The doors slid open. Noise hit me like a physical slap. Bass. Screams. The smell of burnt sugar and old carpet.

  I flinched.

  It was a micro-movement, a quick tightening of the shoulders, but my senses screamed. To a normal human, the arcade was loud. To a werewolf with auditory processing dialed up to eleven, it was a jagged wall of noise that tried to pry my skull open.

  “Too much?” Danny asked.

  He was standing close enough that I could smell the cool mint and rain scent coming off his jacket, cutting through the arcade funk. He leaned in, his mouth near my ear to be heard.

  “It’s fine,” I lied, forcing my posture to relax. “Just adjusting to the sensory profile.”

  “We can leave if you want. Go somewhere quiet.”

  “No way.” I grabbed his sleeve—leather, smooth and cool—and pulled him further into the madness. “I promised you I’d destroy you at Street Fighter 3000, and I don’t break promises.”

  I looked up at him. The shifting lights from the overhead rigs washed over his face, turning his pale skin violet, then teal. He looked relaxed, hands in his pockets, that perpetual tension in his shoulders finally unspooling. If he could handle the noise, so could I. I wasn’t going to let a little thing like hypersensitive hearing ruin the first normal night I’d had in weeks.

  “Handy,” I subvocalized, tapping the dead screen of my smartwatch out of habit, even though the audio feed went straight to my bone-conduction implant. “Filter the background noise. Cap the decibels at seventy.”

  “Filtering,” the AI drawled, his voice a dry counterpoint to the arcade’s madness. “Though I should warn you, suppressing environmental awareness in a high-stimulus zone is technically a tactical error.”

  Just dim the volume.

  The roar of the room dulled instantly, turning from a physical assault into a manageable hum. My shoulders dropped another inch.

  “Better?” Danny asked, watching me.

  “Much. Okay, Troy. Pick your poison. Racing? Shooting? or something that involves hitting plastic alligators with a mallet?”

  He scanned the rows of cabinets. “Let’s start with something classic. Air hockey.”

  “Table 4,” I said, pointing to a glowing blue table near the back. “The puck floats better. Less friction.”

  “You’ve scouted the tables?”

  “I take my winning seriously.”

  We wove through the crowd. I dodged a kid running with a fistful of tickets and side-stepped a guy wearing a VR headset who was flailing at invisible dragons. Danny moved through the madness like smoke, never touching anyone, never breaking stride.

  We took our positions at the table. The puck hissed, levitating on its cushion of air.

  “First to seven?” Danny asked, gripping the striker.

  “First to ten. Seven is for amateurs.”

  “Ten it is.”

  He served.

  The puck shot across the table. Fast.

  Most people play air hockey with their wrists. Danny didn't just hit the puck. He snapped it. Clack. It blurred across the table.

  I blocked it, the plastic clack sharp and loud. I sent it back, banking it off the left wall.

  He caught it and fired a return shot that blurred.

  I grinned.

  This. This was what I needed. Not running from corpo overlords, and not crushing the weight of the Black Box hidden in my lab. Just simple, geometric violence.

  We fell into a rhythm. Clack. Hiss. Clack. The game sped up. I stopped holding back my reflexes—just a little. I let my eyes track the puck’s trajectory in slow motion, my hand moving to intercept before his striker had even finished the follow-through.

  Danny matched me. He didn’t have the wolf, but he had something else—that eerie, fluid speed I’d seen in the cafeteria.

  “You’re fast,” he said, blocking a shot I’d aimed for the corner.

  “It’s the cheerleading,” I shot back, slamming the puck into his goal. It rattled in the return slot. “point Nova.”

  “Lucky shot.”

  “Calculated geometry.”

  We played three games. I won two. He won one. By the end, we were both sweating, the tension between us buzzing louder than the neon signs. It wasn’t the static this time; it was just heat. Good heat.

  “Okay,” I said, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. “You’re decent. For a transfer student.”

  “High praise.” He leaned against the table, his chest rising and falling. He wasn't scanning the exits anymore. He was watching the puck. “Redemption round? Or are you retiring as champion?”

  “Champion needs a prize,” I said, nodding toward the ticket dispenser. It was spewing a long tongue of paper tickets. “We have currency to spend.”

  We gathered the tickets—a ridiculous amount, mostly because the machine seemed to have glitched in our favor—and headed for the Redemption Counter.

  The counter was a shrine to cheap plastic manufacturing. Walls of slat-board held everything from finger traps to remote-controlled drones that would definitely break within five minutes of opening the box.

  “What’s the damage?” I asked the clerk, a teenager with green hair and a nametag that said Zort.

  Zort weighed our ticket bundle. “Twelve hundred.”

  “What does twelve hundred get me?”

