Page 8 of Missing

"Absolutely," I shot back, though we both knew better. My gaze drifted to the collection of notes spread out before him, handwritten scribbles and dog-eared pages. "What’s got you all buried in books anyway?"

"Research," he replied, finally glancing up from the tome. "Fated mates, signs and signals."

My ears perked up, and I leaned forward, the tight uniform pulling across my back. "Oh? Feel a tug on your heartstrings, huh? Maybe she's already here... lurking around, waiting to jump us." The thought sent a shiver of excitement down my spine.

"Nothing like that. Just prepping," Orlando said, his green eyes flickering with an analytical gleam. "Knowledge is a weapon, Dante."

"Right, so hit me—what does it say?" I nudged, curiosity worming its way into my tone.

His fingers drummed on the desk as he recited, "It varies. Some are magnetically pulled together, others recognise their mate by scent alone, some connect after...intimacy." He trailed off, giving me a pointed look.

"Intimacy, huh?" I let out a low, suggestive chuckle, the idea sending a different kind of itch skittering under my skin.

"Being a wolf, you've got it easy." Orlando flipped a page nonchalantly. "Shifted, your wolf will just know."

"Great," I said, a grin splitting my face. "Guess I'll start doing laps around campus in fur." The image of roaming the halls as my wolf self, sniffing out our destiny, was oddly appealing.

Orlando laughed, a rare sound that seemed to fill the room with warmth. "Sure, pup. And when security chases you down?"

"Then it'll be the best damn run of my life." I flashed him a feral grin, feeling the restless energy coiling within, ready to spring free.

"Alright, enough daydreaming about our mystical hot mate and about prowling the halls," Orlando said, standing and stretching his lean frame. "Let's get to breakfast before you chew on my textbooks.”

Chapter 8

Harper Hillstrom

Itrailed behind Melody, her petite frame weaving effortlessly through the maze of tables and throngs of students who looked like they'd pranced out of a supernatural Vogue edition.

"Here," Melody said, nodding towards an ornate table that seemed to shimmer with an inner light. "Top-level students only. You’ll fit right in."

"Right," I scoffed under my breath, tugging at my shirt. Top level? More like a top circus act with the way my life's been turned upside down.

She handed me a menu that felt oddly warm to the touch. "Just tick off what you want, then set it down. It’ll do the rest."

"Sounds easy enough," I muttered, sceptically eyeing the parchment-like sheet. My fingers danced hesitantly before marking an iced coffee and an apple. Basic. Safe. I wasn't in the mood for any breakfast that could potentially sprout wings or sing opera.

"Go on," she urged, her voice laced with a soft excitement.

I placed the menu down, half-expecting it to burst into flames. Instead, it shimmered, lines blurring and colours swirling, and then there it was – an iced coffee that looked like it had been crafted by artisanal baristas and an apple so red it could've been plucked from some enchanted forest.

"Shit," I breathed out, part awe, part fear wrestling within me. “Could have used one of these party tricks at home"

"Magic isn't a trick here," Melody corrected with a gentle smile, watching me with eyes that held stories of their own. "It’s as real as it gets."

I wrapped my fingers around the cold glass, the chill grounding me as I took a tentative sip. The coffee was a bittersweet cascade, perfect to the last drop. I bit into the apple; its crispness snapped like secrets breaking.

"Welcome to Oakland Harbour," she said, toasting me with an imaginary glass. "Where the impossible is just another Tuesday."

"Or a really trippy dream," I added, still not quite believing my reality. "Thanks, Melody. For... well, everything."

"Anytime, Harper," she replied, her kindness wrapping around me like a warm blanket.

The clatter and murmur of the dining hall dwindled to a low drone as they approached, their heels clicking on the polished floor like the ticking of a bomb about to explode. The leader, the embodiment of every teen drama queen bee, with her hair cascading in golden waves, led the charge. The other two trailed just a step behind.

"Look what the cat dragged in," The blonde drawled, a smirk playing on her lips as she'd just bitten into the juiciest secret.

"Machine's on the fritz," The other quipped, eyeing me up and down with a disdain that could curdle milk. "No way you've got four powers. It must be your lucky day, ugly duckling."

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