Chapter 2. The Boy with the Howl

The name still rang in her head.

Hale.

Riven walked fast down the hallway, the crowd of students blurring into background noise. Lockers slammed, sneakers squeaked, laughter spiked—but all she heard was Axel’s voice, low and deliberate, dropping her buried name like a lit match.

Her fingers clenched around her notebook until the spiral wire bit into her palm.

Nobody here was supposed to know. Not the teachers, not the students, not the nosy PTA moms who hovered like vultures outside carpool lanes. That name belonged to a different world—bonfires crackling in the desert, her father’s hand heavy on her shoulder, leather vests patched with snarling wolves.

Wolves weren’t fur and fangs—it was chrome and creed.

Hale was outlaw blood. Hale was fire and smoke. Hale was the girl she’d sworn to bury when she left.

And yet, Axel Wolfe had spoken it like he’d been waiting for her all along.

She ducked into the nearest bathroom, locking herself in a stall. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, harsh and cold. She pressed her forehead to the metal partition, trying to breathe.

He couldn’t know. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe he’d just overheard someone. Maybe—

Her stomach twisted. No. That look in his eyes hadn’t been a guess. It had been recognition.

And recognition was dangerous.

By the time lunch rolled around, Riven had convinced herself of three things:

She would avoid Axel Wolfe at all costs.

She would not react to his staring, smirking, or casual invasions of her space.

She would ignore the way her pulse betrayed her every time he looked her way.

The cafeteria buzzed like a hive. Plastic trays clattered, the smell of greasy fries mingling with disinfectant. Riven slid into an empty chair near the window, unwrapping the sandwich she’d packed from home. Keep your head down. Eat fast. Leave.

She had just taken a bite when two girls dropped into the seats across from her.

“You’re new, right?” the one with a messy bun asked. She had wide eyes that flicked nervously toward the center of the room.

Riven swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Word of advice,” the other girl said, leaning in, “stay away from Axel Wolfe.”

Riven forced her face blank, though her heart stuttered. “Why?”

The Messy Bun girl whispered, as if she were sharing state secrets. “He’s part of… You know. The crew. They don’t go by a name here, but everyone knows. Bikes, fights, late-night rides. People get hurt.”

Her friend added quickly, “And if you’re smart, you don’t get in their way. Axel’s the worst of them—his dad’s like… king of the wolves, or whatever.”

The words sank like stones in Riven’s gut. Wolves. How fitting.

She pretended to laugh lightly, unbothered. “Sounds like high school rumor mill to me.”

But both girls shook their heads. Messy Bun lowered her voice even further. “My brother said Axel once put a guy in the hospital for touching his bike. Broken nose, cracked ribs. He didn’t even get suspended.”

The other girl shivered. “It’s like the school’s scared of him. Like everyone is.”

Riven chewed mechanically, staring past them. She should have been scared, too. Axel Wolfe wasn’t just dangerous—he was a direct line back to everything she was trying to escape.

But instead of fear, something else coiled in her stomach. A pull.

Because if Axel was tied to the wolves… maybe he knew more than just her last name. Perhaps he learned things about her father.

And that was a question Riven had promised herself she’d never go looking for.

After school, Riven hurried toward the gym parking lot, eager to grab her bike and vanish before Axel noticed her. The air was warm, the asphalt shimmering faintly in the late afternoon sun. She rounded the corner, heart steadying—and stopped dead.

Axel Wolfe leaned against her motorcycle.

Her motorcycle.

One boot propped against the wheel, his arms folded across his chest. The bike looked small under him, like even metal and chrome bent to his ownership. his eyes caught hers, unreadable.

Riven’s pulse spiked. “Get off.”

He didn’t move. “Didn’t know you were hiding something worth riding.”

Her fists clenched. “Move.”

“Relax.” His voice was maddeningly calm. “I’m not gonna scratch it. Though, hiding a machine like this behind dumpsters? Feels like a crime.”

She marched forward, snatching the helmet from the seat. “It’s none of your business.”

“Funny,” he said, straightening slowly, his height casting her shadow over her. “It feels like it is.”

She went still, like the air around them had shifted pressure. Her jaw tensed against words she didn’t have—not rage, not fear, just static noise flooding her. “Why? Because you like messing with new girls?”

A smirk ghosted across his lips. “No. Because you’re not just new. You’re Hale.”

Her throat tightened. “Stop calling me that.”

He tilted his head, gaze steady. “What should I call you, then?”

“Riven,” she snapped.

“Riven what?”

Her hands shook against the helmet strap. She hated how cornered she felt under his stare, like he could see the truth crawling under her skin.

“None of your damn business,” she muttered.

Axel chuckled, low and rough. “Fair enough.” He pushed off the bike, closing the space between them. He dug into his hoodie pocket, pulling out a lighter with a peeling wolf sticker. Not menacing—just stupidly human. “But you’re hiding, and I don’t like puzzles without answers.”

She forced herself not to flinch. “Then stop looking.”

“Can’t.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You ride, you hide, and you’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The look of someone who’s seen the dark and walked out breathing.” He stepped close enough that she could smell leather, smoke, and the faint tang of gasoline. “People like that don’t just disappear, Hale. They burn.”

Her breath caught—half fury, half something else she didn’t want to name.

Axel’s hand slid into his pocket. When it came out, he was twirling a set of keys on his finger. The metal jingled softly in the heavy silence. His eyes never left hers, steady and unrelenting, like he’d already decided how this would end.

“Ride with me,” he said again, low and deliberate, as if the words were carved into the air.

Riven’s grip on her helmet tightened. Every instinct screamed at her to turn, to walk, to put as much distance between herself and this boy as humanly possible. He was a problem wrapped in leather and gasoline, the kind of problem she couldn’t afford.

But the way he said Hale—like he owned it, like he owned her—still rang in her ears.

“And if I don’t?” she asked, her voice sharper than she meant.