She jumped 2

Tonight was Preselection Night, and I stood before my mirror like a warrior preparing for battle. The dark violet silk Sariah had left draped across my bed now clung to my body—a weapon disguised as elegance.

The dress plunged low at the neckline, its slit riding high enough to make the Matrons clutch their pearls and whisper about propriety behind their fans.

Let them whisper. I had bigger concerns than their delicate sensibilities.

The fabric molded to my curves, transforming me into something dangerous and beautiful. I fastened the silver cuffs around my bare shoulders—ancient Fowler steel, cold as winter mornings and twice as unforgiving.

These weren’t mere jewelry; they were heritage, worn only by those who remembered what we once were before we bent the knee to protocol and politeness.

I painted my mouth blood-red, each stroke of color a declaration of war.

“You’re really going to do this?” Claire’s voice cut through my preparations.

She leaned against my doorframe, arms crossed, watching me lace up my leather boots beneath the silk. The contrast was deliberate—elegance and rebellion bound together.

I caught her reflection in the mirror, my hands never pausing in their work. “You know I am.”

“You always were impossible.” She pushed off the doorframe, moving closer. “Completely, utterly impossible.”

“Impossible gets answers.” I stood, smoothing the dress over my hips. “Possible gets you a pretty cage and a leash.”

Claire didn’t laugh at my joke. Instead, she moved to my window, staring out at the moonlit palace grounds. “If you get caught in the High Tower—”

“I won’t.”

“—you could be disqualified from the entire Selection. Or worse, Lyss. Much worse.”

I turned to face her fully, noting the genuine fear in her voice. “Then I’ll smile prettier when they question me. Maybe bat my eyelashes a few times.”

“This isn’t a game!” Her voice cracked. “That tower isn’t just locked, it’s protected by magic older than both of us combined. You know what they say about the top floor.”

“Ghost stories and legend.” I waved dismissively, but Claire grabbed my wrist.

“Listen to me. Some say the original Luna Bride went mad in that room, that she carved prophecies into the stone with her own claws before throwing herself from the window. Others claim the Oracle lives there between seasons, dreaming up the names of those destined to die in the Games.”

I pulled free from her grip. “I don’t care about legends, Claire. I care about truth.”

“And if his name is on that list?” Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. “If Hector Veylor is playing this year?”

The Silent Heir. Even his name sent ice through my veins. No one had seen him in three years—not since his father’s funeral. But the stories… the stories painted him as something between ghost and monster.

They said he killed his own uncle in a duel over succession rights. They said he could shift without the moon’s blessing. They said a lot of things about Hector Veylor, and most of them ended in blood.

“Then I need to know that most of all,” I said.

The Preselection ceremony began at midnight in the Temple Court, an obsidian amphitheater where moonlight streamed through the open dome like liquid silver.

The council sat elevated in their silver thrones, robed figures whose faces remained hidden in shadow. Below them, thirty she-wolves stood in perfect formation, each dressed in ceremonial silk, their lips painted identical shades of pink, their eyes appropriately downcast.

Like lambs led to slaughter.

I arrived deliberately late, my boot heels echoing against the polished stone. Every head turned at the sound—some faces twisted with envy at my dress, others tight with disapproval at my tardiness.

I took my place at the end of the line, feeling their stares like physical weight.

High Priestess Morwyn stepped forward, her voice carrying clearly through the amphitheater.

“Tonight, we gather to witness the moon’s blessing upon our daughters. Each shall receive her token—a sacred bond between bloodline and destiny.”

One by one, we approached the altar. Each girl received a moon token marked with her house crest and whispered the traditional vows of purity and compliance. When my turn came, I took the coin marked with the Fowler fang and felt its sharp edges bite into my palm as I closed my fist around it.

“Do you swear to honor the ancient ways?” Morwyn asked.

“I swear it,” I lied smoothly.

“Do you enter this Selection pure of body and spirit?”

“I do,” Another lie, delivered with a perfect smile. Accept for the body, of course.

“Then may the moon guide your path.”

The ceremony continued with readings from the sacred texts and blessings over ceremonial wine. But I wasn’t listening anymore.

My attention had shifted to the shadows beyond the amphitheater, calculating distances and timing. When the great fire was lit to signal the ceremony’s climax, I made my move.

I slipped away through the side corridor, past the prayer chambers where incense still burned from evening devotions.

My silk dress whispered against stone as I moved deeper into the palace’s east wing, away from the crowds and watchful eyes.

Then I ran.

The High Tower rose above the palace like a dark sentinel, its windows black and lifeless.

Everyone knew it was forbidden territory, but everyone also knew it contained the registry—the complete list of Alpha heirs chosen to compete in this year’s Selection. Only the council had access to those names.

Until tonight.

I scaled the outer stairwell, my dress catching on rough stone but never slowing my ascent. The tower’s ancient bricks were cold beneath my hands, worn smooth by centuries of weather.

At the top, I ducked under a crumbling archway and set to work on the lock with tools Sariah had taught me to use as children—back when breaking rules was still a game instead of survival.

The door opened with a satisfying click, revealing a hallway lined with tapestries depicting the Luna Queens of old. Ancient wolves crowned in silver, their mouths stained with the blood of conquered enemies. Their painted eyes seemed to follow my movement as I crept toward the spiral staircase.

The top floor was sealed behind a door carved with protective runes. I pressed my palm against the ward mark, feeling the old magic pulse once before flickering out like a dying candle.

Someone had forgotten to maintain the enchantments—their mistake, my opportunity.

The door swung open silently.

Inside, the air was thick with dust and secrets. Scrolls lined every wall, maps and bloodline charts and mating records spanning centuries. The history of our people’s careful breeding programs, all laid bare in fading ink and careful notation.

But there, on a pedestal in the room’s center, sat what I’d come for—a thick black book without labels or decoration. The registry.

I crossed the room on silent feet, my heart hammering against my ribs. Just as my fingers brushed the leather cover, the door behind me creaked open.

“Who the fuck are you?”

The voice was low, rough, and absolutely furious. I spun around, my hand still hovering over the book, and found myself staring into the shadows where someone stood watching me.

Game over.