Chapter 62

• Leila
• The lecture hall was fillled with an eager scent of fresh starts. I shifted in my chair, the pleats of my skirt digging into my thighs, and let my gaze sweep the room. Rows upon rows of faces—sharp, polished, hungry. This was our first class, the start of something that felt more like a chess match than a semester. Everyone was sizing each other up, curious but cautious, like wolves circling a clearing, trying to map the hierarchy without showing their teeth.
• Business graduate students, they called us. But we both knew that was a euphemism. Look closer: the tailored blazers that cost more than my rent, the watches that ticked with old money, the quiet confidence that came from being born into packs that owned cities, that wrote laws, that ruled. Hidden talents, they said. More like hidden fangs. Most were next-gen successors, heirs to empires built on power and blood. Wealthy, noble—terms that meant nothing here, not really. Here, it was about who your father was, which pack you answered to, and how quickly you could learn to smile while sharpening a knife.