Chapter 2

A memory from when I was four flooded my mind.

Cora had just been born. She was so frail she couldn't even cry.

Terrified, Sylvia summoned the pack’s most revered witch to tell my sister’s future.

But the witch didn't look at Cora. She stared right at me.

"This child's aura is too strong," she said, pointing a withered finger at me. "She will drain her sister's life force. If you don't send her away, the younger one will never awaken her wolf. She won't live to see twenty."

With that one sentence, I became the family curse.

My parents started making plans to send me away.

But I was just a kid. I didn't understand. I just wanted to stay.

I took the little herb sachet I had sewn myself, my favorite one, and walked to her crib. The crib was lined with blankets woven from priceless moon-grass, surrounded by expensive new wolf dolls my father had bought.

"For you, Cora," I said, holding it out carefully, trying to win her over.

She glanced at it, snatched it, and threw it on the floor. Then she started wailing.

The door flew open.

Sylvia rushed in. When she saw the sachet on the floor, her eyes turned feral. She didn't listen to a word I said. She just popped her claws, half an inch long.

Smack!

She hit me. Hard.

Her sharp nails tore across my cheek. Blood filled my eye, turning my world red.

"Are you trying to kill your sister? You monster!"

That night, they didn't even bandage my face. They just threw me on a cargo truck and shipped me off to Grandma Nora's herb farm.

The only reason they ever took me back was my reputation. I had become the most sought-after healer in the Alliance, and they wanted to use my fame to polish the family name.

The memory stung. My wolf whimpered.

I shook my head, trying to clear it. Something was wrong.

Cora had only ever studied moon-silk weaving. She hated books and the bitter taste of herbs. She'd never even opened a single page of an alchemy textbook.

How could she possibly understand complex potions?

I asked Emma for Cora's past recipe submissions.

The more I read, the paler I got.

Starting six months ago, it was like something clicked. Cora started submitting dozens of recipes.

And these recipes...

My hands started to tremble. A suffocating pressure crushed my wolf, threatening to shatter her completely.

Every single one was identical to my own ideas.

It wasn't just the new healing potion for tomorrow's competition.

It included private recipes I was designing for my own future clinic. They were all there.

Even half-formed ideas I’d jotted down in my private notes—she had written them out completely.

How was that possible?

I wracked my brain. I had never told anyone. They were all on my encrypted phone. Not even Kellan knew about them.

But how could Cora...

Suddenly, a terrifying thought struck me.

Could she read my mind?

No. That's impossible. Werewolves don't have that power.

But I couldn't think of any other explanation.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down.

If my encrypted phone wasn't safe, I'd have to try something else.

I pulled out a pen and paper.

Grandma always said a true healer needs only two things: deep knowledge and sharp instinct.

I would design a new recipe. From scratch.

This time, I wouldn't give her a chance.

I turned my phone off. I couldn't trust any electronics.