Chapter 1

"You're late!"

The words hit me before I even cross the kitchen threshold. I don’t need a soothsayer to tell me who they belong to.

Suppressing the urge to roll my eyes, I turn and face my manager otherwise known as the world’s biggest asshole.

“You think I pay you to come in whenever you damn please, bitch?” Rooney snaps, glaring at me like I just set the place on fire.

I sigh, resisting the urge to point out that it's only two minutes. TWO MINUTES.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter instead, swallowing the retort at the tip of my tongue. As much as I’d love to tell him to go fuck himself, I can’t. Not when Mom and Dad are already drowning in bills.

So, I paste on a smile, straighten up my shirt , and pray this shift ends before my patience does.

“Next time you’re late, don’t bother showing up!” Rooney barks before storming off toward the kitchen, his voice echoing through the small restaurant.

I let out a long sigh, grab my apron from the counter, and tie it around my waist. Another day, another reminder that this job is a one-way ticket to insanity.

“Rough day?” Jenna, my coworker and best friend asks from behind the register, raising an eyebrow as she punches in an order.

“When is it ever not rough?” I mutter, trying my hair into a messy bun . “I woke up late because the power went out again, burned my toast, and almost got run over by a guy who clearly thought the traffic lights were just a suggestion.”

Jenna snorts. “Ah, classic Monday.” She stares at me for a while and her lips crack into a smile. “I'm proud of you " I raise my eyebrow in confusion. “You don't get scared of being criticized anymore. Some years back, you wouldn't step out of the house without covering your hair like a Muslim nun."

I laugh. “There are no Muslim nuns, silly.”

" Just saying. You finally learnt not to care about people's opinions.”

I roll my eyes but smile anyway.

Growing up, I always made sure to cover every inch of my hair before stepping out. Being the only person I know to be born with silver blue hair, I was always labeled as a monster and a freak of nature.

I used to care before. Until I met Jenna who told me to give the world a “fuck you" and move on.

She’s the only reason I haven’t quit this job yet.

The restaurant hums with the usual chaos; clinking plates, sizzling oil, customers yelling about wrong or delayed orders and a lot of other things that push my patience to the edge. I grab a tray and start serving tables, weaving through the crowd like muscle memory.

By noon, the lunch rush hits. My arms ache, my feet throb, and Rooney’s voice rings through the air every five minutes.

“Table four! Move it, Liora!”

“Yes, boss,” I mutter under my breath, picking up a plate with a tight smile.

The door chime jingles. Another wave of customers.

I plaster on my best fake smile, not even glancing up as I greet them.

“Welcome to Sunny’s Diner. What can I get you?”

One of them chuckles, low, deep, and downright familiar. Years ago I would cower in the corner from fear, but twenty years old me doesn't care.

“If you'd kindly place your order, I'll have your lunch served in no time." I say, busying myself sorting out orders in my notebook.

The man leans against the counter, a smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes gleam with that same cruel amusement I remember from middle school.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the freak with the sparkly hair,” he sneers, voice loud enough for nearby tables to hear. “Still trying to act normal, huh? Pathetic.”

Heat rises in my chest. My hands clench around the tray as I force my voice to stay calm.

Marco has always been an asshole. Five years ago, I would be shaking out of fear, looking for somewhere to hide. But right now, I don't really give a fuck about him.

“Well I’m sorry, sir, but we have a lot of orders to get out. Please take a seat, and I’ll have someone serve you shortly,” What I really intend to say is,”You can get the hell out and stop wasting my fucking time if you don't intend to order anything.”

But I don't. Saying that is a guaranteed way to lose my job.

He laughs, that same cruel, teasing laugh that used to make me shrink into myself. “Serve me? You? You’re just a freak. Why don’t you go hide in the corner like usual?”

The surrounding noise fades around me, just like it used to back then. My stomach knots. People stare, some whisper, but I refuse to shrink.

I'm used to Marco bullying me. He always did back when we were in middle school. He'd push me to the corner, call me a freak, pour dirt on my uniform while his minions take videos and post online.

Then he moved away and I could finally get some breathing space. I'm not just going to let him shatter the peace I've carefully cultivated all these years.

“Sir,” I say, trying to keep my voice as professional as possible, “I’ve been serving tables for eight years. I know how to do my job. So I suggest you stop wasting my time with insults and place your order, or leave.”

His smirk falters slightly, but only for a second. “You think you’re so brave now, huh? Look at you. Still silver-haired, still ugly, still a freak.” He turns to the crowd, " Who gets born with blue hair?”

Snickers and giggles fill the crowd.

I grit my teeth. Memories of being laughed at, shoved, called names flash through my mind. The anger bubbles, sharp and hot. My hands twitch on the tray.

Something inside me flickers, tiny sparks, like the shimmer of my hair, but this time, I feel it prickling along my skin, ready to explode. It's been long I felt this urge to break something.

Mom always tells me I'm not weird because of my powers. For years she taught me how to control them so I can't hurt people around me.

For years I've kept that control, never letting lose. But with Marco running his mouth like he's got nothing better to do, I feel the threads holding that control together snapping one after the other.

“Marco,” I say, calmly, my voice trembling, “I’ve had enough of your crap. Can you please leave?”

The bully laughs again, leaning closer, his face just inches from mine. “Or what, freak? You’ll magic me into a puddle? Hah!”

“Kill him! Rip him to shreds," Nyme, my wolf chants in my head.

Funny right?

Well I turned into this fury creature Mom calls a werewolf when I was just eight. I was scared to death, but she told me that wolves were spirit animals and Nymeria was mine.

She's been the only person I can talk to aside Jenna.

But it's times like this, when she keeps instigating towards violence, that I really don't like her.

Marco reaches over, grabs my hair and pulls me towards him. Before I could register, a slap lands on my cheeks.

I freeze. The sparks crawl faster across my arms, vision blurs and my heart races. Years of anger, humiliation, and fear all hit me at once.

And then it happens.

A pulse of raw energy bursts from me, hotter and brighter than I ever thought possible. Plates rattle, glasses tip over, and a wave of invisible force knocks chairs sideways. Marco screams as his body is thrown back by an unseen force.

The restaurant erupts into chaos. People scream, jump back, and Marco scrambles to a corner, terrified.

I stumble backward, chest heaving. My hands glow faintly, and the air around me hums with something alive, dangerous, uncontrollable.

For the first time in years, everyone sees me for what I really am.

A freak