Evangeline woke up way too early. The sky wasn't blue yet, and her room was so cold. She just lay there, all dizzy, brain doing that half-dream shuffle. All these flashes—something red, those creepy silver eyes, somebody shouting her name. The voice? Weird mix of familiar and totally not. Maybe her brain was just glitching. Or maybe—hell, maybe it mattered. No way to know.
The bed squeaked under her like it had beef. She grabbed the clothes Hann handed off yesterday—shirt, leggings, both worn so thin you could probably read through 'em, but hey, at least they didn't pinch. Every muscle screamed "nope" as she moved. Thing was? She almost liked it. Pain, at least, was honest. Pain couldn't BS you.
Outside, the camp was shaking itself awake, sort of. Fires popping, shifters stumbling around half-dazed, a couple tents looking like a stiff wind could finish the job. Not even close to the pack she'd grown up with. No patrols, no bossy alphas yelling orders, no one pretending things were all peaches. Just people, muddling through. Weirdly peaceful, honestly.
"Evangeline!" Hann's voice, sharp enough to cut through fog—or shatter glass, whatever. Guy had a gift.
She spun around and saw him, fully prepared, arms folded like some kind of angry statue. Typical.
"You're late," he said aloud.
She shot him an eye roll so dramatic it was practically athletic. "It's barely even morning."
He flashed that evil little grin. "Exactly." Then he chucked a wooden staff at her—she fumbled, caught it, shoulders flaring up in protest. "Out here, you fight like it's life or death. Because it is."
She stretched, muttering, "Pretty sure you just get off on torturing me."
"If I wanted you dead, pup, you wouldn't see me coming."
Charming, really. Whatever. She trailed after him to their so-called training ground—a patch of dirt hidden in the trees. No audience, thank God. She'd had enough of that back home.
Once they got moving, nothing else mattered. Block, parry, duck. Lunge, spin, smack. Hann never sugarcoated anything—like, ever—but at least he skipped the whole condescending routine everyone else seemed to love. No fake encouragement, no "oh, you'll get there, sweetie" garbage.
By the time they were done, she felt so thirsty. Her lungs were too heavy, sweat rolling into her eyes and on her arms.
"You've got instincts," Hann said, lobbing a flask her way. "Rough around the edges, but solid. Wolf's finally poking her head out, huh?"
She just blinked at the flask, hands kind of shaking. "I don't… I mean, I can't even remember her anymore. She abandoned me for years, and now, she suddenly appeared."
Hann just shrugged, real casual. "You broke. Sometimes that's what drags the monster back into the light."
Ouch. Not that she'd admit it got under her skin.
She opened her mouth, ready to fire back, but—yep, classic—footsteps. Silas. Because, of course.
Hann shot him a look, eyebrows doing that annoying waggly thing. "Already making eyes at each other?"
She went red. "He's not—can you not?"
Hann just laughed, already making for the exit. "Don't forget who's keeping your pretty little head attached."
Silas stayed quiet until Hann was gone. "He's not wrong, you know. You're stronger than everyone thinks."
She gulped the water, cleaned her mouth, tried to look busy. "And you're spying on me again."
He just grinned, all nonchalant. "Yeah, well. I look out for people I give a damn about."
That last part? Hit way harder than she wanted.
She stared for a while. "I still don't trust this place," she said.
Silas just acted cool. "You don't have to." "Trust takes time. Healing too."
She plopped down on a stump, staff across her knees. "Not sure I believe in healing anymore, honestly."
Silas crouched beside her. "Then believe in change. You don't have to be the same Evangeline as before."
She stared at the ground, struggling. "I don't even know who I am now."
He looked at her—just looked, for a long moment. "Maybe that's not such a bad thing."
She opened her mouth to speak, but bam—a whistle cut through the camp. Two long blasts, then a quick, sharp one. Silas stood immediately, expression darkening.
"That's a warning signal," he said. "Someone's approaching."
Evangeline stood too, muscles still sore. "Enemy?"
"Unclear. But we don't take chances."
They hurried back to the middle of camp—yeah, where the rest of the rogues were already gathered, grabbing weapons they could grab. Some had already started shifting, teeth bared and growling, ready to defend.
Right on the outskirts, though? There they were—three strangers just hanging out. One woman stood out, tall as hell, black hair so dark it almost looked blue, and that cloak? It caught the sunlight in this weird, shimmery way. She threw up her hands like, Chill out, alright?
"We're not here to fight," she shouted, voice carrying over the tension. "We seek the red wolf."
The camp erupted in low murmurs.
Evangeline's blood turned to ice.
Silas stepped in front of her instinctively, one hand out to keep her behind him. "Who are you?"
"My name is Talia," the woman said. "And I represent a pack you've never heard of—but the girl behind you is tied to it by blood."
Evangeline's heart pounded. The words felt like a door creaking open inside her, letting out old secrets and cold wind.
"What do you mean 'by blood'?" she asked, stepping out from behind Silas before he could stop her.
Talia's eyes locked on hers, strange and knowing.
"I mean your father wasn't who you were told he was. And your destiny didn't begin with rejection—it began with a choice your mother made long ago."