Rain tapped on the rooftop in a steady rhythm, masking the sound of muffled arguments downstairs. Velessa sat cross-legged on the floor of her childhood bedroom, her back against the chipped wall, her phone dimly lighting the stack of unopened letters by her side. College acceptance. Graduation. Job offers. All things that didn't mean a damn thing in this house.
The house was silent now, the kind of silence that pressed heavy against her skin. It wasn't peace. It was a warning.
She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of old dust and cigarette smoke. She had packed everything that mattered into one backpack. Her degree. Her birth certificate. A cheap pair of sneakers. And the locket her grandmother gave her before she died—the only person who ever looked at Velessa like she mattered.
The vision from the night before still clung to her, sticky and vivid.
A flash of moonlight. A forest clearing. Silver fur and gold eyes. Blood on snow.
A child's laughter, and then—silence.
She hadn't told anyone, of course. People already thought she was strange. Seeing things that hadn't happened yet just made her weirder, even in the supernatural world she belonged to. She was no warrior, no healer, not even someone special by pack standards. Just the broken girl with the quiet voice and the dead eyes.
Velessa didn't believe in fated mates. That kind of love was a fairytale dressed in wolves' clothing—told to girls to make them obedient and hopeful. Her mother had believed in mates. She waited all her life for one who never came, wasted it on a man who made sure she never forgot it. Aeryn had learned early on that love was something people used like a leash.
Her phone buzzed. One message.
Unknown Number: You still coming to the gathering? Everyone will be there.
She deleted it without answering.
Tonight was the final event before the new generation of Alphas would be introduced, a show of power and politics. Her attendance was expected. She was a Hale by name, even if the bloodline meant nothing to her. Her parents would demand it, not because they cared, but because missing it would bring shame. Shame meant punishment.
Velessa pulled herself up from the floor and crossed to the mirror. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her. Long dark hair pulled into a low braid, pale skin, sharp cheekbones, and deep green eyes. Pretty, in the way a storm is pretty—unpredictable, dangerous, cold.
She put on her black dress, the one she saved for events that required silence and fake smiles. It fit too well now. She used to drown in it. It clung to her body like the past she couldn't shake off.
As she opened the door, her father's voice echoed from the hallway.
"You better not embarrass us tonight."
Velessa didn't answer. She didn't need to. Her silence was its own kind of rebellion.