Chapter 3

Seren's POV

They locked me in a servant's room.

Not the water dungeon, which surprised me for a moment—until I took in my surroundings and that surprise vanished. The room was tiny, walls seeping with dampness, a narrow bed, a worn cabinet, windows sealed shut with only a sliver of dim light seeping through the door crack. Better than a dungeon, but barely.

I sat on the edge of the bed and waited for a long time, calling out for a long time, but my wolf never appeared again.

Since that rejection, it had retreated into some deepest corner of my consciousness, quiet as if it had never existed at all.

Of course. Fate would never favor me. I should have known.

The second day, a servant girl came.

She said nothing, just entered with a tray, set food on the cabinet, then turned and left. I watched her retreating figure and tried to speak: "Hey, wait."

She didn't stop.

The third day, the same servant girl. As she set down the food, I stepped closer: "What's your name?"

She kept her head down, didn't look up, didn't answer.

The fourth day, I began studying her carefully.

Around twenty, plain features, graceful movements. Each time she entered, she made herself as small as possible, as if afraid of taking up too much air. I couldn't tell if she truly couldn't speak or had been ordered not to. But her hands were steady, her eyes focused—definitely not someone easily frightened.

The fifth day, I made a decision.

"I know you understand," I said as she finished placing the food and turned to leave, keeping my voice very low. "I won't implicate you. I just need you to open the door—just once, tonight. You can pretend nothing happened."

Her steps faltered.

"I'm of no value to you here," I continued. "Help me, and I'll owe you a favor. When I get out, when I—"

She turned around, looked at me once, then turned back, pushed open the door, and left.

The door wasn't locked.

I stared at that crack for about three seconds, then stood up, slowly walked over, and gently pushed the door open.

The corridor was empty.

I waited half a minute. No movement, no footsteps, no guards changing shifts—just this dim, empty hallway stretching to the corner.

I stepped outside.

Barefoot, no extra clothing, no money, nothing. The stone floor outside was bone-chilling in the early winter night, each step like plunging my feet into ice water, but I didn't dare stop.

I skirted the main house along the edges, crossed the back courtyard, climbed over the low wall—the iron spikes on the wall cut my palms. I clenched my fists and kept running.

Running.

I stumbled again and again, got up again and again, kept running.

The border was ahead. I remembered there was an open area there, marked on maps as a thin line. Cross that line, and it would no longer be Blackstone Pack territory.

Cross that line, and Caius couldn't reach me.

I practically stumbled out of the forest, feet hitting short grass, and saw the first boundary marker on the other side of the border line. That post gleamed white and clear in the moonlight, less than twenty meters away—

"Stop."

I skidded to a halt.

A man stood directly in front of me, blocking my path to the marker. I'd never seen him before—tall, no Blackstone Pack insignia, holding a gun pointed at me, expression as calm as if he stopped fleeing people here every night.

"You're surrounded by border guards. No crossing permitted," he said, his voice flat. "Otherwise you'll be treated as an invader."

"Please let me pass," I said hoarsely. "I'm begging you, I just need to—"

"Turn back."

"I have nowhere to turn back to," I stepped forward. "They'll—you don't understand, if you push me back, I'll never—"

As I spoke, my gaze swept behind him.

A few steps behind him stood another man, taller, in the shadows with his face unclear, only his silhouette visible—clearly the gunman's superior.

Without hesitation, I turned to that person, instinctively feeling he might be more likely to listen.

"Please help me," I said. "I'm begging you, just a few more steps and that's enough. I won't cause you trouble, I swear, just—"

The man in the shadows didn't speak.

He looked at me once, then turned aside and walked away.

The armed man also looked away, turned to follow, and both figures disappeared into the night, clean and decisive, as if they had never appeared, never heard me speak.

Then I heard sounds behind me.

Footsteps, numerous ones, people talking, torchlight filtering through the forest from the direction I'd come, rapidly approaching.

I didn't turn around, just stood in that open area, less than twenty meters from the boundary marker. I didn't know if people were surrounding me in the shadows, but I didn't dare gamble, didn't dare cross the border even one step.

Until the footsteps stopped behind me.

I turned around.

Caius stood at the forest's edge, followed by a squad of warriors, each holding torches that lit up this open area completely, leaving nowhere to hide.

Among them stood another person.

That servant girl stood beside Caius, no panic on her face, no guilt either—just a relaxed, fait accompli kind of calm.

She extended one hand, palm up, and spoke to Caius, her voice light and matter-of-fact:

"I told you she'd definitely try to escape, Caius. About that promised payment."

Caius took a small pouch from his coat and placed it in her palm. He said nothing, didn't look at her—his gaze had already moved past her to land on me.

The girl squeezed the pouch, nodded, and looked at me with cunning mockery: "You actually thought someone would help you. But thanks anyway—this game was interesting, more fun than hunting!"

I stood there watching this scene, something in my mind going completely still.

Of course.

Of course it was like this.

I should have known.

From beginning to end—that unlocked door, that unobstructed corridor, the unguarded courtyard outside—this wasn't negligence. This was a path, a path specially laid out for me.