Chapter 65: The Escape

Seraphine's POV

Jason looked at me, then nodded. "Alright. Let's go."

Simple as that.

---

The walk to town felt longer this time.

My heart was pounding. My hands were clammy.

But I kept my face neutral. Calm.

Jason followed at his usual distance. Not suspicious. Just routine.

When we reached the town, I headed straight for the first shop.

A small clothing store with racks of simple dresses.

I picked up a long, plain dress in dark gray. The kind of thing I'd seen village women wearing earlier. Nothing special. Nothing that would stand out.

"For tonight?" the shopkeeper asked with a smile.

"Yes," I said. "Just something comfortable."

I pulled out the bills Martha had given me yesterday morning. She'd found me in the kitchen and pressed them into my hand with a warm smile.

"Early wages for the festival," she'd said. "Half a month's worth. Everyone deserves something nice for the celebration."

I'd been surprised. Grateful.

And now, standing here, I realized how perfectly it worked for my plan.

"That'll be twenty dollars," the shopkeeper said.

I counted out the bills carefully. My hands were steady, but my mind was racing.

This was more than I'd ever spent on clothes before. But I needed it.

Jason waited outside, leaning against the wall.

Good.

Next stop: a beauty shop.

I browsed the shelves carefully, pretending to be interested in everything. Then I picked up a long, dark brown wig.

Nothing fancy. Just long enough to cover my shoulders. Dark enough to change my appearance completely.

"Trying a new look?" the shopkeeper asked.

"Just for fun," I said lightly. "Thought I'd try something different for the festival."

"Thirty dollars," she said, wrapping it carefully.

I felt the weight of the remaining bills in my pocket. Getting lighter with each purchase.

She didn't question it. I paid and left.

Third shop: cosmetics.

I bought thick concealer—the heavy-duty kind that makeup artists use to cover tattoos and scars. And a palette of neutral eyeshadow.

"You have such lovely skin," the shopkeeper said as she rang me up. "You don't need this much coverage!"

"It's for a friend," I lied smoothly. "She asked me to pick it up."

"Twenty-five dollars for both," she said.

I counted out the bills. My stash was shrinking fast.

Fourth shop: perfume.

I tested several bottles, pretending to consider them carefully. Finally, I chose one with a heavy floral scent—something strong and cloying. Strong enough to mask my natural smell.

Wolves relied on scent more than anything. If I could hide that, I had a chance.

"Forty dollars," the shopkeeper said, wrapping it carefully.

I handed over almost the last of my money. Only a few bills left now.

Martha's festival gift, gone in an afternoon.

But it would be worth it. It had to be.

Jason was still following me from shop to shop, but he looked bored now. Like this was just another shopping trip.

Perfect.

---

One last stop.

I walked into a small boutique near the edge of town—one I'd noticed earlier this morning when Cordelia and I had passed by. One that had a back entrance leading to the alley.

"Can I try this on?" I asked the shopkeeper, holding up a simple shawl I'd grabbed from a display near the front.

She nodded toward the back. "Fitting rooms are through there."

"Thank you."

Jason stayed near the front, leaning against a wall. Waiting.

I walked to the back of the shop, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst out of my chest.

The fitting room was small. Private. Perfect.

I locked the door and pulled out everything I'd bought. My hands were shaking now.

No turning back.

I changed into the gray dress first. It was loose and shapeless—nothing like the fitted clothes I usually wore. It hung on my frame like a sack, making me look smaller. Insignificant.

Invisible.

Good.

Then the wig. I tucked every strand of my real hair underneath, pinning it carefully. The dark brown fell past my shoulders, changing the shape of my face. Making me look like someone else entirely.

The makeup took longer. I applied the concealer in thick, careful layers over the mark on my throat. Blending. Smoothing. Building up coverage until the raised skin was barely visible under the heavy foundation.

I used the eyeshadow to change the shape of my eyes—making them look wider, rounder. Different. The blush went on heavier than I'd normally wear it, altering the contours of my face.

Finally, I sprayed the perfume everywhere. On my wrists. Behind my ears. On my neck. On my clothes.

The scent was overwhelming. Almost nauseating.

But that was the point.

I looked at my reflection in the small mirror mounted on the wall.

The woman staring back didn't look like Sera anymore.

She looked like no one.

Perfect.

I stuffed my regular clothes into one of the shopping bags and shoved it behind a shelf in the corner. I'd come back for it later.

Maybe.

I spotted the back door—just past the fitting rooms, exactly where I'd seen it this morning. A simple exit leading to the alley behind the shop.

My hand hovered over the handle.

This was it. The point of no return.

If I did this, there was no going back. No pretending I'd just gotten lost or confused.

This was deliberate. This was rebellion.

"Now or never," I whispered to my reflection.

I pushed the door open and stepped into the alley.

---

The air outside was cooler now. The sun had already started sinking toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.

I moved quickly, keeping to the shadows, weaving through back streets and side alleys until I was far enough from the shop that Jason wouldn't see me.

My pulse hammered in my ears. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

He was still waiting at the front. Still standing there like an idiot, expecting me to come out through the main door.

But I wasn't going back.

Not now. Not ever.

I merged into the growing crowd heading toward the Pack House. People were streaming through the streets now—dressed in their finest clothes, laughing and talking, their faces bright with excitement and anticipation.

I kept my head down. My shoulders hunched. Trying to make myself smaller.

No one looked at me twice.

I was just another face in the crowd. Another nobody going to celebrate.

My heart wouldn't stop racing, but I kept walking.

The crowd grew thicker as I approached the Pack House. The sound of music drifted through the air—drums and flutes and something else, something primal and rhythmic that made my skin prickle with recognition.

Pack music. Ancient and powerful.

And then I saw it.

The Pack House.

It was massive. Even bigger than I'd imagined from Cordelia's description.

Enormous bonfires roared in the open courtyard, their flames reaching toward the darkening sky. Lanterns hung from every tree, casting warm, dancing light across the grounds. The building itself seemed to glow from within, light spilling from every window.

People were everywhere. Hundreds of them. Maybe more. All dressed in their finest clothes, all celebrating, all belonging.

I stood at the edge of the crowd, my throat tight.

This was what I wasn't supposed to see. What I wasn't supposed to be part of.

The anger flared again, hotter than before.

Fuck that.

I took a deep breath and stepped forward.