The Iron Wolf Express, a heavy steam train that connected the lawless Northern Wildlands to the glittering capital of Moon City, hissed to a grinding halt.
Clouds of grey steam billowed onto the platform, mixing with the smell of coal, sweat, and raw, unwashed lupine pheromones. The passengers who stepped off were a rough crowd—mercenaries with scarred faces, laborers with calloused hands, and rogue wolves seeking a new life.
But amidst the chaotic sea of grey and brown, one figure stood out like a drop of ink on snow.
A girl stepped onto the platform. She was slender, almost fragile-looking, clad in a loose, faded flannel shirt that swallowed her frame and a pair of black combat boots that were scuffed with the red dust of the North. Her black backpack hung lazily off one shoulder, looking deceivingly light.
She pulled down her hood, revealing a face that made the passersby pause.
It was a face of striking, cold beauty. Her skin was pale, translucent under the harsh station lights. Her eyes were dark, shaped like crushed almonds, filled with a wild, untamed indifference that chilled the air around her.
Ren.
She had returned.
Twelve years. It had been twelve years since she was exiled to the Wildlands—a place where the Council's laws didn't exist, and survival was the only rule. Now, she was back in the heart of civilization. Not because she missed the luxury of the city, but because of a single phone call.
*"Your grandmother is dying."*
Ren tightened her grip on her backpack strap. Her knuckles turned white. Her grandmother, Chen Shulan, was the only person in this wretched city who had ever treated her like a human being, not a "Dormant" mistake.
Ignoring the curious stares of the city wolves who wrinkled their noses at her "wild" scent, Ren walked straight to the taxi stand.
***
The City Hospital of Moon City was a fortress of white glass and steel.
It smelled of antiseptic, expensive lilies, and the faint, underlying stench of sickness. To Ren, whose senses were sharpened by years of hunting in the wild, it was suffocating.
She took the elevator to the top floor—the V.I.P. ward.
Inside Room 302, an old woman lay on a pristine white bed. She looked frail, her skin paper-thin. Machines beeped rhythmically beside her, monitoring her fading pulse.
"Ren..." The old woman opened her eyes. They were cloudy, but they lit up when they saw the girl.
"I'm here, Grandma," Ren said. Her voice, usually rough and cold, softened into a whisper. She pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down, taking the old woman's cold hand in hers.
"You came..." Chen Shulan coughed, her breath rattling in her chest. "Listen to me, Ren. You must stay... with the Lin family now. Your mother... she has arranged for you to go to school."
Ren's jaw tightened. "I don't need them."
"You do," Shulan squeezed her hand weakly. "Promise me. Be good. Don't fight. Hide your... temper. Hide your sharp edges. The city is dangerous for a girl without a Pack."
Ren looked at the monitors. She knew her grandmother didn't have much time. She pulled out a small pocket knife from her boot and an apple from the bedside table.
With terrifying precision, she began to peel the apple. The skin fell in a single, unbroken ribbon.
"I promise," Ren said, slicing a piece of apple. "I'll be a good student. I won't cause trouble."
*Unless trouble finds me,* she added silently.
She stayed until her grandmother fell into a fitful sleep. Then, feeling the walls of the room closing in on her, she grabbed her backpack and walked out.
She needed nicotine.
***
Ren found the emergency stairwell at the end of the corridor. It was a heavy fire door that led to a concrete landing, usually empty.
She pushed the door open, letting it slam shut behind her with a heavy *thud*.
She reached into her pocket for her lighter, but stopped.
She wasn't alone.
A man was sitting on the concrete steps, his long legs stretched out, effectively blocking the path down.
He was wearing a white doctor's coat over a black silk shirt, but he didn't look like any doctor Ren had ever seen. He looked like a fallen angel who had decided to take a nap in hell.
His head was resting against the wall, eyes closed. His features were sculpted perfection—high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and lips that were currently holding an unlit cigarette. His hair was messy, black strands falling over his forehead.
But it wasn't his looks that made Ren freeze. It was his scent.
Even though he was suppressing it, Ren's instincts—honed by a thousand life-and-death battles in the Wildlands—screamed *DANGER*.
It was a scent of deep winter cedar, cold snow, and raw, iron-like bloodlust. It was the scent of a predator at the very top of the food chain.
**A Supreme Alpha.**
Ren narrowed her eyes. She should turn around. She should leave. But she was Ren. She didn't run.
She stepped forward, her boots clicking on the concrete.
The man's eyelashes fluttered. He opened his eyes.
They were dark, bottomless pools that seemed to suck in the light. He looked at her, his gaze lazy and unfocused, yet heavy with pressure.
He didn't move his legs. He just looked up at her, holding the unlit cigarette between his long, elegant fingers.
"Excuse me," his voice was a low rumble, textured like velvet dragged over gravel. It sent a shiver down Ren's spine. "Do you have a light?"
Ren looked down at him. "You're a doctor. Isn't smoking against the rules?"
"I'm on a break," the man murmured, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "And rules are boring."
Ren stared at him for a second longer. Then, she reached into her pocket, pulled out a cheap, bright green plastic lighter, and tossed it to him.
He caught it with one hand. His reflexes were fast. Too fast.
*Click.*
The flame illuminated his face, casting sharp shadows. He lit the cigarette, took a deep drag, and exhaled a plume of grey smoke to the side, away from her.
"Thanks," he said. He looked at the cheap lighter, then back at her. "You're not from around here."
"Observant," Ren said flatly. "Can I pass now?"
The man finally retracted his long legs, giving her just enough space to squeeze by. As she passed him, the fabric of her flannel shirt brushed against his knee.
He suddenly grabbed her wrist.
Ren's body tensed. In a split second, she had calculated three ways to break his arm and two ways to kick him down the stairs.
But she didn't move. She remembered her promise to her grandmother. *Hide your edges.*
"Let go," she said coldly.
The man didn't let go. He was looking at her hand. specifically, her fingers. They were slender and pale, but on the fingertips and the webbing between her thumb and index finger, there were faint, almost invisible calluses.
The kind of calluses you get from typing code for forty hours straight. Or handling a sniper rifle.
"Your hands," the man murmured, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "They're cold."
He looked up, his dark eyes locking onto hers. "And you smell... interesting."
"I smell like a three-day train ride," Ren yanked her hand away, stepping back. "And you smell like trouble."
The man chuckled. It was a low, dangerous sound. "I've been called worse."
Ren didn't wait for a reply. She turned and walked down the stairs, her back straight, refusing to look back.
**Alpha Juan** (Cheng Juan) watched her disappear into the shadows. He took another drag of the cigarette, savoring the burn.
"No fear," he whispered to himself. "No submission. Just... ice."
He looked at the cheap green lighter she had left behind. He flipped it open and closed. *Click. Click.*
"Doctor Luke," he called out, though no one was there yet. "I think I found something better than this boring hospital job."
**[Chapter 1 End]**