Neighbors

That night, the Silver Tower penthouse was alive with the glow of data and the thrill of a hunt. I had ended the seminar with a final, high-stakes bait.

"I’ve given you the rules of the Acting Method," I told the hundreds of faces on the screen. "Now, here is the final challenge for the term. Find out exactly who I am—my history, my origins, every bridge I’ve burned and every one I’ve built. The first person to bring me my own complete dossier will be offered a permanent position on my intelligence team inside the Silver Pack."

I knew the stakes. These weren't just Alphas; many were the sharpest tactical minds and spies-in-training from every corner of the globe. If I wanted the best, I had to let them try to hunt me.

When the seminar concluded, Pamela and I made our way back to the Imperial Tower. As we stepped into the common floor, the air was thick with the scent of multiple apex predators.

It looked like the beginning of a riot. Dozens of shifters—men and women, Siberian tigers, towering bears, lions, and sleek hawks—were circled around the center of the room. The power in the air was suffocating. But as we drew closer, the sound of low growls shifted into deep laughter and the slapping of backs. It wasn't a brawl; it was a reunion of the world’s elite.

The moment our boots hit the obsidian floor, the silence was immediate. Fifty pairs of predatory eyes snapped to us, gauging the two women who had been sorted into the Imperial Wing.

"Come, Queen," Sol’s voice broke the silence, cutting through the tension like a hot blade. He stepped away from a group of Tiger Alphas, a glass of dark amber liquid in his hand. "Let me show you your room. You’re right next to me."

He looked over his shoulder at the assembled elites, his golden eyes flashing with a silent warning. "Everyone, behave. This is Aella and her Beta, Pamela."

The hostility I expected never came. Instead, there was a heavy, palpable curiosity. A Hawk shifter on the balcony gave a sharp, respectful nod; a Lioness by the hearth dipped her head in acknowledgment of our assessment scores. In this tower, they didn't care about my past—they cared about my power.

Sol led us down a hallway carved from volcanic stone. He stopped at a heavy door with a silver-and-gold handle.

"You’re here," he said, gesturing to the door. He then pointed to the one immediately adjacent. "And I’m right there. If you need anything... or if you just want to continue our 'negotiations,' feel free to knock."

I looked at the proximity, the heat of his presence lingering in the narrow hall. "I think I'll manage, Sol. But try to keep the dragon-snoring to a minimum. I have a long day of me tomorrow, starting with besting some dragon princes."

He chuckled, a low vibration that seemed to echo in the stone. "Get some sleep, Aella. The arena doesn't care about your bank account."

The Morning of Blood and Gold

Sleep was thin. My wolf was pacing, sensing the coming violence of the morning.

The sun hadn't yet cleared the peaks when we arrived at the Great Arena. The entire student body was packed into the stands—thousands of shifters from the lower towers, all eager to see the "rogue" transfers get decimated by the Princes.

In the center of the sand, Sol and Marcus were already waiting. They had stripped down to their combat trousers, their muscular torsos covered in ancient draconic tattoos that seemed to writhe in the morning light.

Across the arena, I saw the Sandwell pack. Maxwell was leaning forward, his knuckles white as he gripped the railing. Amelie had a cruel, expectant smirk on her face. They were waiting for me to be broken.

I tightened my ponytail and cracked my neck, the violet glow in my eyes beginning to hum.

"Ready, Pam?" I whispered.

"Ready, Alpha," she replied, her eyes fixed on Marcus.

The King stood at the royal box, raising a hand. The roar of the crowd died down to a breathless hush.

"Begin!"