LOGINFor half a second, my eyes burn. But I don’t cry. Crying is for after you’ve already lost. My hands find the edge of the sill, knuckles whitening. I don’t realize I’m shaking until I almost drop my phone trying to unlock it. I scroll to Lucas’s number, thumb hovering over the call button. There’s s
“Ms. Wolfe?” Someone from litigation, voice oily and rehearsed. I force myself to stand straighter, palms flat on the glass. “We’re responding with a preemptive package. Full client-service audit, five-year f*e lock, and round-the-clock access to my transition team.” My voice is steadier now, but m
I flip open my laptop and start a new document. My hand hovers over the keys, then drops to a pen instead—I need the physicality, the bite of pressure, to make the ideas real. I sketch out a plan, bullet points and arrows, underlines so deep they score through the paper. Every word feels like a figh
The rain isn’t supposed to sound this loud eighty stories up, but today it punches the glass like it’s got a grudge. I’m at my desk before sunrise, body hunched around a mug that’s long gone cold, and the only thing that moves in the whole office is the pulse in my temple and the slow twitch of my r
She leans back, studies the ceiling for a long moment, then snaps her attention to me. “So give them what they want. But on your terms.” I cock my head, curious. “Go on.” She taps the table, one finger at a time, a sound like slow applause. “Draft a retention package. Outgun Reynolds on the stabil
He flips the folder open, skims the first page. I watch his eyes flick from number to number. “You built this yourself?” I nod. “No one else cares enough to do the math.” He closes the folder. “I’m not the final say. But I appreciate the clarity.” I lean in, voice low. “Here’s what will happen if
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
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







