Early the next morning, I retrieved my identification card from the slave manager.
The rogues, who usually found great joy in making my life miserable, handed it over without a fight. Suspiciously easy. I half-expected a trap, but instead of questioning it, I clutched the card to my chest.
Five years. Five long, miserable years of being less than dirt, and now I was finally free.
I would live for myself this time.
Back in my hotel room, my newfound optimism was swiftly crushed. My suitcase lay open on the floor, my belongings scattered.
A quick check revealed the worst—at the very bottom of the suitcase, Xavier’s medicine was missing.
Over the years in the rogue den, my body had been wrecked—overworked, poisoned by wolfsbane, chained in silver. My wolf, weakened by prolonge