  He gestured vaguely at the wall. “Top shelf is out. Drones are two thousand. You’re in the plushie zone.”

  I scanned the plushies. There were neon pink snakes, llamas wearing sunglasses, and a stack of generic, lumpy dogs.

  Then I saw it.

  Tucked in the corner was a white bear. It was small, fluffy, and looked surprisingly soft. It had black button eyes and a little red scarf.

  It wasn't a wolf.

  For the last month, everything in my life had been about wolves. Wolf smell. Wolf reflexes. The monster in the mirror. I was sick of wolves.

  “The bear,” I said, pointing.

  Zort grabbed it with a claw-grabber stick and dropped it on the counter.

  I picked it up. It squished pleasantly in my hand.

  “Cute,” Danny said, leaning on the counter next to me.

  “It's an apex predator made of polyester. It fits.”

  “It matches your hair,” he noted.

  I touched my short white bangs. “Is that a short joke?”

  “It’s a color observation. It suits you.”

  He reached out and poked the bear’s nose. His finger brushed against the fur, close to my arm. The static jumped—a tiny, invisible spark that made the hair on my arm stand up.

  I didn’t pull away.

  “Thanks,” I said softly.

  “For what? You won the tickets.”

  “For not making me play the zombie game,” I said, nodding toward a gruesome cabinet featuring rotting flesh and chainsaws. “I deal with enough monsters.”

  He went still for a second, his eyes searching mine. “Yeah. Me too.”

  The moment hung there, suspended in the sugar-scented air. He wasn't talking about video games. Neither was I.

  “Come on,” Danny said, breaking the spell with a clap of his hands. “I saw something in the back. Virtual shooter. New tech. Supposed to be fully immersive.”

  “Immersive sounds… intense,” I said, clutching the bear.

  “You scared, Nova?”

  “I’m terrified of bad graphics,” I countered. “Lead the way.”

  He led me past the rows of rhythm games and claw machines to a darkened alcove in the back.

  The machine was huge. Cyber-Strike: Orbital Defense. It was a dual-player booth with wrap-around screens and haptic feedback vests hanging on hooks.

  “Warning,” Handy chimed in, his voice cutting through my filtered calm. “I’m detecting high-frequency strobe warnings on the cabinet. And the refresh rate on those screens is aggressive. Nikki, your photosensitivity.”

  I paused.

  The epilepsy wasn't something I’d had before the bite. It was a side effect of the lycanthropy mutation—my brain moving too fast, the wolf senses overloading the human wiring. Flashing lights, especially stroboscopic ones, could short-circuit my nervous system. It didn't just cause a seizure; it triggered the shift.

  If I shifted here… in a crowded arcade…

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  Panic.

  “Nikki?” Danny was holding one of the plastic rifles, looking back at me. “You coming?”

  I looked at the game. It looked fun. It looked normal.

  I looked at Danny. He was smiling, that rare, genuine smile that made him look like a boy instead of a rich creep.

  I didn't want to be the sick girl. I didn't want to be the girl who had to sit out because her biology was a time bomb. I wanted to be Nikki Nova, the girl who kicked butt at video games and flirted with the cute guy.

  It’s just a game, I reasoned. I can handle it. I’ll just… blink a lot. Look away if it gets too intense.

  “Handy,” I thought. “Override warning.”

  “Nikki, I strongly advise against—”

  “Mute.”

  The AI went silent.

  “I’m coming,” I said aloud, shoving the white bear into my bag. “Prepare to lose, Troy.”

  I stepped into the booth.

  It was dark inside, cooler than the rest of the arcade. We strapped on the haptic vests. They were heavy, weighing down my shoulders.

  “Co-op mode,” Danny said, selecting the option on the touch screen. “We cover each other.”

  “I’ll take the left flank,” I said, gripping the plastic rifle. It felt light and toy-like compared to the real thing, but the grip was familiar.

  “Game starting in three… two… one…”

  The screens flared to life.

  We were on a space station, surrounded by swarms of alien drones. The graphics were incredible—sharp, fast.

  Blam. Blam. Blam.

  I fell into the zone instantly. My eyes tracked the targets, my finger squeezing the trigger with rhythmic precision. The haptic vest thumped against my chest every time I took a hit, a dull, thudding sensation that mimicked a heartbeat.

  “High twelve!” Danny shouted. “Sniper!”

  I spun, took the shot. Headshot.

  “Nice!”

  We were a machine. We moved in sync, calling out targets, covering blind spots. It was exhilarating. The adrenaline spiked, sweet and sharp.

  Then the boss level started.

  The screen shifted. The station lights went out, replaced by emergency strobes.

  Red. White. Red. White.

