The hallway outside her room looked different in daylight.
Cora stood in the doorway, her bandaged feet still tender against the cold marble, her heart beating too fast for something as simple as stepping outside. She'd walked these halls before, dragged to the basement, carried back bleeding but this was different.
This time, no one was forcing her.
She took a breath and Stepped forward.
The estate was quieter than she expected. Mid-morning light streamed through tall windows, casting long rectangles of gold across the floor. Dust motes drifted in the beams. Somewhere distant, she could hear voices, footsteps, the hum of a household in motion.
She didn't know where to go. Damien had given her freedom to move, but he hadn't given her a map. Hadn't told her where she was allowed and where she wasn't. Maybe that was the point. Maybe he wanted to see what she'd do.
She turned left. Started walking.
The first person she passed was a man in dark clothing , a servant, maybe, or a guard. He looked at her. Really looked. His steps slowed, his eyes narrowing, tracking her as she moved past.
Cora kept her gaze forward. Kept walking.
More people. More stares. A woman carrying linens who stopped mid-stride. Two men in conversation who fell silent as she approached. A girl sweeping the floor who nearly dropped her broom.
They knew who she was. The girl from the West Wing. The human Damien had locked away.
Cora's skin prickled under the weight of their attention, but she didn't stop. Didn't shrink. She'd spent her whole life being invisible. Being seen was terrifying.
But maybe it was time to stop hiding.
She found the kitchens by accident.
A wrong turn, and suddenly she was standing in a warm, bustling space that smelled like bread and roasting meat. People moved in coordinated chaos, chopping, stirring, shouting orders across the room. No one noticed her at first.
Then someone did.
"You lost?"
The voice came from her left. Cora turned.
A girl stood by a massive wooden table, her hands dusted with flour, her dark curly hair escaping from a tie at the back of her head. She was young close to Cora's age with warm brown skin and eyes that held more curiosity than suspicion.
"I — yes," Cora admitted. "I don't know where anything is."
The girl grinned. "Yeah, this place is a maze. Took me three months to stop getting turned around." She wiped her hands on her apron and stepped closer. "I'm Mira."
"Cora."
"I know." Mira's grin didn't falter. "Everyone knows. You're the mystery girl from upstairs. The one the Alpha's been keeping locked away." She tilted her head. "You don't look very mysterious."
Cora almost laughed
"Nah, I like it. Mysterious is overrated." Mira glanced over her shoulder, then back at Cora. "You eaten yet?"
"No."
"Figured. You've got that starving but trying to hide it look." She grabbed a small bread roll from the table and tossed it to Cora. "Here. It's fresh."
Cora caught it. The bread was still warm, the crust crackling under her fingers. Her stomach growled loud enough that Mira laughed.
"Eat," Mira said. "Then I'll show you around. If you want."
Cora bit into the bread. It was the best thing she'd tasted in days.
"I want," she said.
Mira talked as they walked.
She was a kitchen worker, she explained. Had been since she was fifteen. Her parents were both wolves low-ranking, nothing special but they'd served the Volkov pack for generations. It was just what their family did.
"It's not glamorous," Mira said, leading Cora down a corridor lined with windows. "But the food's good and the pay's decent. Plus I get to hear all the gossip."
"What kind of gossip?"
Mira shot her a sideways look. "You really want to know?"
"Yes."
"Well." Mira lowered her voice. "Right now, everyone's talking about you. The human girl the Alpha won't let anyone near. Some people think you're his prisoner. Some people think you're his secret lover. And some people—" She paused for effect. "—think you're something else entirely."
Cora's stomach tightened. "Something else?"
"Something not human." Mira shrugged. "I don't know what's true. Don't really care, honestly. You seem normal enough to me."
Normal huh ,If only.
They turned a corner and the corridor opened up. Ahead, through a set of glass doors, Cora could see an outdoor space, a wide courtyard surrounded by stone walls. And in the courtyard
Not in animal form. Men, mostly. Shirtless, sweating, moving in pairs across the packed dirt. Fighting. Training. The sound of fists against flesh, bodies hitting the ground , drifted through the glass.
Cora stopped walking.
"Training grounds," Mira said. "The warriors practice here every morning. It's honestly the best entertainment in this place."
