Anna preferred the bookstore to the dorms.
Between the shelves of worn spines and dust-sweet air, no one called her cursed. No one looked at her like she was a mistake. Here, she wasn't the neglected daughter of a family too rich to care. She was simply Anna—the girl who could reach higher shelves than the kind old owner, Mrs. Hartwell, and who kept the ledgers in perfect order.
"Long day?" Mrs. Hartwell asked, her voice warm as honey.
Anna gave a small smile, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "The usual."
Mrs. Hartwell patted her shoulder gently before turning back to her own book.
When the last customer left, Anna lingered among the shelves, running her fingers along bindings. The quiet soothed her, though beneath it there was always a thin thread of unease she couldn't name. Like eyes were watching from somewhere far beyond the walls.
By the time she walked back to the dorms, the night air pressed heavy on her skin. She tilted her face toward the stars, emerald eyes catching the faint light.
Her wolf-shaped mark pulsed faintly beneath her collar. She rubbed at it absently, the way she always did when it reminded her it was there.
Some things never let you forget.