Chapter 2

Ingrid Bradford POV:

I stood on the steps with one hand on my backpack strap, the night wind tugging at the hem of my jacket, and looked at the maid blocking the door.

She crossed her arms, lifted her chin, and scanned me from head to toe. "So you're the eldest miss they brought back from the borderlands?" Her voice was sharp as fingernails scraping glass. "Not much to look at."

I climbed another step. My leather boots thudded against the marble.

She wedged herself into the doorframe and released a weak Beta pressure. "Are you deaf? The Madam hasn't given you permission to enter."

I glanced at the gold nameplate on her chest: Martha Tucker. My fingers tapped twice against my backpack strap.

"Move," I said.

The word came out flat and cold. Martha flinched.

Her face flushed—probably because she'd flinched in front of a wolfless girl. She reached out to shove my shoulder.

I shifted half a step, let her hand pass, and drove my shoulder into her chest.

Martha shrieked and stumbled backward through the foyer. Her high heel twisted, and she nearly went down onto the Persian rug.

I stepped over the threshold into the bright hall. The crystal chandelier stung my eyes, and the imported fragrance hung so thick in the air it was suffocating.

Martha braced herself against the wall and pointed a trembling finger at me. "You wild girl! How dare you lay hands on me in the Fuentes house!"

I turned slowly, my ice-blue eyes locking onto her. "Rules? A servant blocking her master's path—is that a Fuentes rule?"

Her breath caught. Two Omega maids wiping vases in the corridor froze, whispering behind their hands. The exiled daughter had actually fought back.

Soft footsteps came from upstairs. A middle-aged woman in a silk robe glided down the staircase, pearls glowing at her throat.

Martha rushed toward her, tears in her eyes. "Madam! Miss Ingrid hit me the moment she walked in!"

Barbara Haney stopped halfway down the stairs. Malice flashed through her light brown eyes, then melted into a gentle smile.

"Ingrid, you're finally home." Barbara tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the picture of a patient stepmother. "Martha only wanted to teach you pack etiquette. Why resort to violence?"

"Teach me pack etiquette?" I laughed, not loudly, but loud enough for everyone in the foyer to hear. "Mrs. Fuentes, when you stole another woman's husband and drove the original wife to death, what etiquette were you learning?"

The smile froze on Barbara's face. A muscle twitched beside her eye. She drew a breath and looked at Martha. "Take Miss Ingrid to the guest room at the end of the third floor. Let her rest."

Martha shot me a gloating look and stomped up the narrow wooden stairs. I followed her into the damp, freezing corridor on the third floor.

She kicked open the last door. Moldy air spilled out. Inside was a narrow cot and a wardrobe with peeling paint.

"You stay here." Martha tossed a brass key onto a dusty table. "Don't wander around without the Madam's orders."

Her laughter echoed down the corridor. I walked in and locked the door behind me.

Moonlight was the only light. I tossed my bag onto the narrow bed, opened the hidden zipper, and pulled out a custom ultra-thin black laptop. I pushed the dusty window open to clear the mold and glanced down at the neatly trimmed lawn.

I pressed the power button. Blue light washed over my face. My fingers flew across the keyboard, code scrolling down the screen. Seconds later, a blood-red inverted triangle appeared—the highest-authority portal of Section 718, the continent's top intelligence network. Founder: Phoenix.

I pulled up the Fuentes Group's internal financial server. Their firewall was laughable. I hit Enter, planted a silent Trojan horse, and began extracting classified ledgers.

A deep red priority alert flashed in the corner of my screen. Sender: Genesis Defense Group. Target: Ghost Healer. Bounty: one hundred million dollars.