NYRA

I steadied her hand as the omega girl flinched beneath my touch, eyes wide and her lips trembling. She couldn't have been more than sixteen, too young to be this scared of keeping hiding her truth.

“It’ll hurt for a second,” I said, my voice flat but calm. “Then you’ll feel like yourself.”

The girl nodded.

A clean puncture. One drop of blood. One thin ring sliding into place. When I pulled back, the girl exhaled like she’d just torn free from a leash.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For… making me feel real.”

I didn’t reply. I just wiped my gloves clean and motioned to the mirror. I've heard those words too many times. From omegas, rogues, abused pack kids who crawled into my studio for something that belonged to them.

The girl left out the back.

Roe leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, chewing a piece of gum like it owed her something. “Northern Alpha heirs in Coldridge,” she said. “Big deal, full diplomatic parade. Rumors say he’s got scars and a temper.”

I shrugged. “Let him scar someone else. I’ve got enough of my own.”

Outside, the patrol passed by again. Orran’s enforcers. Their boots stomped in rhythm, and their eyes scanning alleys and shopfronts. I moved too fast and flipped the sign to “Closed” , bolting the secret panel that led to the real studio.

My pulse slowed only when the last bootstep faded and then I turned to Roe. “You should go.”

“Relax girl. They're too busy sniffing the Alpha's ass.” She rolled her eyes.

Before I could respond to her, the bell rang up front.

Jaxon stood in the doorway, holding a paper bag. Still in training gear, still too clean for this side of town.

“I brought those dumplings you like.” He stepped inside, like he hadn’t been avoiding me for days. “And I figured, since you keep skipping dinner—”

“Not hungry.” I grabbed my tools.

“Nyra.” His voice softened. “Why are you still pushing me away?”

I paused, my spine straightened. “I’m not doing this right now.” I said, my face turning cold and unreable.

Jaxon didn’t move. “You used to talk to me about your dad. About how it made you feel being here. You trusted me.”

He looked hurt but he was my cousin. Yes I had trusted him but at the end, he's still my uncles son and I badly didn't want to risk anything.

I kept my back turned, carefully aligning my tools even though they didn’t need adjusting. “That was before you started acting like this place was a phase I’d outgrow.”

“That’s not fair.”

I spun, finally meeting his eyes. “You want me to play nice with the same people who killed my father. You show up with dumplings and think that makes it better.”

I knew he also hated the fact my father had died unbearably but what could I do?

His jaw clenched, his expression unreadable.

“I’m not having this conversation,” I muttered, brushing past him toward the counter.

“Nyra,” he said again, but his voice was tighter now. “You don’t have to keep being angry.”

I stared at him and froze but before I could speak again, the bell rang again.

A shadow crossed the doorway. The figure was tall, lean, and unfamiliar. Not pack. Not rogue.

“Shop open?” he asked. His voice was quiet, but it cut through the air like a blade.

I looked him over: black coat, battered boots, scars crawling across his throat and knuckles like vines. There was something northern about him. Cold and Controlled.

“Depends,” I said. “What do you need pierced?” I asked, trying not to sound confused or intimidated. Jaxon was still standing, just staring at me and not even noticing the stranger.

He stepped forward and pulled his shirt halfway down his chest, revealing lean muscle and a pale line of ritualistic scarring just beneath his collarbone.

I’d seen wolves get tattoos to mark rank, scars from battle, even ceremonial brands. But this? This was old blood magic, taboo in Coldridge.

“I want it here,” he said.

Jaxon shifted beside me. “No one around here does those kinds of placements.”

“I heard she does,” the man said, eyes locked on mine. I shivered while Jaxon only scoffed.

I narrowed my gaze. “Sit.”

Jaxon lingered, clearly unsure. I didn’t look at him and he got the message. After a moment, he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

The stranger removed his coat and sat with that same eerie stillness. I snapped on gloves, trying to ignore the chill sliding down my spine.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

Of course he didn’t. I stepped close, holding the marker to his chest, about to draw the dot, but the moment my fingers brushed his skin, something surged up inside me.

My wolf, Kita, reared.

Heat spiraled through my limbs like fire in my veins. My pulse spiked. My breath caught in my throat. The marker slipped. I stumbled back a step.

His head tilted slightly. “Something wrong?”

I blinked hard. “No.”

My voice sounded wrong. Too breathy. I clicked the marker shut and cleared my throat.

“Stay still.”

He did and it was rather too still.

I pierced him clean, but the second the needle touched his skin, a crack of power danced between us like static. My wolf pressed harder now, pacing, alert, snarling in the back of my mind like she recognized something I didn’t.

I fastened the ring and pulled back.

He stared up at me, unmoving. Not with lust or shock, like he had felt what I had exactly felt too....

“What’s your name?” I asked again.

He stood, pulling his shirt back on.

“You already know it,” he said, and then left without paying.

The bell chimed behind him.

I stood frozen.

Outside, the sky had gone a strange grey. Distant snow flurries danced beyond the glass. I pressed a hand against my chest. My heartbeat was a wild thing and that wasn’t normal.

That wasn’t just a client, that was something else entirely.