The Law of the Wolf

"Man is a wolf to man."

— Plautus

———

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The knock came sharp and demanding, rattling the thin wood of Room 247's door. I glanced at the brass clock on my desk—7:55 PM.

"Time for the show," I murmured, closing the trunk and sliding it beneath my bed.

Lyra straightened from arranging my few possessions in the wardrobe.

"Yes, Master. Shall I accompany you downstairs?"

"Of course. Can't have the pathetic third son wandering around unattended."

The narrow stairwell funneled us downward, worn stone steps creaking under our feet. Voices drifted up—not cheerful chatter, but something harder.

Welcome to the island of misfit toys.

The common room of House Onyx lived up to its reputation as the academy's dumping ground. Twenty-five first-years crammed into a space for fifteen, around threadbare furniture that had seen better decades. Mismatched chairs clustered near a fireplace throwing more shadows than warmth. The carpet bore stains of years of spilled ink, tears, and probably blood.

I activated [Narrative Appraisal] as my gaze swept the room, reading the collection of broken dreams.

[Marcus Vellum - Level 1 Disgraced Scribe] sat hunched over a book, ink-stained fingers trembling. His family's scandal had cost them their position in House Argent.

[Thomlin Ashworth - Level 1 Failed Knight-Aspirant] leaned against the wall, posture screaming defeated pride. He'd awakened with a knight class but lacked the physical stats. His cousin Theron—one of our targets—sat nearby, ignoring him.

[Mira Blackthorn - Level 1 Mana-Burnt Hedge Mage] clutched tea like an anchor. Her magical awakening had gone wrong, leaving her with unstable power.

Each face told the same story: potential crushed by circumstance, ambition strangled by politics.

But one student stood apart.

She paced near the window, movements restless. Red hair cascaded down her back like molten copper. Golden eyes swept the room with predatory awareness, pupils contracting to slits. Wolf-kin, given the pointed ears and red tail that lashed behind her. Her claws extended and retracted, scoring the wooden windowsill.

[Fen Grimhowl - Level 2 Packless Warrior]

The appraisal revealed fragments of a story I didn't recognize from the original novel. Exiled from her pack. Awakened with a warrior class but lacking connections to join a proper house.

Wait. I don't remember her from the story at all. That's... interesting.

Fen's pacing brought her close to a nervous boy trying to claim a spot near the fireplace. When he shifted his chair into her path, she stopped.

"Move."

The single word made half the room flinch. The boy looked up with entitled confusion.

"I'm sorry, but I was here first. Perhaps you could find somewhere else to—"

Fen's claws shot out fully, gleaming in the firelight. She leaned down until her face was inches from his, revealing canine teeth too sharp for comfort.

"I said. Move."

The temperature dropped. Conversations died as everyone watched. Some shifted nervously, others leaned forward with hungry interest.

The boy looked around for support but found only averted eyes. He stood so quickly his chair toppled backward. "Of course. My apologies. I was just finishing anyway."

Fen forced him to squeeze past her. Her tail twitched once, and he stumbled in his haste to escape.

The clock chimed eight times. No professor appeared to welcome the newest members of House Onyx.

The silence stretched, broken only by the fire and Fen's low growl. She stood in the center of the room, scanning the students with disgust.

"So," she said, voice carrying barely controlled violence, "the dregs get the dreg professor who can't even show up on time."

A few nervous laughs were quickly stifled. Her ears flattened against her skull, tail lashing.

"What did you expect? A warm welcome? Speeches about house unity? Look around. This is where they put the broken toys. The embarrassments. The disappointments."

She's not wrong. But there's more anger than despair. She's furious, not defeated. Interesting.

Marcus shifted uncomfortably. "Perhaps the professor is simply delayed. Administrative matters, or possibly an emergency—"

"Administrative matters." Fen's laugh cut through the room like a knife. "Because House Onyx ranks high enough to warrant attention from anyone who matters."

She spun, arms spread to encompass the shabby furniture, water-stained walls, and sputtering lamps. "Wake up. We're here because nobody else would have us. The professor isn't coming because we don't deserve basic courtesy."

She stalked around the room, predatory and deliberate. Students pressed deeper into their chairs.

Theron Ashworth spoke up, his noble elocution wavering. "That's unnecessarily harsh. We're still students at the Royal Academy. There must be some—"

"Some what? Dignity? Purpose? Tell me, pretty boy, what crime did you commit to earn your spot here? Did Daddy not donate enough gold? Did you fail to kiss the right aristocratic asses?"

Theron flushed but didn't look away. "My family's circumstances are—"

"Irrelevant. Just like mine. Just like all of ours. The only thing that matters is what we do with the garbage hand we've been dealt."

She's furious, but thinking strategically. Not just a mindless predator, but a calculating one.

I deliberately slumped my shoulders, playing the terrified noble boy. Lyra stood behind me in ghostlike silence.

"Perhaps..." I began, then let my voice trail off, as if losing courage under Fen's stare.

"Perhaps what, little Leone?" Her golden eyes cataloged everything from my ill-fitting robes to my nervous finger-tapping. "Got some ancestral wisdom to share? Family honor? The proper way to handle crushing disappointment?"

The room held its collective breath. Fen was offering me a chance to establish myself or be demolished.

Perfect. She's handing me exactly the opening I need.

I swallowed visibly, hands trembling as I met her gaze. "I was just going to suggest we wait a bit longer. The professor might still—"

"The professor might still what? Suddenly remember we exist? Decide we're worth basic courtesy?" Fen stepped closer. "How long should we wait, little Leone? An hour? Two? Until sunrise?"

"I... I don't know." I dropped my gaze, the perfect image of a boy who'd never learned to stand up for himself. "I'm not very good at this sort of thing."

"No kidding." Something subtle shifted in her tone—less aggression, more assessment. "What exactly are you good at?"

Manipulation. Planning. Exploiting expectations. But that's not what the pathetic Kaelen Leone would admit.

"Nothing, really. My family sent me here to maintain appearances. I barely scraped past the entrance requirements. I'm probably the least qualified person here."

Several students shifted uncomfortably, my admission hitting too close to home.

But Fen studied my face, head tilted like a predator encountering something unexpected.

"At least you're honest about it," she said finally. "Half these idiots still cling to the delusion they belong somewhere better."

The insult stung several nearby students, but none dared respond.

"Honesty's about all I've got left," I replied with bitter self-deprecation. "That and a very patient attendant who keeps me from walking into walls."

A few students smiled, the tension easing slightly. Fen watched me with genuine curiosity instead of hostility.

Hook set. Now let's see what kind of fish I've caught.

The clock chimed half past eight. Still no professor. Just twenty-five lost souls accepting they'd been abandoned to figure things out themselves.

"Well," Fen announced, "since our esteemed faculty can't be bothered to show up, I guess we're on our own. Anyone have questions about how this place actually works, or are we all just going to sit here feeling sor—"