.

  I forced myself to take another bite of food. Focus. Chew. Swallow. Be normal.

  But the sound of her heartbeat—fast, fluttering—felt louder than it should’ve been. Too quick. Too light. My ears twitched toward it, and I caught myself leaning slightly in her direction.

  I jerked back.

  No. No no no. NO!

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, noticing the shift in my posture.

  “Nothing.” I shoved a piece of protein into my mouth I didn’t even taste. “Just… still getting used to the ears.”

  Kit’s eyes snapped to mine. He knew that tone.

  He watched me like someone staring at a bomb with a loose wire.

  And then Sam laughed at something Cal said—head tilting, wings shifting with the motion.

  And the scent hit me again. Crisp. Electric. Fragile.

  I blinked hard. Dug my claws into the edge of the table under my tray. Just a second too late.

  Because my body moved before my mind caught up.

  I turned toward her, teeth bared—not snarling, not aggressive, just… curious.

  Hungry.

  Sam's laugh died instantly.

  Her feathers puffed outward in a sharp, defensive ripple. She flinched back, eyes wide. Her breath hitched like she’d forgotten how lungs worked.

  I froze.

  Realization slammed into me like a wall.

  I had leaned in.

  Like I was going to bite her.

  “Leo!” Kit’s voice cut through the fog, sharp and grounding. His hand clamped onto my wrist under the table—not hard, but firm.

  That touch—his scent, his presence—snapped something back into place. Familiar. Grounded. Kin.

  I reeled back in my seat, dragging in air like I’d been underwater. My tail thrashed once behind me, knocking into Cal’s bench.

  “I— Sam, I didn’t mean to—”

  She was already pulling her wings tighter to her sides, pressing her back into the seat. Her pupils had gone huge. Animal fear.

  “No, it’s okay,” she said quickly, too quickly. “It’s not— I know you didn’t mean it. You’re still adjusting.”

  Her voice was calm, but her scent wasn’t. She was scared.

  Of me.

  My throat clenched.

  Cal had gone quiet. Kit hadn’t let go of my wrist.

  I looked down at my tray, claws still dug in deep.

  “I need some air,” I muttered, and stood up before anyone could say anything else. My chair scraped loudly across the floor.

  I walked fast, then faster, the moment I cleared the cafeteria doors.

  I didn’t stop until the hallway was empty and cold and quiet.

  And then I pressed my forehead against the wall and tried not to growl.