A Past in Pieces, A Future in Masks

VANESSA

The morning after the Alpha Ball, I stood at my bedroom window, watching the sun spill gold across the Moonstone Pack territories. My hand absently traced the outline of my engagement ring—a gaudy thing Wesley had slipped on my finger before we left the ball.

An engagement I never wanted. A ring that felt like a shackle.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Another congratulatory message, no doubt. I'd received dozens since last night's announcement. I ignored it.

Instead, I focused on the calendar notification that had popped up earlier: three weeks until the Inter-Pack Masquerade Ball. The annual event rotated between packs, and this year, the Moonstone Pack was hosting.

A masquerade. People hiding behind masks, identities concealed. The irony wasn't lost on me.

A soft knock pulled me from my thoughts.

"Come in," I called.