The silver was suffocating.
It pressed against Ember's skull, a constant weight, a silent reminder. It was too tight, the edges digging into her skin whenever she
moved, but she had learned long ago that complaints led nowhere.
She had spent the last day staring into the cracked ceiling above her cot, tracing the imperfections in the stone, listening to the quiet murmurs of the other servants.
None of them spoke to her directly.
She was marked now. Already
set apart. Already partly claimed.
Her fate had been sealed in fire.
The picking ceremony loomed just weeks away.
That was when the wolves would decide.
Her mate would claim her, bond to her with blood and magic, and she would cease being anything beyond his.
Her fingers curled into fists at the thought.
She had spent years studying escape routes, mapping paths through the forests, planning for the inevitable moment when she would have no choice but to run.
But that plan had died the moment the warlock placed the silver upon her head.
Because the enchantment meant she could no longer disappear.
Every move she made was known.
Every thought of rebellion had consequences.
But what if— Her breath caught.
The rules were ironclad. The consequences merciless.
Yet rules were not infallible.
Someone had broken them before. Not many. But enough for stories to exist.
She thought of whispers passed between servants, of hushed
rumors about humans who had escaped the empire's grasp.
Most were myths. And myths had roots.
Ember was willing to dig deep enough to find them.
---
Her first attempt was cautious.
The kitchens were always crowded, filled with bodies moving in perfect rhythm to prepare meals for the higher-ranking wolves.
It was one of the few places where no one looked twice at a servant lingering near the storage crates.
She had done it before—palming scraps, hiding stolen food beneath her dress.
But this time, she was not looking for food.
She was looking for answers.
Old records. Maps. Anything forgotten, anything discarded.
Anything that might point the way out.
But the kitchen was bare beyond the essentials.
And even lingering too long brought suspicion.
She moved on.
---
Her second attempt came with a risk.
She waited until nightfall when the servants' quarters fell into uneasy silence.
The principal—an aging woman with piercing eyes—had never been particularly cruel, but neither had she been kind. A human too she had upheld the laws of the empire without resistance.
Still, she had lived long enough to know more than she ever spoke aloud.
Ember waited until she was alone, until the corridors were empty except for the distant sound of patrolling guards.
Then, with steady footsteps, she approached.
The older woman barely looked up from her desk as Ember stopped in the doorway.
"You shouldn't be here," the principal said
flatly.
Ember swallowed.
"I need to know something."
Silence.
The woman's fingers traced the edge of a worn parchment.
Then, finally, she lifted her gaze.
"You are marked now," she said. "You cannot
afford to ask questions."
"But there are others who have escaped."
The woman's expression did not shift.
"There are stories." The principal said.
Ember's pulse hammered.
She looked at Ember above her glasses. "Stories have no proof."
"But they had to start somewhere." Ember answered.
The principal exhaled, slow and measured.
"You will not find the answers you seek here,
child."
Ember's jaw tightened.
That was not denial. It was a warning.
She left without another word.
But her mind was already spinning.
Because even though the woman had not given her answers—
She had also not denied the existence of escape.
--
The days passed slowly.
The silver remained heavy.
Even though no date had been given, Ember knew that the claiming ceremony drew nearer.
And Ember's desperation grew sharper.
She had searched the kitchens. Found nothing.
She had questioned the principal. And only got hints.
And still—she had nothing concrete to grasp onto.
Until the night before the full moon.
A letter arrived.
She did not know who sent it.
Did not know how it had slipped past the guards, past the layers of security surrounding the marked humans' quarters.
But it was there. A thin parchment, pressed between the folds of her blanket.
She unfolded it with careful fingers, heart pounding as she read.
There were only six words.
"The North remembers. Look for the ruins."
Her breath stalled.
The North.
She had always known the forests beyond the empire's reach held something.
But she had never known what.
Now, someone—someone who knew—had given her a direction.
A purpose. A place to find. The ruins.
She did not know where they were.
Did not know who guarded them, or what secrets they held.
But she knew, without a doubt—
They meant freedom.
And suddenly, the silver on her head did not feel quite so suffocating.
Because now, for the first time since the ceremony—
She had hope again.
---
Three days later, she had plans to an attempt an escape.
She had hidden a knife and a tent. Now she was packing food into a pull string bag. Then tied the bag in her skirts to hide it away.
A black blanket was her only hope for camouflage in the pale moon light.
She prayed that her short three-day study of the guard rotations and procedures.
Sneaking through the gates and bushes in a perfectly timed manner, Ember threw her tent pack over her shoulder and ran. The first marker for success was a shallow creek where she had washed clothes so many times.
A guard was standing near a trunk of a tree. A puff of cigarette smoke poured out of the tree line.
Ember went down wind and silently crossed the creek keeping her skirt from dipping in the water. Next the forest line, then hopefully home free.
She thought for a moment about the silver. But said a silent prayer that it was not true, that they would alert the werewolves of her whereabouts.
Moving from bush to rock to tree she inched her way to the forests edge.
Suddenly the headpiece lite up. And a sharp whistle sounded.
She desperately covered her head with the blanket and ran with all her might. But only got twenty feet into the woods when a small pack of three werewolves ran her over.
One grabbed her blanket and shredded it. Another did the same with her tent and scattered her supplies. And the third and largest held her to make her watch.
When they had had their fun the third unceremoniously threw her over his shoulder and strutted back to headquarters.
—-
Ember was bond to a chair in and left in a small white box shaped room.
Her punishment was not the normal beating. Instead, she was given a relentless recorded review on laws in repeat for three days, or until the caravan arrived.
After two days she realized this also included no meals. A sip of water whenever the guards felt like it was all she got.
On day three the ropes were untied, and Ember was escorted out the room. She was relieved, she thought she might have another chance to escape.
Until they took her by the arm and led her outside to a line of limousines.
The dreaded caravan was here for her. When the door was opened, sobs came from inside and Ember's s heart sank.