"Nobody move!"

I scream. So does a few others at the sight of the armed men with loaded guns.

Throwing my hands up in the universal surrender sign I try to calm my body. I'm seconds away from turning into my doe out of sheer fright and getting shot down as an out of control animal is not the way I want to go.

The uncontrollable shifting is one of the main reasons I've avoided all confrontations. Extreme fear equals extreme consequences and in this case those consequences involve fur and four hooves.

Tears fill my eyes as I resist the urge to break down.

How did they find out I'm a Fera? Oh god, someone must have spotted me in the woods changing forms. Damn it! Damn it! I knew I shouldn't have gone out there to change.

Still, they can't say I am for sure, can they?

As far as they know only men can change shape. The Y-chromosome, they said. They were so sure when they announced it... wrong, obviously, but they don't know that.

They shouldn't have suspected me even if all the signs were there. Even if some citizen claimed to have seen me.

Do I beg?

Feign ignorance?

I can't fight but I won't let them take me. The rumours of what they do in private are abundant. The torture. The experiments. The stray body parts found in dumps and the missing Fera children who never return home. All before they're released into the wild and hunted like animals.

"Eric Yorkie!" the armed man leading the pack yells out over the cries of students.

Students begin to part and several point in one direction.

"That's him!" Jessica shouts into my ear. "On the seat with the book!"

"Move girl," one says as he pushes past me. Dazed and more than a little confused, I don't drag my eyes away from the soldiers or lower my hands until they storm past in a blur of black. Slowly my gaze moves towards Eric.

He's in more shock than I am, his eyes frantically darting between all the men who've trained their guns directly at him. Lowering his book he begins to stand very slowly, cautiously. His certificate and book falls from shaky hands as he moves to face them.

"Are you Eric Yorkie?" one soldier asks forcefully.

Eric nods slowly.

The armed man gives a curt gesture to the others who start to surround him. "You're coming with us on suspicion of being an unmarked Fera."

"Me? A feral? No, that's crazy," he says. Sweat is dripping heavily from him and his hand is outstretched to create a barrier between him and all the armed men.

"Place your hands behind your head and turn slowly." They all keep their guns trained on him and several release a beam of red light, as thin as a pinpoint, to mark the very middle of Eric's head. They're ready for a kill shot.

"No... no! I'm not one of them!" He backs away from them, his voice raising in desperation. "Please, you have to believe me, I'm not! I'm not!"

"Then you'll have nothing to worry about when the Doc runs some tests. Come with us peacefully or there'll be trouble."

Eric freezes before taking a hesitant step forward, bending just enough to retrieve his book from the ground. Without warning he chucks it straight at the soldiers and turns sharply to begin sprinting away. He pushes through the throng of gasping students who make a clear path for the trailing men.

"Theo. His leg," the leader says coldly.

A quick pop from one of the rifles sends Eric falling heavily to the ground. He barely made it a few feet away. Crying out in agony he clutches at the bloody wound while the men approach.

He tries to scuttle back on his hands, still attempting to somehow leave while dragging a bloody and useless leg behind him.

The tears I've been reigning in finally fall as I take in Eric's desperation and the jeers starting up around him. Now that they know what the fuss is about, the students resume a casual stance, encouraging the soldiers' behaviour. Some even feel brave enough to hurl small rocks at him as he's picked under his armpits up by three men.

The soldiers don't care to be gentle as they drag him through the crowd towards the van ignoring his cries for help. Boos rise up from the others, along with a few curse words and laughs.

"Feral freak!" One boy taunts. "Kill him, we'll all say it was in self-defence."

Eric's eyes make contact with mine, beseeching me to do something. Anything.

I don't do a single thing. I can't. I lower my eyes in shame.

Guilt churns in my stomach but I have to be realistic. I can't take on an entire school and heavily armed guards, steal a wounded boy, and somehow make it to a safe and secluded area.

I'm sorry, I want to tell him. I'm sorry this is happening. I'm sorry for the sheer relief I feel that it's you, not me, being taken away. I'm so sorry I'm such a coward.

If he is a shapeshifter he doesn't show it by turning, which is smart. The armed men have been trained to deal with animals as big and ferocious as dinosaurs — literally, apparently even a species' extinction doesn't stop the shifts — so they could take Eric out easily if he decides to make another run for it in his alternate form.

