The awakening was not gentle.
Elara felt the biting chill of stone floor beneath her before she even opened her eyes. The air here was different—heavy, metallic, and thick with the scent of wet fur and old blood. It was the scent of the Silver Moon fortress, a place where many had entered but few had ever left.
She kept her breathing shallow and ragged, the way a traumatized human girl would.
"She's still asleep, Alpha," a voice growled nearby. It was rough, lacking the refined cadence of the man who had picked her up in the woods. "We should just scent-mark her and throw her to the scouts. A human in the inner sanctum is a security risk."
"She isn't a risk, Brutus," a deeper, smoother voice responded. It was Kaelen. "She's a curiosity."
Elara heard the sound of slow, rhythmic footsteps approaching. She timed her "awakening" perfectly. She let her eyelids flutter, her breath hitching in a simulated panic. As she pushed herself up from the floor, she made sure her hands shook violently, her fingernails scraping against the stone.
"Where... where am I?" she gasped, her voice cracking.
She looked up. They were in a high-ceilinged hall carved directly into the mountain. Torches flickered on the walls, casting long, dancing shadows. Kaelen stood a few feet away, his arms crossed over a broad chest covered only by a dark leather vest. His golden eyes were fixed on her with a predatory intensity that felt like a physical weight.
"You're in the heart of the Silver Moon," Kaelen said, his voice devoid of warmth. "And I am the one who decides if you stay in one piece."
He stepped closer, leaning down until his face was inches from hers. The sharp scent of mint and wild forest hit her again. For a split second, Elara's assassin instincts screamed at her to drive her hidden needle into his throat. His carotid artery was pulsing right there—a tempting, vulnerable target.
But she forced her gaze to drop, her shoulders huddling inward. "Please... I didn't mean to trespass. I was running... the slavers..."
"The slavers," Kaelen repeated the word as if tasting it. "You have the scent of a human who has been running for days. But your heart, Elara... it beats remarkably steady for someone so terrified."
Elara's heart skipped a beat—not out of fear, but out of calculation. He was listening to her pulse.
"It's... it's because I'm numb," she whispered, looking him in the eye with a gaze full of hollow despair. "When you lose everything, fear is a luxury you can't afford."
Kaelen stared at her for a long moment, his eyes narrowing. He was looking for a flaw in her armor, a crack in the porcelain mask. In the silence of the hall, the tension was so thick it felt like it might snap.
"Brutus, take her to the infirmary," Kaelen finally commanded, turning away. "Wash the mud off her. I want her cleaned and fed before the Trial tonight."
"The Trial? For a human?" Brutus sounded shocked.
"If she survived the Forbidden Woods alone, she's either the luckiest girl alive, or she's something else," Kaelen's voice echoed as he walked toward the massive iron doors. "The Moonstone will tell us the truth."
Elara lowered her head, her long hair veiling a flash of coldness in her eyes.
The Trial. She knew about the werewolf trials. They often involved exposure to the Moonstone to check for spiritual compatibility—or to detect intruders. If the stone reacted to her hidden killing intent, her mission would end before it even began.
Two guards grabbed her arms, none too gently, and dragged her toward the back of the fortress. She let herself be led, her body limp and compliant.
As she was pushed into a cold, stone washroom, a female werewolf with a jagged scar across her cheek threw a bundle of simple linen clothes at her feet.
"Clean yourself. The Alpha doesn't like the smell of filth," the woman spat before slamming the door.
The moment the lock clicked, Elara's posture changed. The trembling stopped. Her spine straightened, and her movements became fluid and silent.
She surveyed the room in three seconds. One small window, too narrow for a wolf but just wide enough for her. No visible cameras, but the vents were positioned for scent-tracking.
She stripped off her ruined clothes, her skin pale and marred by the fake welts she'd inflicted on herself. But beneath the "wounds" was the lean, corded muscle of a woman trained to kill.
She began to wash, her mind racing. She had to find a way to touch the Moonstone without triggering its alarm. According to the intel, the stone reacted to the intent of the soul.
I need to stop thinking like a killer, she told herself, staring at her reflection in a bucket of water. Tonight, I am not 'The Ghost'. I am a girl who wants to live. I am a girl who loves her sister.
Suddenly, she heard a faint sound from the ceiling. A shuffle.
She didn't look up. Instead, she let a bar of soap slip from her "clumsy" hands and let out a small, frustrated sob, sinking to her knees in the water.
Above her, in the shadows of the rafters, a pair of golden eyes watched her every move.
Kaelen wasn't just waiting for the Trial. He was hunting her right now.