The Howling Pit didn't look like much from the outside.

We approached through narrow alleys that reeked of rotting garbage, stale beer, past warehouses that had seen better decades.

The building itself was a converted factory, its windows blacked out, its exterior deliberately nondescript.

The only indication of what lay inside was the line of wolves waiting at a rusted metal door, their excited energy crackling through the night air like static electricity.

"Remember," Zane murmured as we joined the queue, "you're pack-less, nameless, desperate for money." "Don't volunteer information, don't make friends, for the love of the Goddess, don't let your eyes flash silver."

I nodded, pulling my hood...