Mag-log inI can. I do. The door hisses shut behind me, and the sound is a relief so complete it almost floors me. The corridor outside is low-lit, hushed, a world apart from the glass box I’ve just escaped. LEDs run the length of the baseboard, cold blue-white, washing the marble in the kind of glow that tu
But the victory is cut short when the light from the projector passes through my fingers. For a split second, I see it—my nails are too long, the tips gone sharp, the cuticles retreating. It’s not a trick of the light. It’s the thing inside me, crawling toward the surface. I press down harder, feel
He interrupts, smiling, “It’s not the resumes, it’s the retention.” I smile back, but it’s a trick. “We retain better than anyone in this zip code. Anyone on this floor, even.” Trent snorts. “That’s not what LinkedIn says.” The wolf in me bares its teeth, just behind the mask. “If you believe eve
The conference room is a crystal box with its own climate: cold and wet, like the inside of a shark’s mouth. Forty-two floors up, the city grid throws itself at the windows, desperate for a foothold, and fails. Every pane reflects my face, multiplied and refracted, the effect like being stalked by m
I offer a smile, all teeth, but none of them friendly. “If you’re worried, Arthur, I suggest you keep your seatbelt on. The next quarter’s going to be a hell of a ride.” He laughs, soft and practiced, and sits back. The contest has drawn blood, but neither animal is ready to yield. Above us, the l
He lets the word legend hang, and it lands with the weight of a threat. Hargrove’s jaw tightens, but he tries for neutral. “We were just reviewing the final deliverables. I assume you have something to add, Mr. Reynolds?” Arthur folds his hands, fingers interlaced, and leans forward just enough to
The first hum of traffic stirs beneath the apartment, the city awakening like a great beast stretching itself from slumber. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, bare feet meeting the warmth of the hardwood with practiced silence. In the hush, I hear the measured tick of my wristwatch from acros
My name commands attention, even whispered behind mirrored walls. Mara Wolfe. I sense the weight of their eyes on me, catch the reflection of their stunned admiration. Before my floor arrives, they already fear me. The girl with the coffee spills half of it on the way to her mouth, staining her bl
The wolf dominates with relentless force. The moon dictates. The moon owns. My body sings with strength. I don’t know how to be Mara in this primal melody. I don’t know how to be Mara at all. Power surges in unfamiliar rhythms. The forest yields to my strength. I don’t want to yield. It is wild. It
The sounds are a violent rush. The cracking of branches. The scurry of prey. The sounds of my life. The sound of my bones. They are more than I can take, more than I am, more than I want. The violent and primal edge of it, and the quickness of it, the quickness and the loudness and the brightness







