Chapter 3

• Riley’s POV
• Time dissolved in that cell—hours bled into days, days into the endless gray of existence. I lost track of seasons, of the moon’s cycle, even of my own reflection in the polished metal sink.
• My knuckles scraped concrete as Harper’s boot slammed into my ribs.
• “Choose, mutt—shank across the face or ten slaps?”
• Her breath reeked of rotting meat, but I kept my eyes fixed on the rusted drain in the corner.
• Five years in this pit, and I’d learned the first rule of survival: when wolves bare their teeth, show your throat before they tear it out.
• “Slaps,” I croaked, voice rough but steady.
• The first blow snapped my head sideways, blood flooding my mouth with copper heat. I counted each strike like a prayer.
• Seven.
• Eight.
• Nine.
• “Pathetic,” Harper muttered, spitting at my feet before storming off with her pack of hyenas.
• I stayed hunched, the sting on my cheek already fading beneath the deeper ache of memory.
• This is how I’ve lived for 1,825 days—choosing the lesser evil, swallowing my pride like broken glass.
• My mind wandered, as it always did, to day one at Ebonclaw Pack.
• Kael had cornered me in the library, his cologne sharp like pine needles.
• “Blood or not, Scarlett’s my only sister,” he said, voice low and threatening as his fingers clamped around my wrist, leaving bruises.
• “Touch her again, and I’ll make the Rogues look like babysitters.”
• I’d nodded like a fool, still naive enough to think family meant protection.
• How laughable.
• He’d rather see me in chains than believe I hadn’t lured Tessa into the Black Forest.
• Maddox…
• I squeezed my eyes shut, but his face floated up anyway—his smile, the one that made my ribs ache.
• The first time we met, his pupils dilated, his wolf howling in recognition.
• “Mate,” he whispered, pressing a daisy behind my ear.
• Those early days were all fireflies and stolen kisses.
• Until Scarlett started spraining her ankle on our dates. Until every birthday dinner came with an “urgent” call from her.
• And he always left—murmuring apologies that tasted like ashes.
• My parents?
• Father never looked me in the eye.
• Mother flinched every time I tried to hug her.
• Once, I baked them a pie with wild berries I’d foraged.
• I found it in the trash, untouched.
• On the counter, Scarlett’s macarons sat pristine, waiting for praise.
• And Tessa...
• She and Scarlett were inseparable.
• I saw them sharing a picnic by the lake the day she was attacked.
• So why would Tessa follow me into the Black Forest?
• A guard’s baton slammed against the bars.
• “Visitation,” he grunted.
• I didn’t move.
• Didn’t even lift my head.
• I’d stopped looking forward to those words years ago.
• Here, the rules allowed family visits once a month.
• Sixty months. Sixty chances.
• Not once had anyone come. Not my parents. Not Kael. Not even Maddox.
• I used to sit by the glass, brushing my hair with my fingers, pretending the bruises weren’t so bad.
• I’d stare at the hallway, waiting for a silhouette that never appeared.
• Not a letter. Not a whisper. Not even a lie.
• Eventually, I stopped hoping.
• Stopped pretending I mattered to anyone.
• Stopped being Riley—the daughter, the sister, the mate.
• And became something else entirely.
• I pressed my forehead to the cold wall, breath ragged, fists clenched.
• Let them live their perfect little lives.
• Because one day, that door would open.
• And when it did, I wouldn’t be walking out as the girl they threw away.
• I’d be walking out as the storm they never saw coming.
• The clang of a deadbolt jolted me from a fitful sleep, the sound ricocheting off the walls like a gunshot.
• "Prisoner 4729," a voice boomed, followed by the scrape of heavy steel. "Stand and face the door."
• I pushed myself up from the cot, bones creaking like rusted hinges. The guard’s uniform was stiff and starched, his expression unreadable. But there was something different about his stance. Then I saw the warden behind him, holding a sheaf of papers. His usual scowl was replaced by a cold, neutral mask.
• “Riley Ebonclaw,” he began, clearing his throat. “By order of the Werewolf Corrections Board, your sentence has been served in full. Effective immediately, you are granted release from—”
• The rest of his words bled into static. My eyes fixed on the open doorway, a rectangle of blinding light beyond. For five years, that threshold had been a taunt. A mirage.
• Now it gaped before me—real, raw, and waiting.
• “—proceed to intake for processing.”
• He extended a clipboard, but my hands trembled too hard to take it.
• I stepped forward. Each footfall was leaden.
• The air beyond the cell felt different—thicker, richer, laced with forgotten scents: antiseptic, metal... and freedom.
• As I crossed the threshold, the guard snapped a bracelet around my wrist.
• I braced for the shock collar.
• But it was only a plain tracking band, humming faintly with suppressed magic.
• “Good luck,” the warden muttered under his breath.
• I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
• My gaze locked on the glowing red EXIT sign ahead—a beacon blazing through the long corridor.
• For 1,825 days, I’d survived by crawling. By choosing pain over pride.
• Now, stepping into the courtyard, sunlight hitting my face for the first time in years, something deep inside me stirred—
• Something ancient. Something wild.
• Something that hadn’t whispered in a long, long time.
• The door creaked open, and I squinted against the light.
• They thought they’d broken me.
• They thought I’d crawl forever.
• But as the fresh air filled my lungs, I smiled.
• Let them tremble.
• The storm has just stepped outside.