Class was a mess from the moment I sat down.
Not because of the lesson. The lesson wasn’t hard. It wasn’t even interesting enough to be hard. The real problem was the fact that Jane was sitting three rows ahead of me, pretending like I wasn’t in the room at all.
And she was good at pretending. Almost professional.
She didn’t look at me once. Not even when I walked in late. Not when I took my seat. Not when the professor made his usual sarcastic comment about “wolves never being on time to anything except fights.”
Nothing.
My wolf hated it.
Every time she moved—even a little—my attention snapped to her like I was tethered to her chair. When she crossed her legs, I noticed. When she pushed her hair behind her ear, I noticed. When she wrote something down, I noticed.
It was irritating.
