A party of that scale, with the Mones family hosting, would be extravagant. I couldn’t just show up looking like this. Masquerade or not, I’d stand out in the worst possible way. Surrounded by rich people, surrounded by werewolves. I didn’t want to get humiliated and embarrassed there.
The thought of blending in—or at least not standing out—gripped me as I walked through the streets of downtown. Each window I passed reflected a version of myself I didn’t want to bring to the masquerade. My hair, wild and untamed, framed a face that looked tired and far too ordinary. My plain jeans and T-shirt felt almost like a target against the imagined opulence of the other guests.
My reflection in the shop window downtown caught my eye. My hair was unruly, my clothes plain—a stark contrast to the pol
