The chill of dawn always found me awake, long before the sun dared to kiss the Blue Mountains. Today was my eighteenth birthday, a milestone that for any other wolf would be a celebration, but for me, it was just another reminder of the curse I carried.

My reflection in the dull metal of the sink showed fading bruises on my neck, a testament to yesterday’s torment. My mousey brown hair, a constant source of my own self-loathing, framed hazel eyes that wished they were green, like my sister Scarlett’s. I wasn’t beautiful, nor was I tall, and the constant taunts of being 'fat' were a cruel irony against my gaunt frame.

But there was one luxury I allowed myself: the morning run. Creeping down the back stairs of the pack house, my heart beat faster with each quiet step. The woods called to me, promising a brief reprieve, a moment where I could be free. My wolf, ever present, ached for the same release. I needed the bite of the mountain air, the scent of pine, the freedom of the forest before the pack awoke and demanded their breakfast, and their daily dose of cruelty.