Chapter 1

Sofia POV

“Sofia!! YOU’RE GOING TO BE LATE!!” Mom yelled from downstairs.

I dragged myself out of bed anyway. One more week. That was all I had to survive.

One more week until finals. One more week until graduation. One more week until my eighteenth birthday—when I’d finally scent my mate.

That last part was the only thing keeping me breathing.

Because in this pack, being adopted made you fair game.

They didn’t just bully me for fun.

They bullied me because Connor Blackwood’s family made it fashionable.

Connor—future Alpha—graduated two years ago, but his sister still ran the school like it was her personal stage. She kept the tradition alive.

I pulled on black cargo pants and a navy tee, shoved my hair into a quick ponytail, and tried to ignore my reflection—small, too small for a wolf. And my eyes…

Two different colors.

Everyone stared at them like they were a defect.

Or a curse.

Dad kissed the top of my head before I left. “Ignore them today, Two-Tone.”

“I’m trying,” I whispered.

But the second I stepped onto school grounds, I knew something was different.

Because the entire courtyard had formed a crowd around the main building.

Shouts. Laughter. Phones up.

And right in the center of it all—

A fresh board had been mounted on the wall:

LUNA CANDIDATE REGISTRY — SENIOR CLASS

My stomach dropped.

I hadn’t even made it through the crowd when I heard a voice like a whip crack:

“Move aside. The adopted one shouldn’t be standing near the Luna list.”

She stood in front of the board like she owned it.

Connor Blackwood’s sister—perfect hair, perfect uniform, perfect cruelty.

Her friends flanked her like guards.

When she spotted me, her smile widened.

“Oh look,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Two-Tone finally crawled out of her Omega house.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

I felt heat crawl up my neck. I tried to step around them.

She stepped in front of me.

“No, no,” she said sweetly. “You don’t get to walk past the Luna registry like you belong here.”

I swallowed. “I’m just trying to get to class.”

She turned to the board and tapped the paper list with one manicured nail.

“Class?” she mocked. “Baby, this is the only class that matters.”

Then she lifted her voice like she was reading announcements.

“Luna candidates must be—” she paused, eyes cutting to me, “—proper blood.”

My chest tightened.

Phones were recording. I could see it.

I could feel the crowd leaning in, hungry.

She pointed at the list. “Sofia. Come here.”

My feet wouldn’t move.

So she smiled and said, “Fine. I’ll come to you.”

She walked right up to me, slow and deliberate.

Close enough for me to smell her expensive perfume and the confidence of someone who’d never been told no.

Then she held up a marker.

Black ink.

Permanent.

And in a voice bright with satisfaction, she announced:

“Since your parents couldn’t even keep you, why would the Moon Goddess pick you as Luna?”

My throat closed.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

She turned back to the board and—without hesitation—dragged the marker across the bottom of the registry.

Not over a name.

Over a blank line.

A space where my name should’ve been.

Then she wrote, big and bold:

DISQUALIFIED. ADOPTED.

The crowd exploded.

Laughter. Gasps. Whistles.

My vision blurred.

She leaned back, admiring her work like it was art.

“And before anyone asks,” she said, voice sharp, “yes—my family already spoke to the Council.”

I snapped my head up. “What?”

Her smile turned vicious.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” she purred. “Graduation day, Sofia… you’re not just leaving school.”

She pointed one finger at my chest.

“You’re leaving the pack.”

The courtyard went silent for half a second.

Then the whispers started.

Leaving the pack?

Is that even allowed?

She’s getting exiled?

My knees went weak.

She leaned close enough that only I could hear her next words:

“Try to show up at graduation.”

“I dare you.”

I don’t remember walking home.

I just remember my mother’s hands on my face the moment I stepped through the door.

“Sofia?” her voice shook. “What happened?”

Dad came in behind her—still in patrol gear, eyes narrowing the second he saw my expression.

I tried to speak and my voice broke.

“They… put up the Luna registry,” I whispered. “And… she…”

Dad’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle jumped.

Mom shoved a plate into my hands—tacos, still warm. Like food could patch a crack in my chest.

