The gym smelled of hairspray, floor wax, and ambition—a combination that used to be my favorite perfume. Now, it just made my stomach turn.

  My sneakers squeaked on the polished court as Tessa bounced on her toes beside me, talking at a speed I couldn’t track. Her cheer uniform matched mine—white and pink, matching the logo colors. She gestured wildly, hands cutting through air thick with the scent of thirty teenagers pretending they cared about proper stunting technique.

  “—and did you see their stupid pyramid? Like, who even does a four-high anymore? It’s not 2085.”

  I nodded.

  Something ugly coiled in my gut. A low thrum started under my skin, an engine begging to redline. My jaw ached with the need to bite something. This gym was a cage—all bright lights and squeaking sneakers—and every nerve ending screamed at me to bolt.

  But I stayed put like a good dog.

  “Nikki?” Tessa tilted her head, brown eyes narrowing. “You good?”

  “Yeah.” The word came out flat.

  She frowned. Before she could push, Coach Johson’s whistle split the air. Three sharp blasts that didn’t just pierce my ears—they rang in my teeth. I winced, clamping my jaw against the ache. Just another fun bonus in the werewolf starter pack.

  “Line up! We’re running the routine for Regionals, and it better be perfect or we’re doing it until dinner!”

  The squad shuffled into formation. I went through the motions, muscle memory taking over where my brain refused to engage. Arms up, spin, and smile. Dear God… the smile was the hardest part. Tessa fell into step beside me, still chattering.

  “The Westside Valkyries think they’ve got it locked. Did you see their captain at the last meet? Total diva. Acted like winning Districts meant she’d already conquered the world.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “It’s not enough for them to win.” Tessa’s voice took on that competitive, sharp edge I knew so well. “You have to make sure the other team stays down for good. No mercy.”

  My hands went numb.

  The routine called for a basket toss. Cody and two other guys locked their hands together, waiting for me to step up. I stared at their interlaced fingers like they were a trap.

  Brick’s face flashed behind my eyes. The panic on his face when the tunnel collapsed on him.

  “Nikki!” Johnson’s voice snapped across the gym. “You planning to join us today, or should we pencil you in for next week?”

  My feet moved before my brain caught up. I stepped into the basket, let them toss me up into air that tasted like sweat and desperation. Spun. Landed.

  Fumbled.

  My ankle twisted wrong on the dismount, and I crashed onto the mat, shoulder-first. Pain flared hot and immediate, and the wolf surged forward, ready to heal me, ready to change me—

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  No.

  I bit down on my tongue until copper flooded my mouth and shoved the transformation back down into whatever dark hole it lived in. Breathed through my nose. Counted to five.

  “You okay?” Cody dropped to one knee beside me, his eyebrows pinching together in that way that meant he was about to start asking questions I couldn’t answer. His hand hovered near my arm but didn’t touch.

  Smart boy.

  “Twisted it. I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “He was right. I could see it in his eyes—not just worry, but questions building behind that relaxed exterior. He was seeing too much. Way too much.

  I stood, testing the ankle. Already healing. Already knitting itself back together with unnatural speed.

  “I’m fine,” I repeated.

  Coach Johnson looked unconvinced but waved me off. “Take five. Get some water. Tessa, run it again from the top—”

  I put on my best “damsel in distress” limp and headed for the bleachers. The performance deserved a B+, at least. Had to sell the fragility, even when my ankle was already buzzing as it knit itself back together. The mirror showed me the costume: Nikki Nova, Grade A cheerleader, socialite, girl-most-likely-to-succeed. The poster child for a life that wasn’t mine anymore. Total fraud.

  The uniform fit perfectly. White hair, short, makeup flawless. The smile was a mask I’d plastered on. Through the sheer sleeve, I could see the mark on my forearm—still red, still angry, glowing faintly as I passed the light.

  The wolf stared back at me through my own eyes.

  “Hey.”

  I jumped. Tessa had followed me, water bottle in hand.

  “You sure you’re okay? You’ve been weird for days.”

  “Just tired.”

  “Nikki.” She moved closer, voice dropping low. “I’m your best friend. I know when you’re lying.”

  Her sincerity landed like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs. I wanted to tell her everything. The words clawed at the back of my throat, but I swallowed them down. Lying to that face felt like grinding glass behind my ribs.

  “It’s nothing,” I said. “Family stuff.”

  Not entirely untrue. The words felt thick and wrong in my mouth, like I’d just swallowed a spoonful of dust. Family stuff. My uncle was dead, murdered by Pandora Corp for trying to expose them. For trying to stop what they’d… done to me.

  “You can talk to me. You know that, right?”

  I met her eyes. Saw the earnest concern there, the offered friendship, the lifeline back to normal.

  If I told her the truth, she’d think I was insane. Or worse, she’d believe me. And the second she believed me, she’d be in danger. Anyone close to me was a target now.

  “I know,” I lied. Again. “Promise. I’m just stressed about Regionals.”

  The excuse was paper-thin, but Tessa took it. She squeezed my hand—warm, human, alive—and jogged back to the formation.

  I watched her go. Watched Cody hit his mark, watched the routine continue without me. My reflection mocked me from the mirror: girl-shaped container for something monstrous.

  The gym’s glowing buzz filled my skull. I could hear Coach Johnson’s heartbeat from twenty feet away. Could smell the synthetic fibers in my uniform, the cleaning solution they used on the mats, the lingering scent of the sewer still clinging to my skin beneath the body spray.

  A wave of nausea washed over me, real and acidic. It wasn’t the ankle, it was this place. This bright, loud, normal place. A costume I was wearing that didn’t fit anymore. I could stand here forever and still just be a ghost haunting the cheer squad.

  But I stayed anyway.

  Because running meant Pandora winning. Meant letting the fear win. Meant giving up every piece of who I’d been before one genetically engineered wolf had torn my life apart.

  So, I plastered the smile back on, shook out my ankle, and walked back onto the court.

  Human. Normal. Fine.

  Three more lies before lunch.