The chains on my wrists were new.

My mother had replaced them this morning. Thicker. Heavier. The kind of metal that didn't just hurt—it remembered you. I had been sitting in this cold, damp basement for three hours, listening to the waves of the Black Sea crash against the rocks below our house. The moon was rising. I could feel it in my bones, in my teeth, in the way my skin stretched too tight over muscles that wanted to change.

"Please, Mom," I whispered into the darkness. "Let me out. Just for tonight. I promise I won't—"

"Shut up!"

Her voice came from upstairs, muffled by the wooden floorboards but still sharp enough to cut. "You're not my daughter tonight. Tonight, you're a monster."

A monster.

I had heard that word so many times it had lost its meaning. Monster. Beast. Abomination. Half-blood. They called me all of those things—the villagers who crossed the street when I walked by, the few shifters who knew what I was, and most of all, my own mother.

She had loved my father once. A Turkish woman with fire in her blood and a wolf shifter from a lineage so old no one remembered its beginning. They had me. A half-breed. A mistake wrapped in flesh and fur. Then my father died—killed, they said, by rival shifters—and my mother's love turned to ash in her mouth.

Now she locked me up every full moon. Three days a month, I was a prisoner in my own home.

The first cramp hit me like a knife between my ribs.

I doubled over, biting my lip so hard I tasted copper. My spine wanted to bend the wrong way. My fingernails dug into the concrete floor, and I watched them darken, thicken, curve into something that wasn't quite human.

No. Not yet. Hold it back.

I had never been able to control the shift. It controlled me. It ripped through my body like a storm, leaving me broken and bleeding on the other side. But tonight… tonight something was different. Tonight, the wolf inside me wasn't just a wild animal. It was talking to me.

Let me out, it whispered. Let me breathe. I can help you.

"You'll kill someone," I gasped, sweat dripping from my forehead.

I'll kill whoever tries to hurt you. There's a difference.

Another cramp. My vision blurred. I looked down at my hands and saw the fur spreading across my knuckles—dark brown, almost black, the same color as my father's had been.

For the first time in my life, I didn't fight it.

I breathed into it.

The pain didn't disappear, but it changed. It became something I could shape, like clay in my hands. I focused on my fingers first. The claws retracted. The fur faded. Then my spine. I imagined it straightening, clicking back into place like the bones of a bird settling after flight.

Above me, the moonlight streamed through the small, barred window.

I looked up at it.

And for the first time in twenty-two years, I shifted partially—and stayed in control.

My eyes changed. I knew they did. They always turned amber when the wolf was close. But my hands remained human. My face remained human. The wolf was there, curled behind my ribs like a sleeping cat, but I was the one steering the ship.

I laughed. It was a broken, hysterical sound.

"I did it," I whispered. "Mom, I did it! I controlled it! Please, come see—"

That was when I heard the voices.

"—she doesn't know anything. The girl is clueless about her father's debts."

That was my mother's boyfriend. Kemal. A weasel of a man with greedy eyes and softer hands than any shifter should have. He wasn't one of us. He was just a human my mother had brought home six months ago, a man who looked at me like I was a meal ticket.

"She's just a half-blood," my mother replied. Her voice was cold. So cold. "Worthless to most packs. But you said they'd pay?"

"They'll pay. The Council doesn't care about blood purity. They care about secrets. And your daughter's blood carries a secret her father took to his grave."

My heart stopped.

"What secret?" my mother asked.

"I don't know. And I don't want to know. I just want the gold they promised. Fifty thousand. Can you imagine? For that thing in the basement?"

Thing.

I pressed my hand to my mouth. The wolf stirred again, but this time it wasn't asking permission. It was angry.

Let me out, it growled. Let me tear his throat out.

"Not yet," I breathed. "I need to hear more."

But there was nothing more. Just the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, the clink of glasses, and my mother's hollow laugh.

"You're right," she said. "She's not my daughter. She's just her father's curse."

Something broke inside me at those words. Not my heart—that had been shattered years ago. Something deeper. The last thread of hope I had been clinging to, the childish belief that maybe, just maybe, she loved me underneath all that hatred.

It snapped.

And the wolf howled.

I didn't control the shift this time. It exploded out of me—fur, fangs, claws, all of it—and I screamed as my body broke itself apart and put itself back together in a shape that was neither human nor fully wolf. Something in between. Something wrong.

The chains shattered.

The door splintered.

I stood in the wreckage of my prison, panting, drool dripping from my elongated jaw, and I looked up the stairs toward the kitchen where my mother and Kemal were laughing.

They heard the crash.

"Elif?" My mother's voice trembled. "Elif, stay down there! Don't—"