But Cora wasn't looking at the warriors.
She was looking at Damien.
He was in the center of the courtyard.
Shirtless like the others, his body filled with muscles and old scars. He moved like water precise, efficient . The man facing him was bigger, heavier, and it didn't matter. Damien ducked a swing, countered with a strike to the ribs, swept the man's legs out from under him. The whole thing took maybe three seconds.
The man hit the ground hard and Stayed there.
Damien straightened. Rolled his shoulders. And then so brief, Cora almost missed it , his gaze lifted.
To her.
Their eyes met through the glass. The distance between them shrinked . Suddenly she was back in the forest, his mouth on hers, his hands in her hair.
Her face flushed. She looked away.
"You okay?" Mira was watching her. "You got all red."
"Fine." Cora's voice came out too high. "I'm fine. It's just — warm."
Mira raised an eyebrow but didn't push. "Sure. Warm." She grinned. "Come on. There's more to see."
They left the training grounds behind. But Cora could feel his gaze on her back, burning through the glass, following her as she walked away.
When she glanced over her shoulder, he was fighting again Harder and Faster.
Mira showed her the gardens next.
They were beautiful, more beautiful than Cora had expected from a place this cold and hard. Flowers she didn't recognize bloomed in neat rows. Trees with silver bark cast dappled shadows on winding paths. A fountain burbled somewhere out of sight.
"The Luna — the Alpha's mother — she planted most of this," Mira explained. "Before she died. Damien's father let it go after, but Damien had it restored when he took over." She shrugged. "He's not as heartless as everyone thinks."
Cora filed that away. Another piece of the puzzle.
They walked in comfortable silence for a while. The sun was warm on Cora's face, the air sweet with the scent of flowers.
"Hey," Mira said. "You like books?"
The question caught Cora off guard. "What?"
"Books. Reading. Do you like it?"
"I—" Cora hesitated. She'd learned to read at the orphanage, one of the few good things about that place. Books had been her escape. Her survival. "Yes. I do."
Mira's face lit up. "Then you have to see the library. It's massive. Floor to ceiling, wall to wall. I don't read much myself, but even I think it's impressive." She pointed toward the east wing of the estate. "It's over there. Third floor. You can't miss it."
The library.
Something stirred in Cora's chest. That hunger for knowledge. For answers.
"Thank you," she said. "For showing me around. For….all of this."
Mira waved a hand. "Don't mention it. Gets boring talking to the same people every day." She smiled. "Besides, you're interesting. Anyone who makes the Alpha act weird is interesting."
"Act weird?"
"Oh, please." Mira laughed. "He moved you to the West Wing himself and just now, at the training grounds? I've never seen him fight like that. Like he was showing off." She winked. "Interesting."
Before Cora could respond, Mira was already walking away.
"I gotta get back before they notice I'm gone. But come find me sometime, yeah? Kitchen's always open."
She disappeared around a corner.
Cora stood alone in the garden, the sun warm on her skin, her mind racing.
The library.
She knew where she was going next.
The rest of the day passed in a blur.
Cora explored more of the estate carefully, always aware of the eyes that followed her. She found a sitting room with velvet couches and a cold fireplace. A music room with a grand piano covered in dust. A gallery of paintings, dark and old, depicting scenes she didn't understand.
She didn't see Damien again.
By the time evening came, her feet were aching and her stomach was growling, but she didn't go back to her room. Didn't seek out food.
She went to the library.
Mira hadn't exaggerated. It was massive. Two stories of shelves, connected by a spiral staircase that gleamed in the low light. Thousands of books ,maybe tens of thousands leather-bound and ancient, paperback and new. The air smelled like dust and old paper.
Cora stepped inside and felt something in her chest loosen.
This. This was somewhere she could breathe.
She ran her fingers along the spines as she walked, reading titles she didn't recognize, pulling out volumes at random. History. Philosophy. Fiction. And then, tucked in a corner on the second level, a section that made her heart stutter.
Supernatural Studies.
She pulled out the first book her hand touched. Old. the title stamped in faded gold: "A History of the Hidden Races".
She sank into a chair by the window. Opened the book.
And began to read.