Chapter 24
Krystal
The next morning started too quiet for my taste.
Bryce was up early, shuffling around the kitchen with his backpack on before I’d even had coffee.
He didn’t look sick, but he didn’t look like the old Bryce either.
There was a new weight to the way he moved.
His shoulders hunched, his gaze fixed on the floor, fingers working a silent rhythm across the edge of the counter.
I poured milk over a bowl of cereal, set it in front of him, and tried to pretend this was a normal day.
He poked at the cereal for a while. Zaden sat across from us, watching every move, but kept his commentary to himself.
The mate bond buzzed like live wire between us.
Zaden didn’t have to say the words. Something bad was coming.
Even Bryce felt it. He kept glancing at the clock, tapping his spoon in anxious Morse code.
"Ready?" I asked.
He nodded, mouth full. I tousled his hair and checked his forehead. No fever, just the same clammy skin as always. It was like the magic had sucked all the color out of him.
Zaden drove us to the school. The ride was silent except for Bryce humming under his breath and the occasional crackle from the radio. When we pulled into the lot, he hesitated, hand on the buckle.
"You want me to walk in with you?"
Bryce thought about it, then shrugged. "Can I go by myself? I don’t want people to stare."
I exchanged a glance with Zaden. Even at nine, he knew how fast stories traveled in Stock Creek.
"Sure, bud. But if you feel bad, a headache, or anything, you go to the nurse, okay?"
He nodded but didn’t look back at us. He just slid out of the car and joined the river of kids flowing toward the side entrance.
I watched him slip inside, then reached out and squeezed Zaden’s hand. He squeezed back, no words, just that steady press of reassurance.
I should’ve known it would go off the rails before lunch. Bryce’s teacher called at ten, barely two hours into the day.
Her explanation was a tangle of teacher-speak and barely concealed panic.
"I’m not sure what happened, but it’s worth noting that Bryce seemed agitated in math this morning.
There were some disturbances. Fluorescent lights flickering, a couple popping.
The other kids had been scared. He’s with the nurse now," the teacher added. "He’s saying he has a headache."
I thanked her, hung up, and slammed my palm on the kitchen counter hard enough that a coffee mug rattled.
Beside me, Zaden set down his cup, eyes narrowing.
I grabbed my bag, keys already in hand. "He’s in the nurse’s office."
The secretary in the front office recognized me on sight. She gave Zaden a quick once-over, then pasted on a smile. "Bryce is waiting with the nurse. Principal Givens wanted to meet with you as soon as possible."
She led us through the hall, quick-stepping us past the frosted glass of the main office and into a smaller room near the nurse’s station. There wasn’t even time for me to peek in on Bryce first.
Principal Givens and the guidance counselor, Ms. Halloway, who looked like she’d been mainlining caffeine since sunrise, were already seated at the conference table.
The principal rose and shook my hand. His palm was clammy, grip uncertain. "Thank you for coming so quickly, Mrs. Gallagher. Mr. Beck."
"Of course," I said. My knuckles went white, wrapping around the chair’s arm as I sat.
Zaden slid in beside me, calm and predatory, neither smiling nor frowning. His presence sucked all the air from the room. Even the guidance counselor straightened up, pen poised over her notepad.
Givens folded his hands on the table. "We wanted to talk with you about some challenging incidents we’ve observed with Bryce. There’s obviously been a lot of disruption for him lately, and this morning was, frankly, a lot."
He hesitated, looking at Zaden, then at me.
Ms. Halloway cut in gently. "Bryce is a remarkable student. Popular, too. But there have been a series of behaviors that concern us, and we want to make sure he’s supported."
I looked at Zaden. He gave a nearly imperceptible nod. We should play it soft for now.
I said, "What happened?"
Principal Givens cleared his throat. "Well. In math class, there was a power surge. The lights flickered very intensely and several actually went out. The maintenance staff checked for wiring problems but couldn’t find the cause.
Bryce was visibly upset by it. At lunch, there was another episode.
Bryce’s milk carton apparently levitated off the table.
Multiple students saw it. His tablemates were frightened, as I’m sure you can imagine. These sort of pranks are disruptive."
Ms. Halloway cut in, "We’re not accusing Bryce of anything. But someone made his milk levitate somehow, and it upset his friends."
I thought of Bryce, alone in the nurse’s office, holding his head in his hands, and a fresh twist of guilt and anger ran through me.
