Chapter 2

The stone halls of the Blood Moon estate hold every step I have ever taken. To the guards and servants who pass me, I am just a shadow with a rag and a bucket.

They look right through me, and that is their biggest mistake. Silence makes you invisible, but invisibility makes you a watcher.

Tonight, the guard rotation changes at midnight. I know this because I memorized the duty schedule while cleaning the front desk three weeks ago.

That shift change gives me a twelve-minute window where the second-floor hallway remains empty. The main staircase stays dark, saved for Alpha Garreth and his enforcers.

I use the narrow back stairwell instead. It smells of old grease and wet wood, but it is quiet. I step through the heavy wooden door, my bare feet making no sound on the floor.

The lock on Garreth’s private study is old. It needs a thick silver key, but the frame is warped from damp weather.

If I slide a thin piece of iron between the latch and the frame, the lock pops open with a tiny click. I learned that trick when I was twelve, starving, and hunting for bread crumbs in the pantry.

Tonight, I am hunting for something far better than food.

Inside, the room smells of strong alcohol, old paper, and burnt wax. I close the door behind me and wait for my eyes to adjust to the dim light coming through the narrow windows.

The glass is thick and uneven, bending the moonlight into strange shapes across the floor. This place fits no clear era. The stone walls hold burning iron torches alongside brass pipes that hiss with warm steam.

It is neither purely old nor new, just a cold machine built to keep the strong on top and the weak at the bottom.

I walk straight to the large wooden desk. Garreth keeps his main logbooks in the lower drawer, but he is careless. He relies on his alpha aura to scare people away, thinking no servant would dare touch his belongings.

He does not understand that someone who has lost everything does not fear a leader's aura anymore.

My hands work fast in the dark. I pull open a small side panel beneath the desk, feeling for the hidden spring I noticed while polishing the wood months ago. The false bottom drops open with a soft thud. Inside rests a stack of black folders tied with red string.

I pull the top folder into the moonlight. Page after page lists illegal trade deals with rogue packs along the northern border.

Garreth is selling off our grain reserves and iron supplies in secret, filling his own pockets while the pack starves through the coming cold months. But as I turn to the back, a different paper catches my attention.

These are not trade records. They are medical orders stamped with a official chemical seal.

I hold the sheet closer, reading the writing line by line. Every month for the last seven years, a special delivery has arrived at the back gate late at night.

Refined wolfsbane extract. It is a processed liquid that removes the lethal poison while keeping the exact chemical that blocks a werewolf's power.

My heart hits a steady rhythm against my ribs. It does not race. It turns cold and focused.

According to the dates, the first delivery arrived three weeks before my fourteenth birthday. That is the exact age a young werewolf’s spirit should first wake up.

Every morning since that day, the head cook has handed me a cup of bitter tea, calling it a tonic to keep my weak body healthy. I drank it without question because I thought my body was broken.

I thought my lack of a wolf was a defect that made me the lowest person in the pack.

It was never a birth defect. It was a regular dose of poison, given to me every single day by the man who sits in this chair.

I hold the paper in my hands for a brief second before forcing my mind to stay clear. Anger is a distraction I cannot afford. Right now, facts are my only weapon. I grab a blank piece of paper and a dark charcoal stick from the drawer.

Quickly, I copy down the dates, the shipment numbers, and the signature at the bottom. The handwriting belongs to Garreth’s personal doctor, the same man who checks my pulse with a fake smile every month.

He was never checking my health. He was measuring the dose.

Heavy, slow footsteps echo down the outer hallway. The shift change is ending earlier than planned.

I freeze, listening to the rhythm of the boots. It is Thomas, the night captain. He always stops near the window at the end of the hall to light his pipe before starting his walk. I have less than thirty seconds before he turns the corner and checks the door handle.

I roll my copied notes tightly and hide them inside the secret pocket sewn into my skirt. I put the black folder back into the false bottom, push the wooden panel back into place, and shut the desk drawer until it latches.

The main lock cannot be turned from the inside without the key. I quickly drop to my knees, grab my cleaning rag, and spill a small drop of oil onto the bottom of the wooden door.

The handle turns. The door opens wide, throwing a long shadow across the room.

Thomas stands in the entrance, his hand resting on the hilt of his short sword. His eyes narrow as he sees me kneeling on the floor in the dark.

"What are you doing in here, rat?" he asks, his voice rough with sleep and annoyance.

I keep my eyes locked onto the floor, pulling my shoulders down to look like a frightened servant. I let my voice shake just enough to sound real.

"The Alpha ordered the door wood to be oiled before sunrise," I say softly, keeping my tone flat. "I dropped my rag in the dark."

Thomas sneers and kicks the bucket next to my knee. Dirty water spills over the edge, soaking my worn skirt.

"Get it done and get out," he growls, turning back toward the hall. "If the Alpha catches you in here when he wakes up, he will feed you to the dogs."

"Yes, sir," I reply, keeping my head low until his steps disappear down the corridor.

When the hall is silent again, I stand up and wipe the oil off my hands. I look back at the big wooden desk one last time.

For seven long years, Garreth thought he was keeping a weak girl locked in the dark. He thought he was draining my strength until nothing remained.

He did not destroy a broken servant. He created an enemy who knows every secret in his house.

I step out into the dark hallway, feeling the warm paper pressed against my ribs. The poisoning stops tonight. I will never drink their tea again, and I will never play the victim.

Blood Moon is falling apart from the inside, and I am going to tear down the rest.

Tab 4