NULL.
"Name?"
I froze as that single word cut through the air like a blade.
Shit. No one has ever asked me that before.
"You deaf, kid?" someone behind me muttered, obviously irritated.
I could tell that I was drawing attention to myself already, which was so not what I wanted at all.
Name? What name?
I planned it all so well, yet I did not prepare for this part at all. I did not have a name.
All I ever had since I was born was a number. Some sort of designation. Not even a full letter.
12A.
That's what they called me. 12A on every file. Otherwise just 'girl,' 'she,' 'you there,' 'her.' Nothing else.
"For fuck's sake! Boy, you are holding up the damn line," someone snapped behind me.
Boy.
Right! That's me now.
I'm supposed to be a boy. A rogue, even. One that is dressed in stolen clothes.
I blinked hard as my lips parted, only for nothing to come out of it. My throat was dry. Too dry.
The man behind the desk didn't look irritated, though. He didn't even sigh. He barely lifted his gaze.
He was very young and handsome, with slate grey eyes that seemed to slice into me like it was some sort of x-ray that could see underneath my coat.
"I said," he repeated, cool and calm, "What is your name?"
I flinched as my eyes darted to the glowing monitor in front of him. Some codes and words were flicking across the screen. I did not in any way understand them. But one word stuck.
NULL.
It was big and boldly written, flashing red on the monitor.
My mouth immediately moved before I could try to process what the word might even mean.
"Null," I said quickly.
It came out shaky, almost as if I was asking a question.
He raised an eyebrow. "Is that your name, or are you asking me for one?"
A laugh broke out behind me. Then the sound of someone nudging a friend like 'get a load of this loser.'
"Yes," I blurted. "It's my name."
"Null what?"
My eyes widened. "What?"
"Last name," he said flatly. "Or is that also missing?"
"I… don't have one."
He paused, typed something. "Born rogue?"
I nodded. "Yes."
He sniffed once, subtly.
My throat tightened.
He could smell something. I knew he could. Wolves always could.
That was the whole reason I wore the charm Cael gave me as a necklace—burned iron, sage, and silver thread. It masked feminine scent, not the kind of blood I am. But it should've been enough.
If he smelled the difference…
If he figured it out before I even got past orientation…
But then he just pressed a button and printed a slip.
"Block C Dorms. Room 6. Orientation's in an hour. Uniform and class rotation come after."
I didn't move. I couldn't tell if that was a dismissal or a trap.
The boy behind me shifted like he was going to shove me, so I snatched the slip and stepped out of the line.
The hallway was blinding, too polished, too full of boys. From different packs across the Wolf Island. Loud and mostly armed with looks.
I kept my head down.
The dorm slip in my hand was already crumpling in my fist. My palms were so damp it stuck to my skin like it wanted to crawl inside me and hide too.
I quickened my pace and that was the biggest mistake.
The hall was packed. Too many bodies. Too much shiny tile. And before I knew it, my foot caught on something.
Or nothing. Probably just air.
Then my body yanked itself face-first.
My chest hit the ground first. Hard.
The breath it knocked out of me was so fast that I did not even have the time to gasp. My chin scraped the old tile next.
Then as if all of that was not enough, my bag flung open beside me like it wanted to betray me in front of everyone, everything in it sprawling out.
Notebooks. A cracked compact mirror I'd stolen from some trash bin. A stupid half-empty pack of breath mints and safety pins.
Why the hell did I even bring that?
Then, finally, I heard a sound.
A very awful sound of fabric spilling.
Actually, it was unrolling.
The gauze. The damn compression wrap that I used to bind my chest.
For a second—just one—all I could hear was silence.
And then the whispers started.
"Yo… what the hell is that?"
There was a pause and then a cough that tried to hide a laugh.
"Nah, nah, no way. Is that—are those rags?"
I did not bother looking up. I couldn't even. I just grabbed the stupid strips of fabric like my fingers did not feel like ice at the moment. One's half was hanging off the floor and it looked exactly like what it is.
Torn, stretched, and sweat-stained from being bound under my chest for too long. And I had packed a lot of extras.
"Are they diapers? My guy brought his blankie to academy?"
At this point, a lot of the boys could not help but burst into laughter.
There were snorts and actual choking sounds.
One even dared to kick one of the rolled-up bindings on the floor and whistled, "I think your laundry escaped, bro."
"Looks like he brought his mommy's bedsheets or something. What do you even need this many cloth scraps for, dude?"
"Maybe he's artsy. Gonna knit us a scarf."
There was more and more laughter after that.
It kept on growing at my expense. I tried to keep breathing, but my chest suddenly felt too tight. It was almost as if my lungs decided that they were not going to work in public.
I was still on my hands and knees, cheek stinging, eyes wide, and brain jumbled up. I finally crawled to quickly grab the rolled-out wrap first, but someone's boot kicked it further down the hall.
My fingers trembled as I scrambled for the breath mints instead, then the wraps that were still intact.
There was more laughter. One of the guys even fake-stumbled and almost stepped on my hand, but I was quick to yank it back.
My knees squeaked against the tile as I tried to stand, but my elbow slipped and I ended up smacking the floor again.
I could not help but sigh at my own clumsiness this time, because what the actual hell.
My chest ached. My ribs screamed. My eyes blurred.
But I refused to cry. I couldn't.
I shoved the wraps, rags, and pins back into my bag while keeping my head down. I didn't dare look at anyone.
"Look at him hugging that bag like it's stuffed with gold."
"He must think someone wants those rags."
I gripped the zipper tight and kept my eyes on the floor.
My vision blurred.
Boys don't cry. Boys don't cry. You're not a girl anymore.
I chanted it, as if that could hold me together.
I tried to walk.
My feet didn't listen. They stayed planted like they wanted to be part of the humiliation too.
"Did someone say he's a rogue? I've seen stronger squirrels, to be honest."
"He's not gonna last a damn week in here."
"Oh, he'll last for sure. In the infirmary."
Another voice spoke, "He must be the kind of rogue that was raised on bedtime stories and some pink milk."
"Definitely the kind of wolf that cried so much when he shifted."
"Shifted? No way. He hasn't even shifted yet. Look at him."
My hands shook. The bag slipped open again while I fumbled to zip it. My fingers wouldn't cooperate. Like they'd forgotten how to do anything but tremble.
I'd practiced. I'd trained for this. My voice. My posture. My reactions.
Why did it all fall apart now?
A boy leaned in. Too close. His breath hot against my cheek.
"Aren't you gonna go now, bandage boy?"
I finally found my voice.
"Shut up." I said, but it came out as a squeak.
He snorted. "Is that what you call a growl? Aww, look. Short lanky boy here thinks he's scary."
They laughed again. Louder.
But this time, my body moved.
My legs finally remembered how to function, and I walked—fast—toward the double doors.
Eyes forward. No stumbles.
But then I heard it.
"Null."
That voice.
The registration officer.
My feet froze and my heart slammed into my ribs.
Had he figured it out?
Had I already been caught, before I even had a chance to begin?