"And after lunch?" Zaden prompted, voice low.
Givens shuffled his notes. "There was a hallway incident. Several students bumped into Bryce between classes. Witnesses say a locker door slammed shut, hard enough to startle everyone. Bryce wasn’t near it. But after that, he said he felt ill, and the staff sent him to the nurse."
I exhaled, pinching the bridge of my nose. "He’s been having headaches. Migraines, maybe."
Ms. Halloway’s eyes went soft with sympathy. "Transitions are tough on kids. Especially when there’s history. Would you like him evaluated by a doctor? We could set up homebound instruction if that’s needed."
I met Zaden’s eyes. The answer was already there.
He leaned forward, hands folded on the table.
"It’s clear Bryce is getting overwhelmed with the classroom environment right now.
We’d like to withdraw him for a bit. There’s an online program.
I know several Stock Creek families use it during transitional periods.
" The wolf pack often had to pull their kids out of school during the time they were shifting and often used this same program.
Some just homeschooled for the entirety of their children's schooltime.
Relief flashed across the principal’s face so fast it would’ve been funny anywhere else. "Of course. We have the forms here. You can enroll him in the online curriculum immediately."
Ms. Halloway scribbled something, then looked up at me. "Bryce is a sweet kid. He deserves to feel safe. And so do his classmates."
I gripped the chair harder, fighting the urge to snarl. "We’ll make sure he’s okay."
Zaden slipped an arm across the back of my seat. Steady, a little territorial, but it helped.
The principal passed the withdrawal forms across to me, a whole stack. Zaden took the top few and started signing. I filled out the rest, my hands shaking only a little.
It was stunning how prepared they were. No arguments, no pushback. Just "How soon can he be picked up?" and "Would you like his desk contents boxed?"
"We’ll take him now," I said, harsher than I meant to, but I didn't regret it. One bad day and they were ready to write my kid off.
Ms. Halloway nodded, biting her lip. "He’s in the nurse’s office. Do you want me to walk you there?"
I shook my head. "We know the way."
The principal finally met my eyes. "If Bryce needs anything, please reach out. We want what’s best for him."
I didn’t answer that. I couldn’t.
Zaden stood first, holding the door open. I followed, a paper folder clutched to my chest.
In the nurse’s office, Bryce sat in a vinyl chair, head in his hands. The nurse crouched in front of him, holding an icepack to his brow. Loose strands of his hair stuck to the sweat on his cheeks.
He looked up when we entered, eyes bloodshot, face pinched.
"Hey, bud," Zaden said, instantly soft. "How’re you holding up?"
Bryce shrugged, then pressed the heels of his hands to his temples. "It hurts."
I dropped to my knees beside him, wrapping him up. "I know, sweetheart. We’re taking you home."
He slumped against me, not even trying to hide how wrecked he felt.
The nurse eyed us both. "He said the light makes it worse. And when we tried to give him Tylenol, the bottle jumped, er, fell off the counter. I’ve never seen anything like it."
She looked at Zaden, then me, and I could see her brain struggling to file it all away under weird but somehow explainable.
I tried to smile. "Just a bad day."
The nurse didn’t argue.
I helped Bryce up, keeping a hand on his back. Zaden took the icepack and held it to the nape of Bryce’s neck, and for a moment, the three of us stood there, a unit against the world.
Outside, Zaden steered us toward the car, picking Bryce up so he could bury his face into Zaden's chest and block out the sunlight. He handled the seatbelt, buckled it gently, then closed the door.
Bryce slept the whole way home, head tilted into his seat, fingers curled around the waistband of his jeans like he was bracing for impact.
He slept through most of the afternoon. I set him up on the couch at first, darkened the room, and gave him a pillow and the soft gray blanket he’d loved since he was five.
He didn’t even touch the TV remote, just burrowed under the blanket and curled up on his side.
I set the laptop on the coffee table, went through every login and setup step for the online school program, and even printed out the orientation packet in case he wanted to look at it.
He didn’t. He dozed, then rolled over, groaning. Sometimes he’d hum the melody of an old song, just for a second, before shoving his fist into his eye and pressing it hard.
Every five minutes, I checked on him. Either to bring a glass of water, adjust the curtains, or just watch the rise and fall of his shoulders. None of these things helped. He didn’t touch the water, and the blankets ended up puddled on the floor.