  They flashed rapidly, a chaotic, pulsing rhythm designed to disorient the player.

  My brain stuttered.

  It wasn't a headache. It was a physical blow to the back of my skull.

  Thump.

  The screen flared. Red. White. Red.

  “Whoa,” I muttered, blinking hard. “Bright.”

  “Keep firing!” Danny yelled, focused on the screen. “They’re swarming!”

  I tried to squeeze the trigger, but my finger wouldn't obey. My hand clamped down, locking onto the plastic gun.

  Flash. Flash. Flash.

  The strobe rate increased.

  My knees buckled.

  The wolf woke up. It didn't wake up happy. It woke up screaming.

  TRAP, the wolf roared. ATTACK. BREAK OUT.

  The change hit me like a freight train.

  Pain lanced down my spine—hot, molten lead pouring through my vertebrae. My bones ground together, the familiar, sickening pop of joints rearranging themselves.

  “No,” I gasped.

  I dropped the gun. It clattered to the metal floor of the booth.

  I fell to my knees, my hands scrabbling at the carpet. My fingernails dug in, tearing the synthetic fibers.

  Don’t look. Don’t look.

  But the lights were everywhere. Reflecting off the metal floor, bouncing off the glass.

  Flash. Red. Flash. White.

  My breath hitched, turning into a growl that rumbled deep in my chest. It wasn't a human sound.

  My vision went red. I felt the pressure in my gums as my teeth tried to lengthen. I felt the itch under my skin as the fur tried to push through.

  Not here, I pleaded. Please, not here.

  “Nikki?”

  Danny’s voice. Distant. Underwater.

  I curled into a ball, hands over my head, trying to block out the light. My body was shuddering, shaking so hard my teeth chattered.

  “Make it stop,” I whispered. My voice was guttural, distorted.

  The wolf was clawing at the back of my eyes, desperate to take control, desperate to fight the flashing enemy.

  Then, darkness.

  Sudden, absolute darkness.

  Someone had stepped in front of me.

  Danny.

  He didn't ask what was wrong. He didn't scream for help. He didn't recoil from the girl who was growling on the floor of an arcade.

  He moved with military efficiency.

  I felt his hands—cool, steady—clamp over my eyes. He wasn't just covering them; he was sealing them. Pressing my face into the darkness of his jacket.

  “Eyes closed,” he ordered. His voice was low, calm, an anchor in the storm. “Keep them closed.”

  He pulled me up. I was dead weight, my muscles locking and unlocking in spasms, but he lifted me like I was made of paper.

  One arm went around my waist, holding me tight against his side. His other hand stayed over my eyes, shielding me.

  “We’re leaving,” he said. Not a question. A command.

  He guided me out of the booth.

  The noise of the arcade rushed back in—the pinging, the shouting. It grated against my raw nerves, making the wolf snarl.

  Too loud. Too bright. Kill.

  “Focus on me,” Danny murmured, his mouth right at my ear. “Just my voice. Ignore the rest. Step. Step. Step.”

  I stumbled. My feet felt huge, clumsy. My sneakers squeaked on the floor. I could feel the claws pressing against the inside of my shoes, aching to burst through the canvas.

  “Almost there,” Danny said.

  He moved us fast. I could feel him shouldering people out of the way. I heard a guy shout, “Hey, watch it!” followed by the sharp thud of Danny shoving him aside.

  We hit the cool night air.

  The silence was sudden and shocking.

  The blast of the arcade door cutting off behind us left a ringing in my ears. The air was cold, damp, smelling of alleyway trash and rain.

  I gasped, sucking in the oxygen.

  Danny didn't stop. He walked us further down the alley, away from the neon glow of the entrance, into the deep shadows behind a dumpster.

  He pressed me against the brick wall. Not aggressively. Supportively.

  He kept his hand over my eyes.

  “Breathe,” he said.

  I tried. My chest heaved. My heart was hammering a frantic rhythm—thump-thump-thump—too fast for a human.

  “It hurts,” I whimpered. My voice was still wrong. Too deep. Scratchy.

  My hands were shaking uncontrollably. I gripped his jacket, bunching the leather in my fists. I could feel my nails punching through the material.

  Shift. Shift. Shift.

  The wolf wouldn't settle. The strobe lights had scrambled the signal between my brain and my biology. I was stuck in the middle, vibrating between girl and monster.

  Danny seemed to understand.

  He shifted his grip. He moved his hand from my eyes to the back of my neck, his fingers pressing into the tension points at the base of my skull.

  Then, he started to hum.

  It wasn't a song. It wasn't a melody.

  It was a frequency.

  A low hum. Deep. It started in his chest and vibrated through my skull.

  Hmmmmmmmmmm.

  It was deep. Sub-bass.

