The moment Korra decided she would not let her father sell her, her body moved before fear could chain her again.

If tomorrow was to be her end, tonight had to be her beginning. She repeated the thought like a prayer, clinging to it as her only lifeline.

Hours after the rogues left, the drunken snores from the other room told her he was unconscious, sprawled across the couch in his usual heap of bottles and debts. He trusted liquor to guard his house and the shadows to keep her in. That night, for once, both would fail him.

The window creaked when she pushed it open, a long, aching protest that sent her pulse soaring. For a breathless moment, she froze, certain the sound would drag him back from his stupor. But the snores remained steady, ugly, and oblivious. She forced the frame wider and slipped through.

The night air slapped her face, cold and sharp, alive with the scent of damp earth and smoke drifting from taverns farther down. Hunger gnawed her belly at the faint trace of roasted meat, but hunger wasn’t her prison tonight; fear of the unknown was.

Korra swung one leg over the sill, her hands trembling. Doubt nearly ravaged her as she kept thinking, what if he woke up, what if the rogues caught her, what if the world outside was worse than what she was passing through? But her mother’s voice drifted back from her memory: Be brave, Korra.

She dropped hard to the ground, her knees buckling, and she dug her teeth into her lip to swallow the cry that almost escaped. Pebbles dug into her bare feet as she crouched low, her eyes darting across the crooked lines of shacks littering the road. Most were dark, but rogues rarely truly slept.

Pulling her threadbare shawl around her thin shoulders, Korra lowered her head and shuffled like a beaten omega, too broken to invite attention. It had been the only disguise that ever kept fists from falling on her. Breathe, Korra...don’t meet their eyes- she muttered to herself.

But luck had never been hers.

“Well, well,” a voice hissed from the shadows. “What’s this little mouse doing out so late?”

Three rogues emerged, circling with predator’s ease. They smelled of sweat, stale smoke, and something fouler still.

Her pulse spiked, and she ducked her head, forcing her voice to tremble. “I…I’m just omega, I am running an errand.”

One leaned close and inhaled. “Unmarked,” he murmured. “Fresh.”

Korra’s throat closed with panic. “Please…I’m nothing, not worth the trouble.”

They laughed, shoving her so she stumbled against gravel. “Nothing?” the first mocked. “Sweet, you are everything. Do you know what happens to omegas out at night?”

Her heart thundered. Run, her mind screamed, but her legs quaked with leaden fear.

Then another voice called down the street. “Garret’s girl! That bastard promised her to me!”

Cold horror sliced through her. She had to run now, but her wolf remained buried, hidden too long, smothered beneath the mask of weakness she wore to survive. That mask was all she had left. She hunched, dragging a leg as if injured, whimpering.

But it gave her seconds, and seconds were enough.

She slipped around a corner and bolted.

“Catch her!”

“She’s worth more untouched!”

“Don’t let her cross the border!”

The word border seared her thoughts. Beyond the trees lay Moonhowl territory, wolves bound by law and pack. She didn’t know if they would help her or kill her, but anything was better than being sold like cattle.

She stumbled over a root, crashing into the dirt. Pain jolted her arms as she scrambled. A rogue’s hand seized her tunic, yanking her back.

“No!” she screamed, twisting. Her elbow cracked against his jaw; his grunt gave her the sliver of escape she needed. She tore free, sprinting as branches whipped her face, blood marking her trail.

The forest broke into a clearing. Her chest heaved, her legs buckled. Then her heel brushed against something strange, a faint glowing line etched in the soil, ancient, humming with power, and she was sure she had reached the border.

Her father’s voice echoed in her mind: Cross the border, and you will never return alive.

But behind her, the rogues advanced, their eyes gleaming with lust and fury with their teeth bared. “Be good, girl,” one sneered. “Maybe we will go easy.”

Tears burned her cheeks, but her chin lifted. Her mother’s whisper steadied her: Be brave.

“I would rather die than belong to you,” she said and stepped across.

The air shifted instantly. Energy thrummed through her bones, raising every hair on her skin.

The rogues froze, snarling.

A low growl rolled through the clearing as figures emerged from the trees. They were tall, broad shouldered, with glowing eyes; their weapons gleamed in the faint starlight. Their dominance pressed so heavily that it nearly brought her to her knees.

She was sure it was the Moonhowl patrol.

“Step away from her,” the leader growled, his voice roaring like thunder.

“She’s ours,” one rogue spat. “Her father sold her.”

The leader stepped forward, his aura suffocating. “She stands on our land now. Leave if you value your lives.”

The rogues snarled and hesitated. However, fear outweighed their greed. They slunk back into the trees and fled.

She didn’t know if she had just traded one prison for another. But as the rogues slowly backed into the shadows, their curses fading with distance, one truth cut through the terror:

She wasn’t his anymore, not my father’s, nor the rogues.

The patrol leader’s gaze snapped to Korra, his sharp eyes assessing her. Her lips parted, but no words formed. Only tears slid silently down her cheeks.

“You are ours now,” he declared.

Her whisper broke against the dark. “No… I am not.”

And then, her body gave in as darkness swallowed her whole.