Chapter 4

​The elevator ride down from the 88th floor felt like descending into a different reality. The digital display flickered, the numbers dropping as fast as my adrenaline was spiked.

​I leaned against the mirrored wall, my breath coming in shallow hitches. My reflection looked back at me—sharp, cold, and expensive—but beneath the charcoal silk of my suit, my skin was crawling. Julian’s scent—that stubborn, haunting mix of cedar and impending lightning—was still clinging to the back of my throat.

​"You pushed him hard, Ma'am," Elias said, his voice low. He was watching the floor indicator, his hand resting near the concealed pulse-pistol at his hip. "An Alpha in a corner is a cornered wolf. They don't negotiate; they snap."

​"He doesn't have a choice, Elias," I replied, straightening my blazer. "He’s a businessman first. He knows that if he fights me in the courts, the humans will find out about the Blackwood underground vaults. He’ll lose the pack and his freedom."

​"It’s not Julian I’m worried about," Elias muttered as the doors chimed for the lobby.

​The lobby of Blackwood Global was a chaotic swirl of glass and panicked employees. News of the "System Blackout" on the executive floor had trickled down. Security guards were scurrying like ants in a disturbed nest.

​As I stepped out, the air changed.

​It wasn't Julian’s scent. It was something sharper. Something like jasmine rotting in the sun.

​Isabella Silver-Vane was standing by the fountain, her arms crossed over her chest. She wasn't wearing her usual "Luna-in-waiting" smile. Her face was a mask of cold, aristocratic fury. As I approached, she stepped into my path, forcing Elias to stop abruptly.

​"The little Omega learned how to code," Isabella said, her voice dripping with a condescension that used to make me flinch. "I must admit, the 'billionaire' costume is a nice touch. Who did you have to sleep with to get the seed money, Elara? Or did you just steal it from the rogues you run with?"

​I didn't stop. I walked until I was inches from her, my "Zero-Scent" field clashing with her heavy, aggressive pheromones. She flinched, her nose wrinkling in disgust. To a True-Blood like her, my lack of scent was an abomination.

​"I didn't steal it, Isabella," I said softly. "I earned it by watching you and Julian. You taught me that the only thing that matters is leverage. And right now, I have enough leverage to bury your family’s name in the same mud Julian threw me into five years ago."

​Isabella’s eyes flashed a violent, predatory red. "You think a few bank accounts make you an equal? You’re a defect. A glitch. Julian rejected you because you’re a hollow shell. No wolf, no soul, no future."

​"Then why are you so afraid?" I asked, tilting my head. "If I'm nothing, why is your heart racing? I can hear it, Isabella. It’s skipping. You’re terrified that he’ll realize the 'glitch' is the only thing he ever actually wanted."

​Isabella lunged, her hand moving like a whip toward my face.

​Elias didn't even have to intervene. I caught her wrist mid-air. My neural-link flared, sending a micro-burst of kinetic energy through my glove. Isabella gasped as a numbing sensation traveled up her arm, forcing her to drop to one knee.

​"Don't touch me again," I whispered. "I'm not the girl who cries on the stairs anymore. I'm the one who decides if you get to keep your penthouse."

​I let go of her arm and walked toward the spinning glass doors, leaving her shaking in the middle of the lobby.

​The New York rain was cold, a welcome shock to my system. Elias held the door of the Maybach open, but as I started to slide in, my neural-link gave a sharp, high-pitched whine.

​WARNING: EXOGENOUS FREQUENCY DETECTED.

​"Elias, get down!" I screamed.

​The glass of the rear window didn't shatter—it dissolved. A high-velocity silver bolt hissed through the space where my head had been a second ago, embedding itself into the leather upholstery with a muffled thwack.

​Elias reacted instantly, pulling his weapon and shoving me into the footwell of the car. "Sniper! North-west rooftop!"

​He slammed the door and punched the gas. The Maybach roared to life, the tires screeching as we tore away from the curb. Another bolt hit the trunk, the silver-tipped projectile sizzling against the reinforced plating.

​"Was that Julian?" I gasped, my heart hammering against my ribs.

​"No," Elias grunted, weaving through the midday traffic. "Julian uses claws. That was a long-range dampener bolt. It’s designed to kill wolves by short-circuiting their nervous system. But it shouldn't have been able to lock onto you. You have no scent signature."

​"Then how did they find me?"

​I looked at my hand. The silver wolf-brooch.

​I ripped it off my lapel. Beneath the polished silver, a tiny, microscopic light was blinking red. A tracker.

​"Julian didn't give me this to be sentimental," I whispered, the realization chilling me more than the sniper’s bolt. "He gave it to me so he’d always know where the 'glitch' was. But he didn't put the tracker in it. This tech is too advanced for the Blackwood Pack."

​"If it’s not Julian, and it’s not the Silver-Vanes..." Elias started, his eyes scanning the rooftops in the rearview mirror.

​"It’s the Order," I finished.

​The Silver-Bullet Order. The human extremist group that hunted Lycans for sport. If they had tracked me to Blackwood Global, it meant they weren't just hunting wolves anymore. They were hunting the woman who threatened to bridge the gap between the two worlds.

​My phone buzzed. An unknown number.

​I answered it, my hand trembling. "Who is this?"

​"The bridge is blocked, Elara," the voice was deep, gravelly, and unmistakably Julian's, but he sounded... panicked. "The Order just breached our perimeter. They’re tracking the brooch. Throw it out the window and drive to the 42nd Street pier. Now!"

​"Why should I trust you?" I hissed. "You’re the one who put me in their crosshairs!"

​"I didn't put that tracker there, Elara! I swear on the moon! Someone in my inner circle is working with them. If you want to live long enough to bankrupt me, you’ll do exactly what I say."

​The line went dead.

​I looked at the brooch in my hand. The silver wolf seemed to be mocking me. I had come back for revenge, thinking I was the hunter. But as a black van swerved out of an alleyway, cutting us off, I realized I was still exactly what I had been five years ago.

​The bait.

​"Elias," I said, my voice hardening as I gripped the door handle. "Don't go to the pier. Go to the Blackwood Vaults. If there’s a traitor in Julian’s house, I want to be the one to drag them into the light."

​