Chapter 5: Serena’s POV

Turning blood-soaked Northern gold coins into steaming pots of oatmeal takes less than three hours.

Before dawn had even broken, a dozen or so campfires were already burning in the refugee camp in the Lower City. In the great cauldrons, a thick porridge bubbled — chunks of meat and cold-warding herbs stirred through it — cheap, but enough to keep a body alive. For a brief while, the smell of food finally drowned out the rot that hung over this district year-round.

"Slow down! Form a line! There's more where that came from — quit shoving!"

Miles stood on a broken wooden crate, waving a ladle bigger than his own face and bellowing himself hoarse to keep order. I leaned against a shelter post, watching the starving low-rank werewolves and their pups wolf down their food with cold eyes.

I touched my pocket. The bracelet set with a moonstone lay quietly inside.

Thinking back to that ambush in the Black Pine Forest, my fingertips still carried a faint tremor. That man… he was absolutely a monster. His scent — like ice and snow — would have driven an ordinary werewolf to his knees in the mud on the spot.

If I hadn't run fast enough, and if it hadn't been for those pouches of specially made hallucinatory powder, I'd probably have had my throat crushed by now.

"To hell with it. Damned noble anyway," I muttered under my breath, tugging my hat brim lower. As long as I could buy back my brother's badge within forty-eight hours — and keep these refugees alive through the winter while I was at it — it'd be worth every coin.

"The rain in Black Pine Forest seems heavy tonight."

A low voice spoke, without any warning, less than half a meter away from me.

Every muscle in my body went taut. Almost on instinct, I whipped out the silver dagger hidden in my boot; by the time I turned, the tip was already pressed steady against the newcomer's throat.

"Whoa. Temper on this one."

He was a tall man. He wore a battered black leather jacket with no family crest on it, hands shoved carelessly in his pockets. With a blade at his throat, he didn't even blink.

What put me most on guard was that I hadn't sensed him approach at all.

As a street rat who'd scrambled through the gutters his whole life, my hearing and instincts were far sharper than most. But this man was like a shadow melted into the dark — silent, traceless.

I narrowed my eyes and sized him up. Messy black hair, a high nose bridge, features carved deep and a little cold. There was no scent off him at all — he smelled like the most ordinary low-rank Beta, or a drifter — yet the way he stood there, loose and casual, carried a pressure impossible to ignore.

The stance of a predator. The wolf inside me stirred uneasily, warning me: this man is dangerous.

"Who are you?" I dropped my voice. "If you're here to beg, get in line. If you're here to start trouble, I guarantee your blood will boil before that pot of porridge does."

The man lowered his head, and through the brim of my hat, his eyes locked dead onto mine.

"Name's Lan." A faint curve tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I just happened to be passing by. Curious, that's all… how does a little brother who carries the smell of Black Pine needles — and just a hint of… gold-coin stink — have the money to run a charity kitchen here?"

My pupils contracted hard.

He'd smelled it. Even though I'd masked my scent with bone-etching grass, even though I'd stood out in the rain for half an hour after getting back to the city — he'd still caught the faint trace I'd picked up from that Northern noble.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Lan." I sneered, pressing the blade another half inch forward. "On this street, people with too much curiosity don't usually live long."

Just then, a pup only a few years old came tottering over, clutching half a stale black loaf in her hands.

"Rogue…" The little girl timidly tugged at the hem of my coat, tilting up a smudged face. "Auntie Elara says you traded all your money for food and haven't eaten yourself. This is for you."

I froze, and the dagger at Lan's throat slackened without my meaning it to.

I bent down, took the black bread, and rubbed the girl's head through my leather glove. "Thanks. Get back to the fire now — don't freeze."

When I looked up again, I found that man Lan was watching me with a complicated expression.

The carelessness and the appraising look were gone from his face. His gaze swept over my ragged clothes, over the refugees crammed around the campfires devouring their food, and finally came back to rest on me.

Something I couldn't read was churning in those eyes.

"The capital's city guard has half the world out hunting a notorious little bandit who robbed a noble," Lan said suddenly. "They say he's a greedy sewer rat."

"They're right." I met his gaze defiantly. "I'm a bastard who'd do anything for gold. So stay away from me."

I turned to leave, but he caught me by the shoulder.

His grip was shockingly strong — even through the heavy linen, I could feel the scorching heat of his body. Every alarm in me went off at once, and yet, strange to say, I felt not a trace of revulsion.

"You're a liar, Little Rogue."

Lan lowered his head and leaned close to my ear.

"But I'll admit," he said, releasing me and stepping back half a pace, "a liar like you isn't entirely unbearable."

With that, he flipped a silver coin into the air. I caught it by reflex.

"Buy the little girl a cup of hot milk for me." He turned, shoved his hands back into his pockets, and strode off into the dark alley.

"We'll meet again, little liar."

I clutched the silver coin, still warm from his body heat, and stared after the direction he'd vanished, my brow furrowed tight.

In this damned capital, the rich nobles are all fools and the low-rank werewolves are all waiting to die. But this man called Lan… what kind of monster is he?