This... this cannot be my home. I refuse to call this place home.

I watch, sickened, as men and women are displayed like cattle. Further ahead, we come to a clearing where a man is bent over a tree stump. A guard holds a long, glowing-hot metal rod, pressing it against the man's spine. His scream is primal, the stench of searing flesh and smoke filling the air.

"What is this, Poppy?" I whisper, my voice trembling.

"The reforming camp." As she speaks, we approach a series of cement walls. Chained to them are werewolves in their lupine forms, thrashing and snarling, trying to break free. The silver chains bite deep into their flesh, hissing as they burn. Guards lash out with thin silver whips that slice through the werewolves' thick pelts. It is a nightmare.

"These are mostly Alphas who refuse to comply," Poppy explains quietly. "They are being broken."

I look away, bile rising in my throat. Then, I see it—the horror Colt warned me about. A long, rectangular stage sits in the center of the camp. On it, wooden poles stand draped in chains. Dangling from them are human forms—or what’s left of them. Their skin has been dissolved by liquid silver, leaving them suspended in a state between life and death. They breathe, but their souls are long gone.

"Why did you bring me here, Poppy?"

"I didn't want the worst part to be the last thing you saw," she says, looking down. "I wanted it over with."

"It will haunt me forever," I retort.

Colt follows a few paces behind, guarding me. His face is a void—no sadness, no anger, only iron control.

Poppy leads us toward a small, bunker-like building. Two men are chained in front of it. I clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp; the tendons on their backs are exposed, as if the skin had been surgically stripped in long, rectangular ribbons. They are skinned alive, yet somehow, they still breathe.

"A punishment," Poppy says, noticing my gaze.

"No," I correct her. "That is hellish torture."

We eventually reach the pack house, where the air is cleaner. The house is filled with the sound of children laughing—orphans, I realize. They are likely the children of the people currently being broken in the back.

"Miss Casseopea!" one of them cries out, wide-eyed.

"Did you hear?" Poppy tells them. "There's a festival tonight!"

They cheer, and I force a smile. We walk through the grounds; between the main house and the pack house are sprawling fields of crops and grazing cattle. Poppy points toward a forest. "There’s a lake for swimming, and jogging trails to the left. You are free to roam the territory, but you are not allowed to leave without your father’s permission."

I head back to the main house, feeling the weight of the camp pressing into my chest. I slip through a back door, desperate for solitude. I find an empty, luxurious living area and collapse, covering my face.

The door clicks shut behind me. "What’s wrong? What happened?" Colt asks, his voice laced with desperation.

"I... I’m sorry."

"Cass, what is it?"

I lift my head, my face wet with tears. I point toward the window—toward the back of the estate. "That... out there... that was not okay."

He takes a shaky breath, nodding. "I know. You’ll get used to it."

"No. I refuse to get used to it. It’s wrong." I look at him, my heart aching. "I’m sorry for what you went through."

He offers a faint, bittersweet smile. "I’m okay."

"How? How can you be?"

He scans the room, ensuring we are alone, then scoops me up and sits me on a console table, nearly knocking over a vase. He cups my face, his green eyes burning into mine. "I’m okay because every day that passes, you mend my heart a little more."

I stare into those eyes, feeling like I could drown in them. "You are so... corny."

Despite the tears, I start to laugh, and so does he. He grabs my chin and crashes his lips against mine. The kiss is deep, desperate, and perfect.

"Ruining the moment," he mutters against my lips, smiling.

"Could we go for a run tonight?" I ask. "After the festival?"

He thinks for a moment, then nods. "Yes. We can roam, as long as we don't cross the border."

"What if we did? What if we just ran?"

"Warrick has the borders heavily guarded, Cass. He’s testing us. He isn't fully convinced, and putting me as your guard is a test for me, too. Let's not do anything stupid."

He lifts me down and opens the door. I walk out, aimless, until Victor appears.

"Your training schedule. You start tomorrow." He hands me a slip of paper and saunters away.

"Five in the morning?!" I scream after him.

"Yeah," he calls back without turning around.

Great.

I spend most of the day exploring the mansion. Colt remains distant, keeping a professional perimeter. I want to jump his bones, but I settle for watching him from a distance. When evening arrives, Poppy helps me dress for the festival in a flowing black maxi dress adorned with pin-flowers. It’s elegant, revealing, and makes me feel powerful.

A knock at the door—it's Colt.

"Doesn't she look beautiful?" Poppy beams.

Colt clears his throat, his gaze sweeping over me in the mirror. "Yes, she does. I’ve been relieved of duty tonight. Serge is taking over."

"Oh... okay." The disappointment is a physical sting.

"See you at the festival, Princess," he says, closing the door.

Poppy takes me down to the festival grounds. Despite the horrors I witnessed earlier, the pack is in high spirits.

"Look who it is! The guest of honor!" Beck sneers, clearly already drunk.

"Shoo, vermin!" Poppy snaps, waving him away.

She leads me to Warrick. As he looks at me, his eyes glaze over with that same haunted sadness. "Casseopea..." he whispers, though it’s as if he’s speaking to someone else entirely. He blinks, snapping back to reality, and straightens his posture. "Come, daughter. Let’s make the rounds."

We walk through the crowd until we reach the edge of the forest. Standing there are men who look like monsters—dirt-caked, scarred, and dangerous.

"Crow," Warrick says.

The leader grins, revealing rotten teeth. "Alpha Warrick."

"This is my daughter. Remember her."

"Who are they?" I ask as we move on.

"My tracker rogues. If I were you, I wouldn't get any ideas about running. They’d find you within minutes."

"I never thought about running," I say quickly.

"Who said anything about running?" He laughs, a sound that chills my blood.

A tall man steps into view. His blue eyes rake over me, studying me like a portrait. "One would think you’re almost evil, Alpha Warrick."

"My reputation precedes me," Warrick says with a smug smile.

"Cass, this is Oliver Vald, Alpha of the Crescent Pack. They arrived from Europe a few months ago."

"A pleasure, Lady Casseopea." Oliver takes my hand and kisses it. His European accent is liquid gold, and his charm is effortless.

"We are working on an alliance," Warrick says, sounding uncharacteristically impatient.

"All in due time," Oliver says, offering Warrick a side-nod before flashing me a lingering, captivating smile.

As we walk away, I whisper, "Alliance? I thought you worked alone."

"I don't trust him," Warrick says, tightening his grip on my arm. "I trust no one. You’ll learn to do the same."