Dad crouched in front of me, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“One week,” he said quietly. “Just one week left.”

“I can’t,” I whispered. “They’re going to—”

Dad’s voice dropped even lower, fierce and controlled.

“They don’t decide who you are.”

“But they said the Council—”

Dad’s eyes flickered. Something dark passed behind them.

“The Council doesn’t know everything,” he said.

And then he touched my cheek like he was apologizing without words.

“For now,” he added, “you keep your head down.”

Mom’s hands trembled as she brushed my hair. “Your birthday is graduation day,” she whispered. “Maybe your mate will—”

Dad cut in, sharp. “No. Not maybe.”

Then, softer, just to me—

“Your mate will change everything.”

Dad stood and walked to the door, scanning the street like he expected someone to be watching.

Then he turned back and said:

“And Sofia… if they try to remove you on graduation day—”

“I won’t let them take you.”

That night I lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

The board. The ink. The word DISQUALIFIED burned behind my eyes.

I couldn’t stop hearing her voice:

Graduation day… you’re leaving the pack.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

I tried to hold onto the only hope I had.

My mate.

My eighteenth birthday.

The one thing no Blackwood could control.

But right before dawn, my phone buzzed with a new message from an unknown number.

No name. No profile.

Just one photo.

The Luna registry board.

My “DISQUALIFIED” label circled in red.

And beneath it, a caption:

“SEE YOU AT GRADUATION, ADOPTED GIRL.”

“PACKS DON’T KEEP STRAYS.”

My hands shook so hard I nearly dropped the phone.

And in the silence of my room, one thought hit me like a punch:

They weren’t just humiliating me.

They were preparing to hunt me out.

From downstairs, Dad’s voice rose—tight, urgent:

“Lena… lock the doors.”

“I smell Blackwood wolves outside.”

Chapter 2

Sofia POV

The lunch bell rang like a warning.

I swapped books at my locker with shaking hands and headed for the cafeteria, telling myself I could keep my head down for one more week.

The second I stepped inside, I knew I was lying.

People weren’t eating.

They were watching.

A circle had formed near the center tables—phones up, whispers buzzing like flies.

And Monica Blackwood stood in the middle like she owned the air.

She clapped once—sharp and loud.

“Move. The adopted one’s here.”

My stomach dropped.

I tried to slip past.

Monica’s voice cut through the room.

“Nope. Over here, Two-Tone.”

Every head turned.

Monica smiled sweetly and pointed at the floor in front of her.

“Come apologize.”

“On your knees.”

I froze. “I’m not kneeling.”

Monica’s friends laughed like it was adorable that I thought I had a choice.

Monica tilted her head. “Still pretending you’re equal?”

“I didn’t do anything to you,” I said, voice tight.

“Oh, you did,” she purred. “You breathed near the Luna registry. You walked past it like you belonged.”

She stepped closer—slow, confident.

“I’m Alpha blood,” she said loudly. “You’re a stray someone felt sorry for.”

My hands clenched around my tray.

Monica’s heel tapped the tile near my shoes. “Kneel.”

I shook my head.

Her smile vanished.

She leaned in, low enough that only I could hear her next words.

“If you don’t kneel… I’ll make sure your Omega father loses his patrol placement.”

My chest went cold.

I looked up, horrified.

She straightened, speaking to the whole cafeteria now.

“See? Strays don’t learn unless you train them.”

Someone in the crowd started chanting, half-laughing:

“Kneel! Kneel! Kneel!”

And I realized—no one was going to stop this.

Monica pulled out her phone and lifted it.

The camera pointed straight at my face.

“Smile,” she mocked. “We’re recording your apology.”

I took a shaky breath. “Put that away.”

Monica’s eyes glittered. “Why? Afraid the pack will finally see what you are?”

She turned the phone slightly so everyone could watch the screen.

“Look at her eyes,” Monica announced. “Two colors. Two lies.”

A ripple of laughter ran through the room.

Then Monica’s voice sharpened—cruel, certain.

“Those eyes aren’t ‘unique.’ They’re a curse.”

My throat tightened. I couldn’t swallow.

