Chapter 3

I took the stairs two at a time, but the voices downstairs went on.

“If you ask me, I think we should give the name Aurora to Chloe. Why should a wild brat raised in the orphanage deserve a name Dad picked out?”

“No, she’s used it for so long. I’m afraid Chloe would catch her bad luck. Sol is great. It means she’s the family’s only sweetheart.”

“You’re the best, Mom.”

“Oh? What about me, your brother?”

I closed my bedroom door, leaned my back against it, and slowly slid down onto the carpet.

Aurora was another name for the northern lights, the light that drove away the dark. When Dad named me all those years ago, he said he wanted me to light up the werewolf clan like the northern lights lighting up the sky. Yet now, in the eyes of Mom and Caleb, the name itself was nothing more than a source of bad luck.

The wolf inside me rested her chin on her front paws, saying nothing at all.

When I was three years old, I got lost in a human town. Mom and Dad searched for me for nearly a year to no avail.

Unable to endure the void left in them, they eventually adopted a three-year-old girl born on the same day as me from an orphanage. They named her Chloe, using her to fill the gap I left behind. What they never expected was that I would actually come back.

Even though I grew up in the human world, without a pack and with no one to teach me what I was, my werewolf nature still bled through—the fighting instincts, the tracking abilities, and a kind of speed that made human athletic coaches uneasy.

At fifteen, I got into the Werewolf Preparatory Academy on my own merit and walked right into the classroom where Dad was teaching. He was so shocked that he dropped a book in his hand onto the floor.

Later, he told me it was the scent. A werewolf’s sense of smell spoke more truth than any language, and he recognized me before his mind could process it.

He dragged me to an underground clinic for an expedited blood test. During the entire wait, he couldn’t stop pacing back and forth in the hallway, like a wolf that had found a lead but was too afraid to believe it yet.

I stood there, watching him, and a thought I had never dared to go near began to take root in my mind.

What if this was real? And what if it was real this time?

Twelve years in the orphanage had put me through too many cycles of being adopted and then returned. I knew better than anyone not to put too much hope into it.

When the results came back, Dad pulled me into his arms and cried. That was the very first time I learned what it felt like to be recognized by someone.

On the drive back to the community, he told me everything about the twelve years I had missed, including the adoption. He kept checking my reaction while solemnly promising me that he wouldn’t favor either child and that both daughters would be equally important. His heartbeat was steady, and he was being sincere.

So, I went home with him, carrying that hope inside me, not knowing that that night would be the only night we would ever have as a complete family.