CLAIRE POV:

"You ungrateful wretch!"

The shrill, shocked voice of my adoptive grandmother, Meghan, echoed through the grand foyer of the Hayes Pack estate. "After everything this family has done for you! If you walk out that door, don't you ever think about coming back!"

Beside her, my adoptive sister, Hannah, gently rubbed the old woman's back, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Grandma, please calm down. It's not worth raising your blood pressure. If Claire wants to leave, just let her. She'll learn the hard way how cruel the world is."

I didn't say a single word. I didn't even bother to look back. I simply pushed open the heavy oak doors and walked out into the fading light.

Behind me, Meghan's mocking sneer carried into the crisp evening air. "Let her go! Where is a wolfless runt going to go anyway? She has nothing! She'll be begging at our door by midnight. A stray dog always comes back for scraps."

Let them think that.

By dusk, the autumn wind had turned biting. I pulled the hood of my gray sweatshirt up, shivering slightly in the cold. My reflection in a dark storefront window was a stark reminder of what I'd endured—my face was a sickly, translucent pale. It was the direct result of being the Hayes family's personal "blood bag" for years, constantly drained to suppress the genetic defects in their wolf bloodline.

Across the street, the neon signs of the Shadow Market flickered to life, signaling the start of the night's illicit trades.

I dug into my jeans pocket and pulled out a few crumpled bills. I counted them. Fifty bucks. Compared to the hundreds of thousands Hannah blew on her monthly allowance, it was pathetic.

Looks like I need to make some money, and fast.

The taxi dropped me at the mouth of a dark alley. In front of me was a derelict warehouse with two massive men guarding the door. The entrance to the Shadow Market.

I walked up to them. They blocked my path. I pulled twenty dollars from my pocket—a significant portion of the less than six hundred dollars I had to my name.

One of the guards snatched the money, his eyes full of contempt for my meager offering, but he stepped aside.

I pushed open the heavy iron door and stepped into another world.

KASPER POV:

Inside the dimly lit VIP lounge of the Nightshade Bar, I swirled the amber liquid in my glass. My gaze was fixed on the grimy street below.

"Alpha?" My Beta, Denis, paused mid-drink, following my line of sight with a curious frown. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing."

I pulled my gaze away, the neon lights from the street casting a crimson glow over the rim of my glass. A low, amused chuckle rumbled in my chest.

"Just saw a disobedient little stray, running away from home this late at night."

"A stray?" Denis squinted through the tinted glass, looking thoroughly confused. "I don't see anyone."

By the time he looked, the girl in the gray hoodie had already vanished into the shadows of the market entrance.

"Anyway," Denis continued, setting his glass down. "The former Alpha—your grandfather—is already deep in the antique artifact sector. Should we head down and see how his treasure hunting is going?"

"No rush," I replied, my mind inexplicably lingering on that pale, defiant little face. "The old man just got here and hasn't had his fill of fun yet. We'll head over in a bit."

"Understood." Denis nodded, turning back to the bartender to order another cocktail.

CLAIRE POV:

"The Shadow Market" was a cavernous, chaotic bazaar. Stalls were packed together, selling everything from antiques and weapons to rare herbs and forbidden magical items. The air was thick with the smells of blood, spices, and the cloying tang of werewolf pheromones.

This was a gray zone, outside the law. A place of opportunity.

My goal was simple. Use my knowledge as an ancient runemaster and appraiser to find one undervalued object. One score to fund my new life.

I moved through the crowded aisles, my eyes scanning. Stall owners gave me predatory looks, seeing a young, poorly dressed girl who looked like easy prey.

I ignored them. My mind was a whirlwind of analysis, calculating the age, material, and potential worth of everything I saw.

Then I stopped.

A stall was piled high with rusted metal and other junk. The owner, a scrawny man, barely glanced up from his phone.His name was written on the shop sign next door: Jed Hicks.

My eyes were drawn to a small wooden box in the corner. I opened it. Inside was a tangle of grimy, rusted coins.

I sifted through them, my fingers brushing against metal. Then I felt it. A cold, smooth coin with a distinct pattern.

My heart gave a single, hard thump.

This was it.

The coin was stamped with an ancient runic pattern of the Moon Goddess. It was a commemorative coin from the long-lost "Festival of the Moon's Tear." Only a handful were known to exist.

I closed my hand around it, hiding my excitement. I looked up at Jed. "How much for these coins?"

Jed snorted. "Why would you want that junk, little girl? Fifty bucks for the whole pile, take your pick."

I pulled out the single Moon's Tear coin. "I don't want the pile. Just this one. But I only have five hundred dollars left on me. Will you sell it to me?"

I deliberately offered a price far above his "junk" valuation, creating the illusion of a foolish girl with more money than sense.

Jed stared at me for a second, then shot a mocking look at the neighboring stall owner. They shared a smirk, as if they'd just spotted the biggest idiot in the world.

"Sold!" he said, his voice suddenly greasy with fake charm. "Of course! You have a great eye, little girl!" He snatched the five hundred dollars from my hand before I could change my mind.

I heard a few snickers from the crowd around us. A passing werewolf shook his head at me, muttering to his friend, "Another newbie getting scammed."

I slipped the coin into my pocket and turned to leave.

"Wait a moment, young lady."

The voice was old but carried an undeniable authority.

I turned back. An elderly man in a fine, old-fashioned suit, leaning on a silver-headed cane, was approaching. He was flanked by a butler and another man in sharp glasses who looked like a scholar.

I recognized him instantly. Arthur Sterling.The retired Alpha of the Sterling Dominion, a living legend and war hero.

Arthur's eyes, sharp as a hawk's, were fixed on the pocket where I'd put the coin. His breathing was shallow. "Young lady, the coin in your hand... may I see it?"

I met his gaze calmly and held it out.

The man with the glasses saw the coin and his face went slack with shock. "My God!" he gasped. "It's the 'Moon's Tear'!"

The snickers around us died instantly. Every head turned, every eye fixed on the small, grimy coin in my hand.

Jed the stall owner's face turned a pasty white.

Arthur Sterling took a deep, shuddering breath. His voice trembled when he spoke to me. "Young lady... this coin... I will give you five million dollars for it. Will you sell it to me?"