Blake's POV
Vale had a rhythm to it.It didn't care where you came from, just that you moved fast enough not to be noticed.
One year before Beacon, I'd learned how to disappear perfectly.
A new street each week, a new name for every job.
The people who asked questions were the ones who never lasted long in this city.
The Dust shop was quieter these days. The news was worse.
Every other headline carried the same words: "White Fang Activity Escalates in Vale."
Renard tossed the paper across the counter. "You'd think the Council would stop pretending this isn't their fault."
"They need a villain," I said. "It's easier than fixing anything."
He snorted. "You've got a sharp tongue for someone who never talks."
I shrugged. "I listen."
"That's rarer."
We didn't speak after that. The silence was easier.
I walked home as the streetlights came on, coat pulled tight, ears hidden.
Two Atlas drones hummed overhead, scanning the crowd.
People pretended not to notice — everyone did.
I'd gotten used to the tension, but some nights it still felt like the air would split open if anyone breathed too loud.
It reminded me of the Fang before everything went wrong.
A movement pretending to be a family, and a family pretending it wasn't broken.
At the corner of Fifth and Hollow, I saw a man posting flyers. Bright, clean paper — too official to be propaganda.
I didn't pay attention until I caught the symbol at the bottom.
Beacon Academy.
The headline read: "Enrollment Open for Next Generation of Huntsmen and Huntresses."
My step faltered.
The man noticed me watching. "You thinking about it?"
I shook my head. "Just reading."
"New headmaster's changed a lot," he said. "Anyone can apply now — even Faunus. About time, huh?"
I didn't answer.
He smiled like he didn't notice the silence. "World's changing faster than people like to admit."
"Maybe," I said quietly.
He moved on. I stayed there for a while, staring at the paper until the glue dried against the wall.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring out the cracked window at Vale's skyline. The city lights blurred against the glass, a halo of color too bright to look at for long.
I thought about what the man said. About Beacon. About "change."
I thought about Senti — her voice, her laugh, the way she said move first before everything went wrong.
She'd always believed in motion. I'd only ever known running.
Was there a difference?
The next day, Renard handed me a shipment list. "You still planning to stay through winter?"
"I haven't decided."
He studied me. "You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The one people get when they've already decided and don't want to say it yet."
I smiled faintly. "You're imagining things."
"Sure I am," he said. "But if you leave, don't sneak out. Say goodbye. Vale eats enough ghosts."
"I will."
On my lunch break, I walked back to the corner where the flyers had been posted.
Most were torn or painted over now — people didn't like seeing things that reminded them of hope.
But one was still there, half-peeling, edges fluttering in the breeze.
I reached out and touched the corner of the paper.
Beacon.
A place that promised purpose, structure, maybe even forgiveness.
For someone like me, that almost sounded impossible.
I didn't take the flyer down. I didn't write my name on anything.
But when I walked away, I felt something small and stubborn flicker in my chest — something I hadn't felt in a long time.
Hope.
It was quiet, fragile, and barely alive, but it was there.
That night, as I closed up the shop, a sound drifted from the alley behind it — metal scraping on stone, a faint hum like a sword edge cutting air.
I froze.
For a moment, I thought it was her.
When I stepped outside, the alley was empty.
Only a faint mark on the wall remained — the shape of a wolf's head carved into the brick, shallow and deliberate.
I traced it with my fingers, heart pounding.
"She's still here," I whispered.
The wind caught the words and carried them into the dark.
I didn't know if Senti could hear me.
But I knew what she would say if she could:
"Then move first."
And for the first time in years, I wanted to.