A rock hits his temple sharply and his head snaps back on impact.

"That's enough, children!" the armed leader snaps. The noise quiets, although soft whispers of cruelty still echo.

"I'm placing a grand on your shape being a rat," Mike taunts when Eric passes. "Give us a good show this year. Hell, I might even sign up for the Hunt myself just for you."

Eric begins to falter, even while being dragged he's having trouble remaining upright. When they pass us I rush forward and catch his elbow as he falls limp, trying to spare him any sort of further humiliation. "Here, I've got you."

Not daring to look up at the guards or students I help him limp along with the other three men who are far more forceful. Helping the FC take someone to his doom is not how I thought this day would go.

"You've got to be strong," I whisper softly enough that the guards hopefully can't hear. I don't know what to say. Telling him things are going to be alright is a cruel lie when we both know what will happen to him. "I'm so sorry, Eric. This isn't fair."

His hand finds mine and gives it a hard squeeze as he tries to mouth the words help me. Someone must have thrown another rock because the next second something hard hits my head with enough force that it throws me to the ground.

"I said that's enough!" The leader yells out while I clutch at my throbbing temple. "If another single thing is thrown I will personally put a bullet between your eyes. I don't give a damn if you're all still in nappies. Grow up."

By the time I stumble up to my feet, with a little help from both Angela and Mike at my side, Eric's already at the back panel of the van.

I watch as the men wrap thick leather, chained in the middle, around Eric's slim neck. They're collaring him like a dog. Shaming him further in front of all of us because they can. They shove him hard into the empty large space, slam the back of the van closed, and take off as quickly as they came.

It's over within ten minutes.

Mike touches my throbbing temple and I jerk back. "You okay? Looks like a nasty bump. You shouldn't have put yourself in the middle of that; the feral could've gotten real dangerous if he wasn't actually a rat. Which I still think he is."

"I'm fine. It doesn't hurt."

"I didn't see who threw it or they'd be going to Pound Town right now."

"Pound Town means sex, genius," Jessica says, grinning like a mad fool. She grabs Angela's hands, who's looking as bewildered as the rest of us. "Can you believe that happened? It was me! I'm the one that figured it out. You thought I didn't have a brain. Ha!"

"What do you mean it was you?"

"I didn't connect the dots until a few days ago when Eric was asked where he was born. Obviously they meant to ask what city but he said he had a home birth. A home birth. Nobody has home births anymore. So I called up a friend who's in the nursing department to check out his records. Turns out," she pauses dramatically, "there are none. He never had his vaccinations. Ew. So, I put in a tip to the FC about him and they assured me they were on their way to test him right then. They must've processed his results super quick because it was only two days ago. His parents are going to be in so much trouble."

"You're just full of surprises," Mike says with a laugh, ruffling up her styled hair.

Jessica turns to me and gives me the once over. "Why'd you try to help him anyway?"

I shrug as casually as possible hoping it will hide my shaking. "I don't know. I wasn't really thinking but I couldn't stand by and do nothing. We don't know for sure if he's really a shapeshifter, and if he is he's still… human. From the Homo genus tree at least, I mean."

"Gross, you're not a sympathiser, are you?"

"No!" Definitely not something I want to be known as. Word will spread and next thing I know I'll be under heavy surveillance. "I just felt really bad for him."

"That's my girl," Mike says. "Nice even to the vermin."

Jessica turns back to Ang. "Do you think he's going to survive until his Hunt? Or will he roll over and die before then?"

"He won't make it," she answers with confidence.

"You sure? Wanna put your money where your mouth is?"

"Wait a minute." Mike scrunches up his graduation certificate and throws it without care into his backpack. Pulling out his keys he motions to his car. "If we're going to start betting on the animals then we do it the right way. Let's go to the Lodge to place some bets and then we'll get drinks. A toast to the rat's takedown by the extraordinary Jessica."

She squeals in delight.

I can't think of anything worse if I tried.

"I'm under eighteen, I can't do either," I say without concern. Cool, calm, and collected. "I think I'll just go home. All the excitement here and that rock to the head has given me a headache anyway."

