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“Agatha—”

“Sorry. Continue. I'm coping.”

Something almost like affection softens his face.

That does not help.

Then he takes a breath.

“I’m the Wolf.”

Everything inside me goes quiet.

Not the night.

Crickets still chirp.

Music still drifts faintly from the Academy.

But me?

Nothing.

I stare at him.

“What do you mean you’re the Wolf? My Wolf? You?”

“It was always me, Agatha.”

I look at his face. Really look.

And suddenly a hundred tiny moments shift into place.

Chocolate.

The growling whenever I complained about Coach Williams. The way Grimm knew things I couldn't remember telling him. That strange recognition whenever he touched me.

The magic.

“Oh, my Goddess.”

I sink onto one of the stone benches lining the edge of the woods because my knees have officially resigned from active duty.

Grimm.

My Wolf.

Grimm is my Wolf.

I look at him again, trying to somehow fit this enormous, elegantly dressed prince into the shape of the giant black beast who used to sit beside me and beg shamelessly for candy.

“You ate my chocolate.”

His mouth twitches.

“Yes.”

“Every day.”