Elora’s POV
“Amazing,” Helena said, and I looked up to meet her eyes.
“This is a junior-level skill.
We don’t expect freshmen to heal more than ten.”
I had no idea how to answer, so I offered a weak, grateful smile.
From the corner of my eye, Sabrina’s glare could have drawn blood.
If Helena hadn’t waved everyone back to their seats, I’m honestly not sure what Sabrina would’ve done to me.
“Elora.” Helena’s voice again, once the room had settled.
“Come see me after class.
There’s something I’d like to discuss.”
The rest of the hour was theory.
When the bell finally rang and students packed up, I stayed put, exactly as she’d asked.
Sabrina, who’d been drilling holes into the side of my head for an hour, materialized at my desk with her entourage.
Whatever she’d cooked up, I couldn’t stop it.
So I just looked up and met her eyes.
“Yes?” I said.
She scoffed, rolling hers.
“I wasn’t even talking to her,” she told the others.
“But I guess some people just need to be the center of attention.
Don’t they?”
I knew better than to bite.
A response was fuel.
So I dropped my gaze, kept my mouth shut, and waited her out until she and her court swept from the room.
When it was empty, I crossed to Helena’s desk.
“Sit.” She gestured warmly, and I did.
She studied me a long moment, tucking gray hair behind her ear.
Her gaze was sharp, searching, like she was reading something written under my skin.
“Your mother was… Vivian Vane.
Of the Thornhart Pack.” A pause.
“Correct?”
I nodded, not sure where this was headed.
“One of my finest students,” she said.
“I knew your father too.
Arthur.
A powerful fighter.
The two of them were inseparable—always together, always hungry to learn.
And your father Vance, of course… or is it uncle?”
Back home, no one spoke of my parents.
People treated them like ghosts you weren’t supposed to name.
To hear them made real, out loud, cracked something open in my chest.
“She was so gifted,” Helena went on.
“And I intend to give you the same chance I gave her.”
I blinked.
“What do you mean?”
“Have you heard of the Elite Team?”
The name pulled at something.
“Yes.
My cousin—” I caught myself, “—my brother, Garrett, is on it.”
She nodded.
“He is.
And so were your parents.”
The Elite Team was the academy’s crown—the best students across every year, the face of the school, its protectors, running their own separate program.
“I want you in trial classes with them,” Helena said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
My heart stuttered.
“W-Why?”
“Because,” she sighed, “a freshman who heals thirty fish in a single breath has a bright future ahead of her.”
The words hit harder than she could have known.
I knew I had talent.
No one had ever called it a future.
Not a teacher back home.
Not the healer.
No one.
I was raised on corrections.
On what I lacked, what I hadn’t done well enough.
Those were the words that had made me sharpen myself against my own edges.
Compliments were foreign to me.
And hearing I was good enough—for anything—meant more than she could ever guess.
“The Elite Team is hardly unusual for a Thornhart,” she added, reading the stillness on my face.
I hesitated, the weight of it settling in.
Protector of the school?
Whatever I lacked everywhere else, I made up for in healing—but I was no prodigy.
Not really.
“I don’t know…”
Her expression gentled.
“You’re strong, Elora.
Too strong.
You need a challenge before boredom hollows you out.”
“This was one class—”
“And it was already enough,” she finished.
Her eyes were pure conviction.
She trusted me.
Believed in me.
And I couldn’t stand the thought of letting that down.
Maybe there really was something in me.
Who knew.
“Okay,” I said.
“I’ll do it.”
“Good.” Relief softened her whole face.
“I’ll email you the details.”
I stood to go—and then it surfaced, the thing that had been snagging at the back of my mind.
Something only she could answer.
“By the way.
When we first met, you called me Genevieve?”
The warmth drained out of her face.
“Did I?” She cleared her throat.
“You did,” I pressed gently.
“And I saw a photo of Mom in the hall.
With a girl.
Genevieve.”
“They were close friends,” she said, too fast.
“Close friends?
Or best friends?”
“Best friends.
I meant to say Vivian.
I muddled it.
My mistake.”
“Do you have her number, maybe?
Something?
I’d love to reach out to her and—”
“No.
She passed away.
Years ago.”
I raised a brow.
“She passed away?”
“Yes.” A beat.
“The things depression can do to a person.”
“She was depressed?”
Helena didn’t answer.
She reached for a pen and a scrap of paper.
“Let me write you a note.
You should get to your next class.”
The room was already filling for the next period.
She scratched something out and held it toward me.
“Here.”
The woman who’d been all warmth seconds ago had gone cold and shuttered.
Her tone said the conversation was over—but I had a hundred more questions clawing to get out.
About Genevieve.
About whatever she’d shared with Mom.
Maybe it was nothing.
But the way they’d held each other in that photo pulled at me like a thread I couldn’t stop tugging.
I felt drawn to Genevieve.
And I wanted to know why.
Note in hand, I went to class.
Two more periods—history, then emotional healing—and finally lunch.
Tray in hand, I surveyed the cafeteria.
Chaos.
Students everywhere, talking, laughing, eating, kissing.
And me, out of place, as always.
I spotted Declan at a table near the center, ringed by friends.
No Varek.
Declan caught my eye and waved me over.
I turned my head, pretending I hadn’t seen.
He meant well.
But I had no business at a table full of Lycans.
We shared a campus.
Shared classes, even.
We were not the same.
They disliked us.
We disliked them.
That was just the shape of the world.
I claimed a table in the farthest corner, praying to be left alone, and let my mind drift back to the Elite Team.
How was I supposed to belong to a team when I could barely string a sentence together in public?
I was awkward.
Bad at people.
And now Helena wanted me on a squad.
Was I ready for anything like that?
I pulled out my phone and hovered, then dialed Dad.
Telling him the news might lift me.
Maybe he’d be proud, just once.
Maybe he’d just acknowledge that I’d done something on my first day.
Straight to voicemail.
As always.
I told myself not to take it to heart.
He was the Alpha.
He was busy.
So I left a message instead.
“Hey, Dad.
It’s me.
Elora.
Haven’t heard from you in a while.
Just wanted to say I’m still alive.
I… I miss you.
And I love you.
Bye.”
The beep cut me off.
My love for him only ever ran one direction.
That man had never been warm, or soft, or tender for a single day of his life.
And I loved him anyway.
He’d taken me in when he didn’t have to.
Cared for me when nothing required it.
For that, I’d always be grateful.
I sighed and pushed the food around my tray.
Dad didn’t care.
My mate didn’t care.
My brother didn’t care.
None of these students cared.
Final verdict: my life was a wreck, and Astral Academy along with it.
The only thing keeping me upright was Hazel—and Hazel wasn’t here.
A tray crashed down onto my table.
I flinched hard.
My eyes snapped up, straight into a familiar face.
“Since you were ignoring me,” he said, “I figured I’d invite myself over.”
Declan.