Monica raised her chin like she was making an official declaration.

“Say it,” she ordered. “Say: I’m not fit to be Luna.”

I didn’t move.

Monica’s smile snapped into something ugly.

“Say it,” she repeated. “Say: My eyes are a curse.”

She leaned closer, speaking into the phone like she was filming a confession.

“Go on,” she whispered. “Tell them you’ll never be chosen. Tell them you’re just… adopted.”

My vision blurred.

My knees actually trembled.

Not because I believed her.

Because everyone was watching me like they wanted me to break.

Monica lifted her foot and hooked it lightly behind my ankle—just enough to throw me off balance.

“Careful,” she said sweetly. “Wouldn’t want you to fall before you kneel.”

A chair scraped.

A deep voice sliced through the cafeteria like steel.

“That’s enough.”

Silence dropped so fast it felt unreal.

Mr. Morrigan stood at the edge of the circle—hands behind his back, expression calm, eyes… darker than normal.

Monica’s friends stiffened.

Monica tried to recover her smile. “Oh—Mr. Morrigan. We’re just having fun.”

Morrigan didn’t look at her phone. Didn’t look at the crowd.

He looked at me first.

Then his gaze shifted to Monica—cold and flat.

“Put it away,” he said.

Monica scoffed. “You can’t tell me what to do. I’m the Alpha’s daughter.”

Morrigan’s voice dropped. Quiet. Dangerous.

“I don’t care what your father is,” he said. “I care what you are.”

Monica’s smile twitched.

Morrigan took one step forward.

And the temperature in the room changed.

“Record again,” he murmured, “and you’ll be explaining to the principal why you tried to publicly disgrace a student under pack protection.”

Monica’s eyes widened. “Pack protection?”

Morrigan didn’t answer.

He turned his head slightly—just enough to show the black flicker in his eyes.

Monica’s hand shook as she lowered her phone.

The crowd backed up without being told.

Then Morrigan looked back at me.

And his expression—just for a heartbeat—wasn’t teacher-calm anymore.

It was… recognition.

He stared at my eyes.

One blue. One brown.

His jaw tightened.

He whispered, so low I almost didn’t hear it:

“Those eyes… who gave them to you?”

My breath caught.

Before I could respond, Monica’s voice snapped—sharp with fury:

“This isn’t over.”

And I knew she meant it.

Morrigan didn’t chase Monica.

He didn’t need to.

His attention stayed on me, like he was filing something away.

The bell rang, but no one moved. The cafeteria was still holding its breath.

Monica walked backward, never taking her eyes off me.

Then she smiled—slow and vicious.

“Enjoy your last week, Sofia,” she called out.

“Because graduation day?” she lifted her phone again, not recording—just showing she still could.

“Graduation day is when we finish this.”

People murmured.

Morrigan’s shoulders went rigid.

Monica pointed toward the main hallway where the big announcement board sat.

“They’re posting the final Luna Candidate Confirmation at graduation,” she said loudly. “In front of the whole pack.”

Her gaze locked on mine.

“And that’s when everyone will see the truth.”

She stepped closer just once—close enough to hiss only for me.

“You will kneel on that stage,” she whispered. “You will apologize for existing.”

“And when the Council asks who deserves to stay…” her mouth curved.

“You’ll say it yourself.”

I don’t belong.

Then she turned and walked out like she’d already won.

My phone buzzed.

A new message—unknown number.

Just one photo.

A screenshot of Monica’s phone camera, paused on my face.

My eyes circled in red.

And two words typed beneath it:

GRADUATION. KNEEL.

My hands went numb.

Behind me, Morrigan spoke again—quiet, urgent.

“Sofia,” he said, voice tight. “After school—don’t go straight home.”

I turned, shaking. “Why?”

Morrigan’s eyes flicked to my face again.

To my eyes.

Like they were a key he’d been searching for.

“Because,” he murmured, “Monica thinks you’re a stray.”

His jaw clenched.

“And I think you were hidden.”

Morrigan slipped a folded paper into my palm.

An address. A time.

And one line written beneath it:

“Before graduation… you need to know who you really are.”