  It hit my nervous system like a tuning fork.

  The sound resonated in my bones, counteracting the frantic shaking. It was a grounding wire.

  I froze, listening.

  The wolf stopped pacing. It cocked its head, listening to the sound.

  Hmmmmmmmmmm.

  It was the sound of the earth. The sound of a heavy engine idling. The sound of safety.

  Danny leaned his forehead against mine. I could feel the vibration traveling through his skull into mine.

  “Focus on the sound,” he whispered. “Match the frequency.”

  I closed my eyes tighter. I focused on the hum.

  Slowly, agonizingly, my heart rate began to drop.

  Thump… thump… thump.

  The fire in my spine cooled to a dull ache. The pressure in my gums receded. The claws retracted, leaving my fingertips sore and bruised.

  My breathing hitched, then slowed.

  We stood there for a long time. Just two silhouettes in a dark alley, forehead to forehead, swaying slightly to a hum that no one else could hear.

  Danny’s hands were gentle on my neck. His thumbs rubbed small, soothing circles against my pulse point.

  The wolf curled up and went to sleep.

  I sagged against the wall, the adrenaline crash hitting me all at once. My knees gave out.

  Danny caught me. He slid down the wall with me until we were sitting on the damp pavement, my head resting on his shoulder.

  The humming stopped.

  Silence returned to the alley. But it wasn't empty silence. It was shared silence.

  I took a shaky breath. It smelled of rain and leather and him.

  “You okay?” he asked softly.

  I nodded against his shoulder. I couldn't trust my voice yet.

  He didn't pull away. He kept his arm around me, holding me close.

  “Epilepsy?” he asked.

  It was the logical conclusion. The strobes. The seizure-like shaking.

  I could lie. I could say yes. It would be easy.

  But lying felt wrong right now. Not after the way he had guided me out. Not after the hum.

  “Something like that,” I whispered. My voice sounded human again. Tired, but human.

  He didn't push. He just tightened his grip on my shoulder.

  “Then don't worry,” he said. “I’m here.”

  I lifted my head slowly. I looked at him.

  In the dim light of the alley, his face was all sharp angles and shadows. His eyes were dark, worried.

  He hadn't panicked. He hadn't asked questions. He had just… known.

  He knew exactly how to shield me. He knew exactly what sound would calm the storm in my blood.

  His breath warmed my neck. His pulse beat against my back, steady and slow.

  He had seen the ugliness—the shaking, the growling, the loss of control—and he hadn't run. He had become the wall I needed to lean on.

  My heart did something then. It didn't flutter. It didn't race.

  It settled.

  It felt like a key turning in a lock. Click.

  I looked at his mouth, then at his eyes.

  I wasn't just attracted to him. I wasn't just intrigued by the mystery.

  I was falling.

  Hard.

  And for the first time, the landing didn't look scary.

  “Danny,” I whispered.

  “Yeah?”

  “You ruined your jacket.”

  I pointed to where my hands were still gripping his lapel. There were four small punctures in the leather. Claw marks.

  He looked down at them. Then he looked back at me, a small, crooked smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

  “It adds character,” he said.

  He reached up and brushed a stray lock of white hair out of my eyes. His fingers lingered on my cheek.

  “You scared me, Nova,” he admitted quietly.

  “I scared myself.”

  “Don’t do that again.”

  “I’ll try.”

  He leaned in. I thought he was going to kiss me. I wanted him to kiss me.

  But he didn't. He just pressed his forehead against mine again, closing his eyes.

  “Just breathe,” he said.

  So I did.

  I breathed in the smog and the rain and the scent of the boy who anchored me to the earth.

  I knew, with terrifying clarity, that I was in trouble.

  Because average girls don't fall in love with boys who hum away monsters.

  But then again, I wasn't an average girl.

  And sitting there in the dark, with his arm around me and the echo of the arcade fading in the distance, I finally stopped wishing I was.

  “Handy?” I whispered internally, testing the connection.

  “I’m here,” the AI replied gently. “And before you ask… yes. That was impressive. His bio-feedback regulation technique is… advanced. He synced his pulse with yours. That’s not something you learn in a textbook.”

  He saved me, I thought.

  “He did,” Handy agreed. “So… are we still doing Operation Ice Queen? Because the ice seems to have melted.”

  I looked at Danny. His eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks. At the steady rise and fall of his chest.

  “Ice Queen protocol failed,” Handy said.

  “Delete the protocol,” I thought back.

  “Let’s go,” Danny said, sensing my shift in mood. He stood up and offered me his hand.

  I took it. His grip was firm, warm.

  He pulled me up.

  “Home?” he asked.

  I smirked as I took his hand. “I have a better idea.”