"I'm not going if she's not," Angela says with folded arms.

"She's coming," Mike insists. He turns to me with a playful grin. "You don't have to put money down but there's no law against me taking your advice and putting down my own. We'll split the profits if I win."

"Really, it's okay. I'm so tired and in shock from everything that's happened. I just want to go home and sleep."

He pouts. "You really want to miss out on this? It's our last day together."

"I know but with everything that's happened, I just can't," I stress, putting my arm gently on his bicep the way I've seen other girls do when they flirt.

It seems to work as his face softens and he heaves a sigh.

"Fine but we're going to talk tomorrow at least." He smacks his lips. "I'll need to know which modelling agency took you so I can come visit."

"Of course. I promise we'll talk all about it tomorrow," I lie.

I pull my rusty pickup into the driveway, noting the police cruiser parked at the side of the small house. Charlie's home.

"Charlie?" I call out softly as I enter, closing the door behind me. "Dad?"

The place is spotless, but considering it's a rather tiny two bedroom, one bathroom house in a modest part of town it's not that hard to accomplish. We've never had very much in the way of furniture or appliances and being two tidy-minded people helps.

A stack of unopened letters lay on the small, wood kitchen table and I repress a grimace. My career is undoubtedly in one of those.

"Bella!"

I shriek, startled for a few seconds. Charlie stands behind me, one arm out for a hug and the other delicately holding what looks to be a plate with a piece of vanilla cake.

"Sorry!" he exclaims, reaching forward to envelop me in a tight hug, balancing the plate at the same time. "I shoulda' known better than to scare you like that. Ah, Bella. I'm so proud of you. You're a graduate."

He places the cake down so he can wrap both arms around me. I return it as tightly as I can, needing an anchor after the events this afternoon.

"I'm so proud. Renee would be proud, too, and look," he gestures to the plate, "I came home from the station a little early to bake."

"Thanks, Dad," I whisper into his shoulder, squeezing before pulling away. He doesn't cook. Ever. So for him to do this must've taken a lot of work and even more patience.

"It's plain so I don't know how it's going to taste. It seemed like the easiest thing to make without burning down the kitchen. If it's terrible I can order in something else. I was thinking we could have pizza tonight as it's a special occasion." He rummages through the drawers for another plate. "We also need a frame for your graduation certificate. Where is it, by the way?"

I remove my bag and unroll the paper. It's a little creased from my lack of care but it doesn't matter; the paper itself is essentially useless at this point and only good for decoration.

"Right here." I hand it to him and watch with a smile as he sheds a few happy tears that he tries to hide with a quick swipe of his hand.

"This is it then. You're really all grown up. Tomorrow you'll be leavin' me all alone."

"Oh, Char— Dad, no," I tell him. "Even if I do go away, which might not happen, you know I'll be calling every single day. You'll get so sick of talking to me you'll enjoy the peace and quiet. Besides, seventeen isn't that grown up. I'll still need your advice on everything."

He gives me a wobbly smile. No matter what I know he's proud that I made it through high school and most importantly, kept out of the spotlight and away from the eyes of the Fera Control.

"And I think you know just how immature I can be," I say. There's a pregnant pause as I wait for him to compose himself. "So, did you make this from scratch?"

I pick the cake slice up by hand, manners forgotten, and take a generous bite. It's actually… really good. Ugly, but good.

"Oh," I moan. "Definitely store bought mix. This is amazing."

"I can be a great cook if I wanted to be!"

"So modest too!" I laugh. "That must be where I get my humbleness from."

"And your good looks. Your mother was awfully lucky," he teases.

I can't deny my looks being good without insulting him directly because he's right. I'm almost the female image of him. Wavy mahogany hair (although mine is long and lacking the strands of white), light brown eyes, and clear, pale skin that burns far too easily. He has a lot of age spots and freckles and I'm more petite in bone structure, of course, but otherwise we're very similar.

What I didn't get from him, however, are the small white splatter of spots that creep up both sides of my neck in perfect synchronisation. I've had them since birth. My fawn spots. Usually once a fawn grows their winter coat they'll lose them but mine have never left. Even in doe form Jane has a few spots left here and there along her body.

