I woke before dawn on Thursday with my senses screaming.
Everything was sharper. The scratch of cotton sheets against my skin felt like sandpaper. The faint creak of floorboards two rooms away sounded like gunshots. And the smell—God, the smell. The entire pack house reeked of something chemical and bitter, a scent I'd been breathing for three years without recognizing it.
Wolfsbane.
I lay very still, my hand on my belly, feeling the pup shift in his sleep. My wolf hummed beneath my ribs—not the dim, distant presence I'd known my whole adult life, but something urgent and awake. It pressed against the inside of my chest like it was trying to claw its way out.
*Soon,* I thought. *Not yet.*
I slipped out of bed and moved through the dark house on bare feet. The kitchen first. I found the locked cabinet where Gianna kept her personal supplies and picked the simple latch with a hairpin—a skill I'd learned in college and never thought I'd need. Inside, behind the herbal teas and honey jars, sat a sealed tin.
I opened it. The smell hit me like a slap.
Wolfsbane. Concentrated. Enough to suppress a wolf for years if administered daily in small doses.
I pulled out my phone and photographed the tin from three angles. The label. The contents. The cabinet shelf with Gianna's handwriting on the inventory list taped inside the door. Then I replaced everything exactly as I'd found it and relocked the cabinet.
My bedsheets were next. I stripped them in the pre-dawn gray and held the fabric to my nose. The residue was faint but unmistakable—concentrated along the pillow where my neck rested every night. I bagged the sheets, hid them in the back of my closet, and remade the bed with fresh linens from the hall cupboard.
By the time the sun rose, I had a dozen photographs and four pages of handwritten notes documenting every trace I'd found.
I added a new entry to my evidence log: *Wolfsbane residue confirmed throughout primary living spaces. Concentrated sources: kitchen storage, bedding, personal cup. Daily exposure pattern consistent with deliberate, sustained suppression.*
My hand was steady as I wrote. My wolf hummed louder.
That night, I waited until the pack house was quiet, then slipped into the medical office. Maren Voss, our healer, kept meticulous records—a professional habit that was about to destroy her.
I found the purchase logs in the third filing cabinet. Years of supply orders, all billed to something called a 'household wellness account.' I traced the account number through three cross-references until I found the name attached: Gianna Williams.
Bulk wolfsbane tincture. Ordered every six weeks. Quantities far beyond any legitimate medical application.
I photographed every page. My phone's camera shutter sounded impossibly loud in the silent office. When I was done, I replaced the files exactly as I'd found them, wiped down every surface I'd touched, and left through the side door.
The cool night air hit my face like a blessing. I stood there for a long moment, breathing.
Then I added Maren's name to my log with a single word: *Paid.*
Friday morning, Gianna brought my tea personally.
She knocked softly, then opened the door without waiting for an answer—a habit I'd never questioned before. She was smiling, but her eyes were sharp. Watchful.
"You seemed tired yesterday," she said, setting the cup on my nightstand. "I made this one a little stronger. Extra herbs for energy."
I looked at the cup. The liquid was darker than usual. The chemical shimmer on the surface was visible if you knew to look for it.
"Thank you," I said quietly. I reached for the cup and cradled it in both hands, letting the warmth seep into my palms. "You're always so thoughtful."
Gianna lingered in the doorway. She watched me lift the cup to my lips.
I took the smallest sip—barely enough to wet my mouth—and smiled at her. "Perfect."
She smiled back. "Good. Drink it all. You need your strength."
She didn't leave until I'd taken another fake sip. When the door finally clicked shut, I counted to thirty. Then I walked into the bathroom and poured the entire cup down the sink.
The liquid left a dark stain on the white porcelain. I scrubbed it away with shaking hands.
My wolf surged. Not afraid. *Furious.*
For the first time in three years, I looked at my reflection and smiled.
That afternoon, I went looking for Sable Noor.
I'd found her name in Maren's records—another long-term wolfsbane recipient, listed in pack files as 'wolfless' and reassigned to Omega kitchen labor five years ago. She'd been a Delta's daughter once. Now she peeled potatoes in silence while the rest of the pack ignored her.
I found her alone in the storage pantry, counting inventory.
"Sable," I said quietly.
She looked up, startled. Then wary. Omegas didn't get private conversations with the Luna. Not unless something was wrong.
"I need to show you something," I said. I pulled out my phone and opened the photographs of Maren's supply records. "Don't say anything. Just read."
I watched her face as she scrolled through the images. The purchase orders. The account traces. Her own name, highlighted in yellow, with dosage notes spanning five years.
Her hands started shaking. She looked up at me with eyes that were suddenly, devastatingly awake.
"You're not wolfless," I said. "You never were."
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "How long have you known?"
"Two days."
"And you're—" She stopped. Looked at me more carefully. "You're one of us."
I nodded.
Sable set my phone down very carefully on the storage shelf. When she spoke again, her voice was different. Harder. "What do you need?"
"Witnesses," I said. "Allies. Women who can testify to what was done to them."
"There are two others," Sable said immediately. "Kira and Lena. Same pattern. Same records."
"Can you reach them quietly?"
"Yes."
"Then do it." I met her eyes. "When I move, I need you ready."
Sable's jaw tightened. For the first time since I'd met her, she looked like a Delta's daughter again. "When do we move?"
I thought of the tribunal I was building in my mind. The evidence I was gathering piece by piece. The legal architecture I would use to dismantle everything Lucian had built.
"Soon," I said.
Sable nodded once. She picked up my phone and handed it back to me. Our fingers brushed.
I felt it then—the faint hum of another wolf waking up. Not mine. Hers.
She felt it too. Her eyes widened.
I smiled. "Welcome back."
That night, I updated my evidence log one final time before bed.
*Allied witnesses identified: Sable Noor, Kira Thorne, Lena Moss. All suppressed via identical wolfsbane protocol. All beginning cognitive recovery. Estimated timeline to full wolf emergence: 7-10 days.*
*Next steps: Formalize evidence package. Identify tribunal jurisdiction. Prepare invocation of Luna Accord, Article VII, Section 3.*
I set down my pen and pressed my hand to the brand on my neck. It still burned. But now the burn felt like something else.
Not a wound. A countdown.
My wolf hummed beneath my ribs, louder than it had ever been.
*Soon,* it said.
I closed my eyes and let myself believe it.
