Chapter 3

Jasmine’s ballet finals were coming up.

At dinner, Mom brought up the cost of competing in neighboring Silver Moon Pack.

“The entry fee and costume rental come to five hundred dollars.”

Dad kept cutting his meat without a word.

Mom turned to me as though the answer were obvious.

“Abby, you’ve been working little jobs, haven’t you? Cover it for your sister. I’ll pay you back next month.”

My fingers tightened around my fork.

“Mom, I don’t have much saved.”

“How is that possible? I’ve been sending you spending money for years.”

“I pay your tuition. The school provides your meals and a place to stay. You hardly buy any clothes. What could you possibly be spending it on?”

I looked down at my sleeve.

She was right about one thing. I’d worn this sweatshirt for three years. The cuffs were fraying, and I still couldn’t bring myself to replace it.

Mom only gave me three hundred dollars a month.

A new pair of training gloves cost thirty-five dollars. When my old pair wore through, I washed dishes in the kitchen for two weekends to buy another.

Connor’s boots, which he’d worn for all of half a day, had a three-hundred-and-eighty-dollar price tag on the box.

She knew nothing about the years I’d scraped by on odd jobs and scholarships. She’d never cared enough to ask.

“Okay, Mom. I’ll pay the five hundred.”

Her voice brightened at once.

“That’s more like it. Jasmine, thank your sister.”

Jasmine pushed the peas around her plate.

“Thanks, Abby,” she said absently.

Connor put down his fork.

“Mom, what about my ski lessons? Twelve hundred. You said I could sign up.”

“Start taking your school training seriously first.”

“Why does Jasmine get something and I don’t?”

“She’s won prizes. What have you done? You got into a fight at school today!”

He shoved his plate away and stood up.

“Then I’m not eating.”

“Connor, get back here!”

Mom called after him. Dad frowned and told him to come back.

I said nothing and finished my dinner.

No one asked how much I’d have left after paying the five hundred dollars.

No one asked what I’d been trying to tell them that morning either.

That night, I moved the foldout couch into the storage room so Jasmine would have space to practice.

Clutching my thin blanket, I squeezed past the boxes by the door and lay on the couch. It was too short for me.

Through the wall, I could hear Connor playing games. His laughter went on and on.

Unable to sleep, I opened the family group chat and scrolled back.

A week earlier, Mom had shared a video of Jasmine dancing.

“Our Jasmine just keeps getting better.”

Dad had replied with a string of clapping emojis.

In between their messages was one from me.

“Mom, could you send me a hundred dollars? I hurt my knee during training, and I can’t afford the medicine the healer prescribed.”

It might as well have been invisible.

Right after it, Connor had posted a picture of some training boots.

Mom asked what size he needed and promised to take him shopping that weekend.

My message never got a single reply.

In the end, my training instructor paid for the medicine.

I closed the chat and opened the documents from Silverfrost Pack.

Every year, they recruited young werewolves from other packs who had awakened powerful wolves. They provided meals, housing, and a training allowance. Recruits who passed the assessments would join their warriors.

The elders of both packs had approved my invitation. My transfer was arranged. All I had to do was sign when I got there.

My phone lit up with my ticket confirmation.

I would leave early in two days, change buses once, and arrive in the early hours of the following morning.

I turned off the screen and looked at my suitcase by the wall.

Over the past few days, no one had noticed the neatly folded clothes already packed inside.

No one had noticed there were no shoes of mine by the door.

They were all in the suitcase. I hadn’t left a single pair out.