He laughs to himself and turns to pick up the phone. "I'll order in some pizza before everyone has the same idea. We'll have an early dinner. Extra meat and cheese on yours?"

"Ha-ha," I say, getting comfortable in the kitchen chair while adamantly avoiding the letters.

Another downside — or upside, depending on how you look at it — to turning into a doe is that I don't have the stomach for meat. Literally. It almost caused my pediatrician to have a heart attack when she saw my grotesquely-shaped stomach through a CT scan when I was eight after coming in for a tummy ache.

Convinced it was some type of tumour she pushed for more tests. Needless to say, Charlie quickly ran with me in tow and, except for some routine vaccines, I haven't been back to the doctor's since and I've kept to a mostly herbivore diet.

Which can be a bummer because they sell the best smelling hamburgers in the country here.

"It'll be here in twenty." He says after a few minutes. Sitting in the chair opposite mine he looks at me with a mixture of concern and eagerness. "Your career letter came today."

Of course it did. I pointedly ignore both him and the daunting letter pile.

"Cool."

"I'm sorry, Bella," he says softly. "I know how much you enjoyed school and science fairs when you were young. You must hate me for forcing you to dumb yourself down. Especially now that the rest of your life is on the line."

I may have resented it just a little while I was growing up. When he beamed at my report cards featuring straight Cs and C minuses, but any hatred was always replaced by guilt for feeling that way. I know I would've asked my child to do the same thing if I thought it'd protect them and keep them away from interested eyes.

Average means flying under the radar and out of sight.

"It's okay. I probably wouldn't have done much better even if I tried my best. I'm really ditzy at times."

"It's not okay, Bella. Never think that what I've had to ask you to do is okay. To dumb yourself down to make sure you never wind up in a high-stress position of authority or attention. I know it's not fair to you."

"That's the thing though, it's not me who's being treated unfairly. I don't mind playing the village idiot to stay invisible because I know there are men out there right now being dissected or god knows what." I shudder violently. "The FC came to my school today."

He stares, slack-jawed and wide-eyed before hissing, "What? How did I not hear about this? Dear god, Isabella, please don't tell me someone saw you change! What the Hell was Control doing at your school?"

"They weren't after me. There's a boy my age who's suspected of being a shifter. I don't know if he is or isn't but they took him anyway. Who knows what they're doing to him and I just stood there, watching him go."

His face tightens as he pinches the bridge of his sharp nose. I've completely ruined the mood. "As long as it wasn't you."

"Dad!"

"No, listen to me. It's tragic what's happening to the men but that isn't your fight. You can't help them. You think of yourself first, okay? I know that young girls are taught to put others before them, to always do the selfless thing, but that's not good advice to give anyone. You put yourself first always. Always, Bella. Especially when it comes to this."

I almost laugh. "I love you but you're terrible at making me feel better."

"I'm not kidding around. Promise me you'll always put yourself first."

His worry is crystal clear — it's over every part of his face and in the tightness of his bunched muscles. "I promise."

He nods and kisses my forehead before he reaches forward and grasps the bundle of letters. "Yourself first. Now, let's deal with this elephant in the room. Do you want to read it or do you want me to?"

"We could read it after pizza."

"It's like a band-aid. We'll rip it off fast and be done with it."

"Or we could let it soak in warm water until we forget about it and it just disappears."

"Bella." He's unrelenting.

"You read it, please." As much as I don't want to know, the letters are a good distraction from terrible thoughts that want to creep back into my mind.

I hear the envelope opening and I wince, waiting for my future to tumble out of Charlie's mouth any second. He simply breathes deep for a few long moments as he skims through the letter in its entirety.

Finally he releases a shuddering breath. "Well, it could be much worse. You're not going to be a courtesan."

"A courtesan? A prostitute? I didn't even know that could've been an option!"

"It's on the tables for a lot of girls and boys, unfortunately. Troubled children, the mentally disabled, and vulnerable ones."

I cover my face with my hands in disgust. "Okay, not a prostitute. Good to know. What am I then?"

Mentally I cross my fingers for a teacher, trying to shake the image of forced courtesans from my mind. I'm okay with teaching children. I can definitely handle that for the rest of my life. Maybe even a vet. I could spend every day helping animals, or—

"A domestic assistant."

