Eryn POV:
The moment Marcus and Cassandra left, slamming the door behind them, I rolled off the bed. I closed my eyes and opened the mind-link to my servant.
"Anya."
Her presence responded instantly, cool and composed as always. "Miss."
"I need you to set up a new account at a bank in the capital—one that can receive a transfer of two hundred thousand silver sovereigns. Use the arrangements we discussed. And make sure it's clean."
There was no surprise in her mental voice, only quiet acceptance. "Understood, Miss. I'll have the account ready within the hour."
"Good. I'll send you the details once the funds are in hand. And Anya—this account must be untraceable. No loose ends."
"It will be, Miss."
I withdrew from the link, letting out a slow breath. I walked to the small, cracked mirror hanging on the wall. The girl staring back was thin, her features sharp from years of not having enough to eat. But her eyes were ancient, filled with knowledge and a fire that didn't belong to a forgotten rogue.
Marcus and Cassandra didn't know it, but their adopted daughter was no longer that weak, helpless girl. She had been replaced. By me. My past life was a blur of concrete and steel, a world away from this. My identity here was a puzzle, a blank space labeled "Sinclair property". That was about to change. I had abilities they couldn't fathom in a hundred years.
A soft knock came at the door.
"Come in."
Anya Hayes entered. To the world, she was a quiet Omega servant assigned to me years ago out of pity. In reality, she was the only person in this world I trusted. Her eyes, usually downcast, held a fierce, unwavering loyalty.
She carried a simple, off-white ceremonial dress. Cheap, meant to be an insult.
"Everything is taken care of, Miss," she murmured, too low for anyone outside the room to hear.
I nodded as I slipped out of my rough clothes and into the thin fabric of the dress. It felt like paper against my skin. Anya began to skillfully braid my long, dark hair, her touch gentle and respectful.
I met my own eyes in the mirror again.
"Remember, Anya," I said softly. "As of today, I am no longer a Sinclair."
As her fingers worked through the last strands of my hair, I closed my eyes and let my mind drift outward. It was a trick I'd learned in the borderlands when you had no pack-link to scream a warning. I couldn't send thoughts the way a normal wolf could, but I could listen. I could always listen.
The air around the Obsidian Fang territory was never truly silent. The hum of their pack's mind-link was a constant low static, and if I concentrated, I could pick out the sharper threads within it—threads laced with fear and fury, all emanating from a dark, wood-paneled study in the heart of their estate, where the air was thick with the raw power of an Alpha.
I couldn't hear words in Brandon Ewing's voice—his mind was too guarded, his wolf too loud with its own snarling thoughts—but I could feel the shape of the exchange bleeding through his Beta Rhys's panicked mind. The name "Eryn Barber," striking like a hammer on glass. The barely-contained rage that made Rhys's thoughts tremble. The taste of the word "substitute," bitter and poisonous, ricocheting in the mental space of the entire household.
The message was clear enough. Brandon Ewing had just heard about the switch, and he was absolutely livid.
I opened my eyes. Anya had finished, her hands resting on my shoulders. She met my gaze in the mirror, a question in her eyes.
I gave her a small, sharp smile.
"Looks like the Alpha's in a welcoming mood," I said, my voice light. "This should be fun."
Anya's expression didn't change, but her hands tightened briefly on my shoulders—a silent promise. Whatever was waiting for us, she would be there.
