I adjusted the strap of my oud case in an effort to avoid fidgeting. There were only about fifty people in my year from my ward, but the line felt as if it would go on forever and forever. Leyla, my older sister, told me I should have just left it at home in case the werewolves confiscated it, but I'd shrivel up and die before that happened. So here I was fidgeting with my strap over and over again, willing the people in front of me to hurry up and board already.

I mean I wasn't even allowed to wear my nice performance clothes. Instead we all had to put on the same boring old grey suits that all humans heading to the capital were required to don. Even if we were allowed to talk—no excuse me "fraternize"—it wouldn't do me any good. That would require friends, of which I was sorely lacking from anyone in my year. It was a less than one percent chance that I would be chosen, but it didn't mean the next couple months would go by any faster.

The only thing that let me really know I was still alive was the glare from the guy standing behind me. At the very least the burning rage in his eyes at my fidgeting gave me some solace. Like everyone else in my year, I didn't even really know his name. All I did know was that he was having a worse time than me and that had to account for something.

Eventually though, all good things come to an end. The werewolf holding a tablet was a woman, but much taller and more graceful than any human woman could ever be. Even if her eyes weren't golden, there's no way she could have been anything other than a werewolf.

"Name," she deadpanned.

"Ranna Hakawati," I answered, finally controlling my fidgeting hands.

She looked at me and frowned, pointing to the oud strapped to my back. "What's that?"

"My personal item." I turned my head, lowering it slightly, just like my mom taught me. "Have the regulations changed since last year?"

"No." She looked down into her tablet, relaxing at my show of submission. "What is it?"

"An oud."

She furrowed a brow. "And what on Earth is that supposed to be?"

"A human instrument. The cousin to the lute and distant relative of the guitar."

She narrowed her eyes, causing the gold to light up like burning sunlight. "Are you allowed to have a musical instrument?"

Without lifting my head, I answered, "I'm a Hakawati. My family are legal storytellers."

tap, tap, tap. "Don't take it out of your room or after lights out."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Finally, she freed me by saying, "You're in room three, bunkbed four. Your instructions will be there."

I mumbled some meek thankyou and stepped into the train. The sleek metal and design reminded me of when I would go with my extended family to perform for the governor. There was none of the sameness and monotony to human designated homes. Rather, the floor was a carpet that was not only soft, but a bright crimson color. The walls, similarly, were in shades of gold and brown. A part of me wanted to just stay and gawk, but I had annoyed the boy behind me. If I didn't want to get "accidently" knocked over, I'd better move.

I walked fast enough that it wasn't running, but that I could move through the various train cars at a decent speed. Eventually, I did get to a room marked "Dormitory 3". They were even nice enough to make a bilingual sign in Arabic and the Werewolves' common language. So it looks like what Layla said about the current councilor of our district being kinder than his predecessors wasn't a complete lie.

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Before I could think more on it, I caught sight of the boy I'd annoyed from the corner of my eye. Quickly I slipped in, grateful that our different genders would at least protect me from any petty revenge.

Inside were four bunkbeds with numbers attached to them. I climbed up to the one on the right side with the number four plastered to the wall. It was a lot fluffier than I was expecting, even having a pillow. Below it was a bag filled with a couple changes of clothes and hygiene supplies. Next to it was a folder with documentation. Like the door outside, it was also bilingual.

To my surprise, a quick scan told me that the translation was a one-to-one. Just in case there was some hidden trick though, I read the common language. After pages of instruction about protocol in the capital, were details about the testing we'd have to go through. I quickly passed over that information once I realized it was the same thing that had been repeated to us for the past twenty-five years.

Finally in the back was the schedule. It would take us three days to arrive to the capital so the first page just listed meal times and lights out. The next page was far more interesting, if I was being perfectly honest. For there it listed details about our registration and testing in the capital. There were even some slots allotted for free time. Even if as humans we were banned from having money outside of our registered wards, this was a once in a lifetime chance to see how the other side lived.

When Layla came back from her testing, she spent weeks talking about how the werewolves there made even the governor look like a pauper. There was the likelihood that she was lying to me in an attempt to hype up her experience, but I'd be lying to myself if I said that a part of me wasn't curious.

To distract myself from my budding impatience, I took out my oud and began tuning it. It was as my fingers were finishing up some scales that a trio of girls walked in. They looked at me and my instrument and then ignored me, deciding to talk to themselves. It was as if they were giving me silent permission to play and sing for them in the background.

Never one to disappoint, I sat up straighter, my fingers dancing maqams far older than history could ever remember and as the other girls chatted about dreams of being chosen, I sang a tale of a nightingale and the young girl who set him free. After all, were we not like that nightingale, forever caged until the day we die?

These small few months would be the only taste of freedom any of us would ever dream of. Even so, we were more fortunate than the weeping nightingale: Unlike the bird in the tale, we had never known true freedom, preferring the safety and comfort of our cages, no matter how wretched he people I sang about would have found our lifestyle to be.

Then the song ended and one of the three looked to me. A girl with deep brown eyes and hair as curly as mine. Yet where mine was long and braided back in a simple style that did not go against protocol, hers was cut short to her chin.

It was this girl who asked, "What happened to the Nightingale after he was let free?"

"I don't know," I answered truthfully.

She blinked. "Aren't you a storyteller?"

"My surname is indeed Hakawati," I said. "But the future of the Nightingale has not been passed down, whether in writing or verbally."

Another girl next to her, one with mousy small features, asked, "Then what do you know?"

There was a biting tone to her question. Ignoring it, I answered, "Although I do not know what happened to him, I like to think that he was happy."

"Why?" It was the first girl who spoke that asked this question.

"To me, my future is with my family and cousins and the other storytelling clans. It is the future which I have wanted for my entire life." I paused for effect. "Likewise, the future that the Nightingale wanted lay outside his cage. Since he worked so hard for it, I like to think that he was surely happy for gaining his heart's desire."

The third girl, one with sharp blue eyes and brown curls with streaks of gold, asked, "Don't you want to be a mate?"

"No," I shook my head. "I'll leave that fate for someone else."

She nodded and three girls dismissed me, deciding that I wasn't some threat to their daydreams. As if any of us had a choice on who would be chosen.

Not that it mattered. Since they left me alone, it gave me time to practice my maqams and mentally go over memorized poetry and tales. Hopefully the rest of the trip would pass me by just as peacefully.