Riley's POV I didn't say anything. Just reached into the shopping bag and pulled out the dress. Red. Spaghetti straps. Generic cut. The kind of thing you'd find in the clearance bin of any downtown boutique. Cheap, boring, and completely forgettable. Even when they tried to pretend they cared-they couldn't be bothered to do it right. "How thoughtful, Luna Zara," I said, lacing each word with sarcasm, dragging out "thoughtful" like a knife across glass. Her smile twitched. She knew exactly what I meant. "If you don't like it," she said awkwardly, "I can find something else. Something more your taste." I tossed the dress back at her. "You do realize I'm still covered in bruises, right? You want me to show up at a formal event looking like I walked through a warzone?" The welts Alaric left behind with his belt had faded, but the shadows were still there-on my arms, my thighs, my back. And the worst of it-my shoulder-still bore the angry red stretch of half-healed scars. A strappy dress like this would put every mark on display. Zara blinked like she'd only just remembered. "I-I didn't think-" "Yeah, I figured. You don't think much when it comes to me." "I'm sorry, truly," she murmured, lowering her eyes. "I wasn't being considerate. I apologize." "Forget it. Just give me the money. I'll buy my own dress-one that actually fits." My body had never caught up with me. Years of malnourishment behind cell doors will do that. Where I should've filled out, I never did. I was small, fragile-looking. Thin in ways that screamed neglect. Everyone in the Ebonclaw Pack had model-perfect genes. Alaric stood at 6'1. Kael Vale was even taller. Zara had once been a beauty queen at Mooncrest Academy. Me? I barely hit 5'3, with bones like bird wings and not a curve in sight. If I didn't have this face-one that mirrored every sculpted feature of theirs-no one would believe I was the Ebonclaw heiress at all.The dress Zara bought wasn't mine-it was tailored to Scarlett's measurements. Of course it was. She turned red from neck to ears and fumbled inside her purse before shoving a card at me. "There's... ten thousand credits on here. If it's not enough, just ask." And with that, she practically ran. I didn't waste time. Threw on a hoodie and left the estate, flagged a hover-cab straight to the Nightshade Mall. But I didn't go to a dress boutique. I walked into a suit tailor's shop. Formal. Functional. Full coverage. Exactly what I needed. The assistant helped me pick a fitted black suit. I took it into the changing room. As I zipped it up and turned to face the mirror, something caught my attention just outside the door. A guy. Young. Slim. Clean-cut. No Pack crest visible, but judging by the leather briefcase and polished shoes, he worked for someone high up. He held up a ruined jacket. "You really can't fix it?" The tailor grimaced. "It's Moonfang silk, sir. Top grade. But the burn is right through the chest. You'd need a master stitcher to reweave the fibers, and even then it won't be perfect." The guy cursed under his breath. "Damn it. Our Alpha has a summit tonight-this was supposed to be his custom piece." He looked like he was about to cry. I glanced at the jacket in his hands. It was exquisite. Rich texture. Tailored to someone broad in the shoulders and lean at the waist. I'd only seen this level of craftsmanship a few times-always on visiting Alphas from the Stormridge Pack or Northhaven. Moonfang silk could cost a small fortune per yard. And repairing it would cost even more. He turned-and caught sight of me. I was still in my black suit, brushing invisible lint from the sleeve. The shoulders gave me power I didn't have in my bones. The clean lines skimmed my waist and made my pale skin glow like polished pearl. Under the lights, I didn't look like a victim. I looked like someone in control. He rushed over, desperation plain on his face. "You're the tailor here, right? Can you help?" I blinked. "What?" "This jacket. Please. If you can patch it before sundown, I'll pay anything. Anything." I should've told him no. But the way he looked at me-like I mattered-like he needed me... it made something flicker deep inside. Something I hadn't felt in a long time. "Say yes," Nyra whispered faintly. "Let them see what your hands can do. Let them remember who you are." "Can I... embroider something over it?" I asked cautiously. He hesitated. "Like... a patch?" "More like a crest. I could use Moonweave-something detailed. Artistic." The man looked torn. "You know Moonweave?" he asked, eyebrows rising. "I learned it... a while ago." I didn't tell him I learned it behind prison bars. That the warden saw potential in my hands and put me under a master seamstress who'd been jailed for stealing royal silks. That those women broke me, starved me, beat me-but never let anyone ruin my fingers. Because my hands meant profit. I didn't know if I was any good. Maybe I was just better than the rest of the broken women I stitched beside. But I could try. "Alright," he said at last, teeth clenched. "You're right. The hole's visible anyway. Might as well make it art." He handed over the jacket like he was handing me his last breath. I took it and sat down, rolling up my sleeves."Do you have thread?" I asked the tailor. She brought over a box of high-end silks-black, gold, crimson. I chose gold. Moonweave embroidery required precision. Before stitching, I split one thread into forty-eight slivers-each thinner than a hair. The assistant's jaw dropped. The guy with the jacket looked like he'd seen a ghost. I let the needle glide between my fingers. In. Out. Under. Over. It was meditative. Addictive. I stitched in silence-just me, the thread, and the silk. Each movement was deliberate. The threads formed the shape of a flower. A peony, bold and unfurling. Layer upon layer of golden petals shimmered under the light. I added tiny silver strands in the center, mimicking morning dew. The whole thing pulsed with life. When I finished, I sat back and exhaled slowly. The guy took the jacket with trembling fingers-and gasped. "This... this is unreal. You didn't fix it-you elevated it." The staff all crowded around, murmuring admiration. I smiled, faint and tired. "Glad it's good enough." "Good enough? It's perfect." He looked dazed. "What do I owe you?" "Nothing," I said. "Call it a favor to the Moon. I needed something good today. This helped." He thanked me again-profusely-and hurried out with the jacket. When I stepped outside, the sky had gone dark. Streetlamps lit the sidewalk in soft golden hues. I flagged another hover-cab, returned to the estate-only to find it empty. Alaric, Zara, Scarlett, and Kael were already gone.I didn't care. In fact, I was halfway back up the stairs when a black SUV pulled up, window down, driver glaring. "Get in," he snapped. "Alpha and Luna said to bring you to the auction." I didn't move. He frowned. "Well?" I narrowed my eyes. "Get out. Open the door." He scoffed. "You don't have hands?" Wrong answer. I took one step toward him. My presence alone made him flinch. "Remind them," Nyra purred. "Remind them who you are." They still hadn't figured it out. This wasn't about me begging to be accepted. This was about them needing me to marry into Stormridge for the Pack's survival. They needed me.