Paper Money?

When I woke up, the train was still rattling along the tracks. The sun shone right onto my eyes, so bright that it forced me to squint against it, blinking through the haze of half-sleep. I rolled aside into the shade of the door, pulling my knees up to my chest and letting the thumping wheels lull me back into myself. For a second, just one stubborn heartbeat of a second, I wondered if anyone had noticed I was gone — if someone, anyone, might have followed me. But then I remembered.

No one in their right mind would come looking for me.

And yet that realization still burned somewhere deep under my ribs. I wondered how long it would take for that fact to stop hurting so much.

But whatever. I'd eaten decent food I hadn't had to make myself. I'd slept well, on this hard bench inside a clanking metal box, and it was still better than the creaking floorboards of that house, better than the whispers behind every door. I hadn't heard a single cruel word all night. No one spat my name like it was cursed. And for the first time in I don't even know how long, I didn't have stress-induced nightmares clawing at my throat.

I guess I was living the dream, in my own pathetic way. Maybe that counted for something.

The conductor's voice crackled over the speaker, tinny and loud enough to jolt me fully awake. "Now arriving at the final station. Please remember to take all your belongings with you."

I laughed under my breath. All your belongings. I had exactly one thing: the heavy robe I'd stolen. It made me look like a fortune teller. I patted my pocket, felt the small clink of the silver I'd managed to con from those gullible kids. My treasure hoard. It'd get me through tonight — maybe tomorrow too, if I was clever enough.

I pushed myself up and stepped into the aisle, wincing when the train lurched. My knees still ached from the fall down those steps. My scalp no longer throbbed from where Elliot had yanked my hair out in chunks. And I was back to 100%. My magic was working overtime for me.

I think it missed me too.

The train hissed and squealed into the station, the wheels shrieking against the metal tracks until my teeth ached. I braced myself against the door, peering through the smudged glass at the place waiting for me.

Nothing looked familiar — that was the best part. No cliffs, no forest canopy, no ancient packhouses that smelled like mold and arrogance. Just... tall buildings in the far distance, stretching toward the sky like they were trying to claw a piece of the sun for themselves. Tanya once called the city humanity's real test — succeed or fail, it didn't matter, you had to fight to find your place.

Tanya.

I wondered if she'd realized I was gone yet. I hoped so. I hoped she'd find that supplement meal I never dropped off for Elliot and wonder what happened to me. Maybe she'd curse me under her breath for leaving her alone in that den of backstabbing wolves. But maybe — just maybe — she'd slip that protection bracelet I made for her onto her wrist. Maybe she'd get out too.

The train doors opened.

Freedom hit me like a slap in the face.

And freedom sure did have a smell. A terrible one — a mix of piss baking in the sun, stale cigarette smoke, and the faint sweetness of fried bread wafting from some cart down the block. The bright sign hanging crooked over the platform read: WELCOME TO SUMMERTON in peeling yellow paint.

I stepped off the train and just stood there on the concrete platform, clutching the silver in my pocket like it was a lifeline. People bustled past me in a rush of colors I'd only ever seen on fuzzy old TV sets — suits, shiny shoes, skirts that flapped around calves, jackets that cost more than a week's worth of food back home. A little girl squealed as she splashed barefoot in the fountain beside the station calling for her mom's attention, while her mother lit up a cigarette and ignored her completely. Further down the block, a man in a nice shirt and tie stepped right over another man sprawled out on the pavement, rattling a cup full of coins.

And best of all — not a single wolf in sight. No bond ties pulling at my heart strings. No packs. No Luna. Just people. Humanity in all its rotten glory.

I let my hood fall back. The breeze caught the raw patch on my scalp where my hair had been ripped out. It didn't even sting anymore. I could almost feel the tiny hairs sprouting back.

I was smiling. I didn't realize it until I caught my reflection in a dusty shop window — dirt-smudged face, slightly swollen cheek, and yet a grin so wide it almost split my face open. Nobody here knew me. Nobody cared that I'd been their Luna. Nobody was whispering about how worthless I was. They looked at me like I was an oddity, sure — a dirty girl in a starry robe — but I'd take the curious stares over disgusted glares any day.

I tilted my head back and let the sun warm my eyelids. I'd missed this. Missed standing under the sky with nothing but the wind for company. Missed people.