"A what?" I grab the letter out of his hand and read over the contents as fast as I can. A few mentions of someone named Edward Cullen, a manor, train departure times and pickup to my new home of Forks, and monetary compensation. There, near the very bottom in bold letters reads:

POSITION: Domestic Assistant.

"Wait. What does it mean?"

"It's a… they help out around a client's house or building. They do domestic type chores like replacing bed linens, cleaning, or putting together meals. They keep the place running in order, really."

"A maid?"

A maid. I'm going to be some rich snob's toilet cleaner.

"It's an honest job, sweetheart. Very respectable." Charlie's calm tone makes me want to yell. It's a fine job, really. I'll be fed and sheltered, without attention from anybody as the help rarely gets noticed. "People remember the names of the greatest and worst in society. This middle ground is a blessing in disguise."

"Yeah, you're right." I ball the letter up in my fist but don't trash it just yet. There's too much information about the rest of my life on there. "It's a good job. I know."

Charlie looks lost. He comes around behind me as I sink my head into my arms on the table. I feel his hand just hovering over my back as if he's giving me some phantom comforts but unsure what to really do.

"I'm sorry," he whispers and decides on a few short rubs between my shoulder blades.

My breath comes ragged. "Don't be. I'm not… I'm not the sort of person who would've amounted to much, Dad. I know that. I'm a pushover, too. The only time I have a backbone is when I'm daydreaming about having one."

"You have a great backbone. It's right here." He taps hard on my spine with one bony finger. "Seems solid to me."

I crack a smile and lift my head up long enough to grab the plate of half-eaten cake and drag it into my arms. I try to eat it with my head half on the table but it's a losing fight.

"I don't want to admit it, but I shed a few tears too when I read my letter," he says and comes back around to sit in front of me. "It's hard. It's hard to have your choices taken from you at such a young age. I didn't know what the term 'public servant' meant until my own parents explained it to me. Yes, I felt a lot of shame that I didn't have control of my life. A lot of frustration. It wasn't something I ever imagined for myself. But as my mother, your grandmother, had said, it was good enough to keep me dry at night and with bread in my stomach."

He pats my hand. "Besides, I met your mother on the line of duty. Rescuing that damsel in distress on the beach was the best thing that ever happened to me. Maybe you're on the exact path you need to be."

"Maybe," I say, but inside I feel much lighter. He's right, there's no guarantee that things won't be amazing in the future. Especially if I give them a chance.

"Who knows," he continues. "The man you're working for might be extremely rich, handsome, and desperately single. Maybe he'll fall in love with you on the spot and shower you with gifts."

"Or maybe the woman I'm working for will be extremely old and wants to buy me jewelry because her grandchildren never visit. Then she'll write me into her will along with her Siamese cats who inherit everything."

"That too."

By the time the pizza is here I'm in much better spirits and lounging on the couch with Charlie. He just talks and talks, aware through some other-level intuition that I'm in no mood for talking myself but I still need the conversation.

He reminisces about my mother, about his own parents, and about my days playing make-believe in the backyard.

"You were trying to play pretend as a big dinosaur with your mother but she gave such an impressive female dino-roar back that you changed to your deer form out of pure fright! At the time it was the scariest thing in the world. You couldn't begin to imagine our surprise. I might have even peed myself a little."

"I remember that," I laugh. "I still have nightmares about dinosaurs."

I take a quick glance at the clock, well past my usual bedtime.

"It's been a crazy day," I say, getting up slowly. Cracking my back I give a half-exaggerated yawn. "I'm going to try to get some sleep. I'll need it for tomorrow."

When I leave everything and everyone I've ever known.

"Bella… I'm very proud of you. Try to get a good night's sleep. I love you."

"I love you, too."

I make my way to my room, barely a few feet away, and fall back onto my soft bed.

There's nothing else to do now but pray that the house's owner, this Edward Cullen guy, is kind and not the sort that takes sadistic pleasure in ordering people around. Some rich man on a power trip. Or even worse, a complete anti-Fera nut that I have to take orders from for the rest of my life. I suppose I'll know tomorrow when I arrive.