Third Person's POV Aaron already found it humiliating enough to run around the camp asking who had spare "female supplies" or to be caught tugging at the same packet as a she-wolf. Aaron felt the shame burn through his pelt; all he wanted was to flee. He had no patience left to notice another's need-not when his pride was on the line. "Endure it. It'll pass," he muttered, shoving Zenia aside with a careless flick of his arm, the gesture sharp with a young wolf's arrogance. The packet of cheap pads was delivered to Celestine. Zenia saw the she-wolf wrinkle her delicate nose in disdain, mumbling something under her breath. Aaron immediately softened, lowering his head and murmuring apologies, pointing frantically toward the mountain path where help could be fetched. Only then did Celestine's expression ease. She took the packet and left, her posture perfect, every movement calculated. And of course, the packet never returned to Zenia-Celestine tossed it the moment she was done. Zenia remained seated near the cliff's edge, stiff and unmoving. She had no packmates here, no friends, no wolf who would lift a finger for her. The damp beneath her spread, cold and humiliating. A group of male wolves drifted toward the only path she could take to leave, their laughter rough, their scents thick with smoke and roasted meat. She was barely sixteen then-quiet, plain, always keeping her head down-but even the most overlooked she-wolf carried a fragile pride. Twilight deepened. The mountain wind grew sharper, slicing through her thin clothing. Her eyes stung. The ache in her abdomen blurred into numbness. Staring into the dark ravine below, Zenia felt a hollow, desperate thought flicker: Was poverty truly enough to strip a wolf of even the smallest shred of dignity? It had been just a packet of supplies-garbage to the others, precious to her. Around her, the teenage wolves sang and laughed under the stars, their voices bright against the night. The air smelled rich with charred meat and pine resin. To them, this was a beautiful evening. To her, it was nothing but a long, cold reminder of where she stood-like a mud-soaked stray curled in the shadows, wishing their celebration would end quickly.Just as she felt she might freeze in place, something warm fell over her shoulders. A jacket. Zenia turned and saw her standing there-the infamous young she-wolf from the Moonvale Pack: Aysel Vale. Aysel pointed at Zenia's face, then at the hand clutched around her stomach. "You hurting?" Her voice was flat, edged with the cool irritation of a wolf who noticed things she didn't want to deal with yet couldn't quite ignore. Zenia knew her by reputation. Aysel Vale-kin to Celestine Ward. The older cousin, Celestine, was revered: gentle, noble, born under a lucky moon. Aysel, the younger one, had been branded since childhood as a trouble-born wolf, a bad omen, even blamed for the death of someone important to Celestine. Most avoided her. The few who didn't were an odd trio: Skylar Cross of Frostfang Pack-the other notorious "bad girl." And Damon Blackwood, heir to the Blackwood Pack and the strongest young Alpha in the East. Their group made no sense. And yet... they fit. Perfectly. Zenia once witnessed Celestine timidly invite Damon to eat with her, only for him to reject her without the slightest hesitation. The Alpha who excelled in everything, who treated nearly every she-wolf with polite indifference-was quietly gentle only to the so-called "villainess." Zenia had seen the chilling resentment in Celestine's eyes more than once. Zenia herself never believed Aysel was as terrible as the rumors claimed, but they weren't familiar-not enough for Zenia to feel safe around her. Life was already hard. She couldn't risk provoking the wrong wolf. Then again... Aysel's life didn't seem easy either. While Zenia endured chores and snickers in silence, Aysel had packs of Celestine's admirers circling her like rabid hyenas, eager to pick a fight. Aysel never bowed her head.Sometimes, in her darkest moments, Zenia even felt a small, shameful comfort: Look... even the powerful are hated too. Never had she imagined that in her most mortifying moment, the first wolf to notice her distress-the first to step forward-would be the very girl she had always avoided. Aysel wrapped the jacket around her waist and helped her up, shielding her from the boys' eyes. Then she went to fetch her own spare supplies and a pain-relief tonic meant for young she-wolves. The entire time, Aysel remained calm and distant, speaking little, acting as though she were merely removing an inconvenient obstacle from her path. Once Zenia cleaned up and put on fresh clothing, Aysel turned to leave without asking for thanks. Her beautiful face was still drawn into a frown, as if the evening had personally offended her. To outsiders looking on, it simply appeared as though Zenia had irritated the infamous Moonvale she-wolf again-something to whisper and point at. They never knew the truth of what Aysel had done.