The first thing I felt was cold.
Not the bite of winter, but a chilling emptiness—like something had been carved out of me while I slept.
My head throbbed, a deep, pulsing ache behind my eyes. I tried to move, but my limbs were heavy, like they didn't quite belong to me. The soft rustle of fabric followed as I shifted slightly—silk brushing against my skin.
Where was I?
The scent of roses and burning incense filled the air. Familiar, but wrong. Too sweet. Too artificial.
My eyes fluttered open.
Light flooded my vision, soft and golden, the kind that should have felt warm—but instead, it felt like a lie. I blinked slowly, letting the room come into focus.
I was in my room. Or… what looked like my room. But it was cleaner than usual. Carefully arranged. The broken mirror had been replaced. The floor swept. The curtains drawn just enough to let in a soft glow.
And standing around me…
Faces.
Smiling ones.
Too many of them.
Felissa's painted smile was the first I saw. She sat by my bedside, her hands folded primly in her lap, her head tilted just so, like a concerned sister.
"Oh, thank the Moon, you're awake," she said softly.
I blinked again. My throat was dry. "What… happened?"
"Shh, don't strain yourself," said another voice. Catherine's.
She stood at the foot of the bed, a vision of calm composure in her pale blue gown, her golden hair coiled neatly behind her head. Her eyes, so often cold and sharp, were warm now. Too warm.
I flinched instinctively, but the heaviness in my limbs remained.
"You collapsed, sweetheart," she said, and I swear the word turned my stomach. "You've been asleep for three days."
Three days?
Panic scratched at the edges of my mind. Why couldn't I remember?
Rhys stepped into view, his arms folded, expression unreadable. Elga loomed behind him, and I noticed they all watched me like a hawk circles a dying rabbit—careful, silent, calculating.
"But… I don't remember…" I whispered, trying to sit up.
Felissa placed a firm hand on my shoulder. "The healers think it was the stress," she said, her eyes bright with false sympathy. "You've always been so fragile. We were so worried."
Lies. I didn't need my memory to know this was all wrong.
My chest tightened. Something inside me screamed to run. But run where? I didn't even know what I was running from.
Catherine stepped closer and smoothed a hand over my hair. I stiffened under her touch.
"You'll be fine," she cooed. "Tonight is the Ball of Emergence. You'll have a lovely dress. You'll stand with your peers. We'll celebrate your coming of age properly."
The Ball. My shift.
A flash—fire. Shadows. A voice chanting. My wrists burning.
I gasped, clutching my head.
"Layla?" Catherine asked sharply.
But the memory was gone before I could reach it, like a dream slipping away at dawn.
Something had been taken from me. Torn out. I could feel it.
I looked down.
My skin shimmered faintly—powder dusting my arms to cover faint bruises. My neck bore a delicate chain I didn't remember owning. My dress was silver and ethereal, like moonlight trapped in silk. The perfect image of a radiant debutante.
But I didn't feel radiant.
I felt… empty.
Something deep within me was missing. My wolf—silent. Distant.
I swallowed hard. "I… don't feel ready."
Catherine's smile widened, but her eyes were steel. "You don't have to be ready. You only have to look the part."
Felissa giggled beside her, brushing nonexistent dust off my dress. "Don't worry. Everyone already knows what to expect."
The weight of her words settled like iron in my stomach.
They expected nothing. And that was exactly what they would get.
I would walk into that ballroom tonight, dressed like a goddess—only to prove to the entire pack that I had no power. That I couldn't shift. That I was… defective.
The thought made me want to scream. But all I could do was nod.
Play the part.
Let them watch me fall.
But deep down, something stirred—too faint to grasp, but real.
A promise.
One day, they would regret this.
Bonus....
...
As they fussed over me—tugging at my dress, curling my hair, whispering soft insults behind polished teeth—I stared blankly at the mirror.
I didn't recognize the girl looking back at me.
She looked beautiful. Pale skin dusted with pearl shimmer, lips tinted like crushed rose petals, eyes rimmed with soft kohl. Like a fragile doll in a glass case.
But I knew better.
Something inside me was broken.
And yet… not entirely gone.
Beneath the layers of silk and powder and silence, something pulsed. Faint. Like a heartbeat buried under earth. Like a spark waiting for breath.
I clenched my fists in my lap.
They wanted a ghost to parade at the Ball.
Let them have her.
But one day, the real me would rise—and she would burn everything down.
The door shut softly behind Catherine as she swept from the room with her entourage. I was alone again.
Or so I thought.
Unseen, beyond the balcony, just at the edge where shadow met moonlight, a figure watched through the glass doors.
Cloaked in black. Still as stone.
A mask obscured most of his face, but the sharp glint of silver eyes shone in the dark—fixed on me.
He tilted his head slightly, as if studying a puzzle.
Then, under his breath, barely more than a whisper, he spoke:
"She's not broken."
Then he vanished into the night.