My stomach growled so loud it startled me out of the moment. Right. Happy thoughts didn't fill an empty stomach. I dug the silver out of my pocket, the coins warm from my palm, and walked up to a vendor who was carving slices off a spit of roasted meat.

I dropped five silver on his grimy counter. "How much food will this buy me?" I asked.

The vendor squinted at the coins, then at me. His lip curled like he'd smelled something sour. "Is this some kind of joke, kid? Get lost before I call someone and say you're harassing me."

I blinked at him. "Is it... not enough?"

He snorted and turned away, pocketing a green scrap of paper from another customer. It took a second for the realization to sink in. Humans used paper as money. Not silver coins.

I was broke. Again.

I stepped away before he could yell at me more, clutching the useless coins like they might magically transform in my palm. "Look, it's a moon witch," a pair of kids giggled, pointing at my robe. Great. Not exactly a winning disguise for conning people out of their lunch money.

Adapt. I could adapt. I had to adapt. Fortune-telling wouldn't get me far in a place like this — they didn't care about the moon or the bones or the way your palm lines crossed over your lifeline.

I left the stations market behind and stepped fully off the platform, my feet landing on the uneven cobblestone of Summerton's main street. I forced myself to breathe deep. No panic yet. I'd figure out how to exchange the silver for paper notes. I'd figure out how to listen, learn, and sell something they did want. Information was always valuable — it was worth more than any fake palm reading, and I was very good at hearing what people didn't say out loud and seeing their true intentions.

I limped along the street, wincing at every third step where my knees still twinged. But then I saw it — a battered wooden sign in a greasy window: HELP WANTED.

I pressed my face against the glass. Inside, the place looked like an old tavern out of a storybook — wooden beams, dented mugs hanging above the bar, booths with chipped paint. A woman stood behind the counter, wiping a glass dry with a rag. She looked like she'd stepped out of an old black and white movie — hair done up in soft waves, a beauty mark at the corner of her mouth, eyes sharp but kind.

I pushed the door open, the bell above it jangling loud enough to make me flinch.

"Hello there!" she called out, voice warm and whiskey-smooth.

"Are you the owner?" I asked, my voice croaking a little.

"Sure am!" She flashed me a grin. "Never seen you before. You don't look like you're from around here."

"I'm not. I'm from very far away."

She eyed my robe, one eyebrow arched. "Do they only wear circus cloaks where you're from?"

I almost laughed. "No. They wear... normal clothes."

"So why're you wearing that?" she teased, but there was no cruelty in it — just curiosity.

I took a step forward. "Are you still hiring? I can work as much as you require. As long as I make something above a servant's salary."

"Servant's salary?" She snorted. "How much is that?"

"Four to seven silver a week," I said automatically.

"Are you LARPing or something?" She squinted at me.

"What's LARPing? Is that part of the job?" I asked.

She pulled her glasses from her apron pocket and perched them on her nose, peering at me like I was an alien. "How old are you, sweetheart?"

"Nineteen. But I'm a hard worker," I promised, my voice quick, desperate.

"Uh huh. Listen, are you a runaway teen or something? If you are, I can't hire you."

"You're only a runaway if someone's looking for you," I said with a laugh that didn't feel real. "And I promise, no one's looking for me. I'm not a runaway. I can legally do... a lot."

She reached out, brushing my robe aside, getting a peek at the filthy clothes underneath. Her eyes softened. "Listen, I don't know about silver or any of that, but you look like you need help more than anything. I can give you a job with good pay — real money."

Relief cracked through my chest like a dam breaking. "I can start right now —"

"Before you do that, have you eaten anything?" she asked.

"No."

"A place to sleep?"

"I was planning on the woods."

"A change of clothes? Water? A bath?"

I shook my head. "Yes. I can just drink and bathe in a lake if I have to —"

"Oh, sweetheart." She clicked her tongue and pushed a stray curl from my face. "You poor thing. You can stay in my spare room upstairs. Work here until you're back on your feet. I'll get you a meal first. You look like you could blow away in the wind."

My throat went tight. I tried to swallow the knot down. "What's your name?" I asked.

"Daisy," she said, smiling at me like I wasn't a ghost in a borrowed robe.

"I'm Bonnie," I said, and for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel ashamed to say it.

"Welcome, Bonnie," Daisy said. "Let's get you fed."