Tracking and Treason

Twelve years ago.

Today was Open Day, and everyone not competing in the trials was supposed to stay in their rooms. I hated being cooped up, though, so I slipped out through the side entrance and made my way to the back of the school.

The school was surrounded by forest, but a single, massive oak tree stood alone in the back. We often played there, and a wooden ladder leaned against its trunk to make climbing easy—though the older pups always said I had to “earn the right” to climb it.

I dashed toward it, thrilled. Finally, I’d get to see the world from up there. It was trickier than I’d expected; the ladder hugged the tree so tightly I could barely get my fingers around it. But I managed, and soon enough, I was perched on a thick branch, my legs swinging freely, when I noticed another pup below.

He looked unfamiliar, probably one of the visiting Alphas’ sons. He squinted up at me, his eyes as bright as the sky.

“So, you need a ladder to get up there?” he scoffed.

“Nu-uh.” I shot him a glare.

He smirked. “I don’t need a ladder.” With that, he jumped, grabbing onto a low branch and pulling himself up.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re taller. Show-off.”

Dropping down, he dusted his hands and smirked again. “The name’s Ryder, not ‘Show-off.’ And I’m a future Alpha, so you’d better be nice to me.”

I stuck my tongue out at him.

Just then, a sharp whistle sounded in the distance. Ryder quickly grabbed the ladder and yanked it to the ground. “Let’s see if you can get down without it!” he called, running off with a laugh.

I tried to climb down, but without the ladder, there was nothing to hold onto, and the ground looked much farther away from up here. If I didn’t want to be caught, I’d have to jump—so I took a deep breath and leaped.

The impact was brutal. My ankle twisted sharply on the fallen ladder, sending pain shooting up my leg, and my knees slammed into my jaw with a crack that made my vision blur. Everything went black.

When I came to, it was dark, and my ankle throbbed, swollen and stiff. My jaw ached horribly, and every tiny movement sent fresh waves of pain through my head. It wasn’t until late that night that Principal Myers found me and brought me inside.

After weeks of healing a broken jaw and a fractured ankle, I found out my “punishment”: I’d be scrubbing the kitchen floors every evening—for an entire year. I soon learned which Pack Ryder belonged to, and I swore I’d never set foot in their territory. Every night I spent on my hands and knees, scrubbing the endless tile floors, my resentment for Ryder grew sharper and deeper.

I hated him!