The cold wind tore through the Grayfang Pack's prison yard, biting Kiara's skin even beneath the tattered cloak. She crouched in the corner, wrists chained, eyes lowered as the wolves' jeers filled the air.
"Move, omega!" a brute growled, shoving her to the ground. Pain flared in her side, but she did not cry out. To cry was weakness.
Kiara had learned early: survival meant silence, obedience, invisibility.
Suddenly, a low growl echoed from the shadows, different from the guards. Her head snapped toward it. A lone wolf, massive and silver-furred, stood at the edge of the yard. His amber eyes were piercing, and they didn't waver from hers.
He didn't speak. He didn't move. And yet, Kiara felt her chest tighten, as if some ancient rhythm had been disturbed.
For the first time in her life, Kiara wondered: Was this the beginning of freedom… or the end of everything?
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