KIRA BEAUMONT POV

I found an all-night bus station waiting room and curled up in a corner, spending my first free night there.

The next morning, my phone rang. It was Barton Hicks—my adoptive father. His voice was sickeningly sweet, dripping with false concern.

"Kira, my child, where are you? Deidre was just a little upset. Come home. Home will always be your haven."

I almost laughed out loud. A haven? After Brenda told them about the locket, their true intentions finally surfaced.

"Where I am is none of your business," I said, my voice flat and emotionless.

Barton paused, then switched to a more "sincere" tone. "Kira, let's talk. At the downtown legal center. Just the family." He emphasized the word "family."

I agreed. It was a trap, but it was also my chance to end this once and for all.

When I walked into the conference room, Barton and Deidre were already seated with their lawyer. Brenda sat beside her mother, looking smug.

"Let me summarize," I said, resting my chin on my intertwined fingers. "You want me to sign a sworn affidavit declaring that I possess zero supernatural ancestry, that I am a biologically defective wolfless human, and that I forfeit all past, present, and future claims to any pack territory, spiritual relics, or inheritance rights associated with the Hicks household."

"It's for Brenda's sake," Deidre chimed in eagerly, her eyes gleaming with rapacious greed. "The local pack council only grants full warrior-tier stipends to households with pure bloodlines. Your presence on our family registry is dragging our score down! You sign this, and we’ll give you five thousand dollars in cash so you can move to a human city out east."

"Five thousand?" I tilted my head, letting a cold, amused smirk touch my lips. "Are you trying to buy my locket for a measly five thousand?"

Barton leaned forward, dropping his facade of gentle concern, his voice turning low and threatening. "Don't get greedy, Kira. Eighteen years of room and board in a shifter household costs at least a million dollars on the open market. We took in a broken stray. If you don't sign this, we will sue you for eighteen years of fraudulent dependency, and my lawyer will ensure you spend the next ten years in a debtor's labor camp."

Brenda smiled nastily from across the table, waving her bandaged hand. "Sign it, Kira. Or Dylan's pack will make sure you don't even make it across the state line."

I looked at the four of them. The absolute arrogance. The petty, small-minded cruelty of creatures who thought they ruled the world simply because they had a low-grade wolf inside their chests.

I reached out and picked up the contract.

Vance smiled, offering me a gold-plated pen. "Wise choice, young lady. Just sign on page four—"

The sound of tearing parchment was deafening in the quiet room.

Vance’s hand halted entirely. Brenda’s jaw dropped.

With slow, rhythmic precision, I tore the twenty-page legal document in half, then into quarters, then into eighths. I raised my hands and let the white confetti rain down onto the center of the table, scattering across Barton’s expensive suit.

"You insolent little bitch!" Barton roared, slamming both fists onto the table, his eyes flaring yellow with low-tier Alpha aggression. "Do you have any idea what you just did?!"

"I just saved you the embarrassment of filing a fraudulent document," I said coldly.

I rolled back the cuffs of my canvas jacket, exposing both of my slender wrists to the fluorescent lights.

Across my pale skin ran concentric, silver-gray scar tissue—the indelible, chemical burn marks of eighteen years of Soul-Cage silver bindings.

"This is the mark of a Soul-Cage Blood Pact," I said, my voice echoing with an unnatural, bone-chilling resonance that made Vance visibly recoil in horror. "A forbidden blood ritual under the Continental Shifter Concord. You kidnapped an infant, bound her meridians with silver to absorb the genetic decay of your own daughter, and attempted to pass it off as foster care."

Barton’s face drained of all color. "You... how do you know that term?!"

I rose to my feet. "Every ounce of food you gave me, every roof you put over my head, was paid for with my blood. Our debt is settled. The next time you see my face, Barton, it will be across a tribunal."

I turned and walked out of the conference room, ignoring the furious curses and panicked shouts erupting behind me.

I pushed through the heavy glass exit doors of the municipal building and stepped out onto the wide concrete plaza.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out. The unknown satellite number had sent a high-resolution orbital satellite photograph showing the exact legal center plaza where I was currently standing. A red targeting circle was drawn directly around my coordinates.

Beneath the image was a short message:

We are here. Look up.

I took a breath and tilted my head toward the gray winter sky.