“Get your filthy hands off my daughter!” Helen snarls, grabbing the little girl’s arm so roughly that Mary whimpers.

“I was just fixing—” I start to explain, pointing at the doll.

“I don’t care what you think you were doing.” The woman’s eyes blaze with fury as she pulls Mary behind her. “Don’t you ever touch her again, you hear me? Don’t even look at her.”

“Mama, she helped me—” Mary tries to protest, but her mother cuts her off.

“Shut up, Mary! I’ve told you not to go near her!” The woman’s voice drops to a venomous whisper. “If I see you near my daughter again, I’ll report you to Alpha Gareth.”

They hurry away, Mary casting confused glances back at me over her shoulder. I stand there holding the small flower, my hands trembling with a mixture of humiliation and rage.

Report me? For what? For cleaning a scraped knee and fixing a doll?

I tuck the flower carefully into my shirt pocket and continue toward the bakery, my earlier warmth replaced by familiar numbness.

The bakery windows display an abundance of fresh goods—golden loaves of bread still steaming from the ovens, delicate pastries dusted with sugar, and a beautiful chocolate cake with intricate icing flowers. My mouth waters at the sight, reminding me that I haven’t eaten much today.

I reach for the door handle, but it doesn’t budge. Looking up, I see the pack baker, Holden, through the window. His arms are crossed as he shakes his head at me.

“We’re closed,” he calls through the glass, despite the obvious lie. Three other customers browse inside, and the “Open” sign hangs clearly in the window.

“Holden,” I sigh, “I just need some flour and a couple other things.”

He makes an exaggerated show of checking his pocket watch, then opens the door just enough to stick his head out. “What do you want?”

I gesture toward the display. “Could I get a slice of that chocolate cake? It looks—”

“Absolutely not.” His face twists with revulsion. “I’m not selling my fine baked goods to a filthy creature like you. Do you think decent people want to eat something you’ve touched?”

Heat flashes through me. “I have money. I can pay.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in the sound. “Oh, you want cake? That’ll be twenty silver pieces.”

My mouth falls open. “Twenty? The sign right there says two silver per slice.”

“I can change my prices whenever I want,” he sneers. “Especially for customers I don’t want in my shop. Take it or leave it.”

Twenty silver pieces. That’s more than I make in two weeks of risking my life in the Wyvern Woods. I clench my fists, fighting the urge to say something that will only make things worse.

“Fine,” I manage through gritted teeth. “Just the flour then. Regular flour.”

He looks disappointed that I didn’t take the bait and cause a scene. “Wait here. Don’t even think about coming inside.”

The door slams shut, leaving me standing on the street like a beggar. Through the window, I watch him serve the other customers with a warm smile and pleasant conversation. When a well-dressed woman points to the same chocolate cake I asked for, he cuts her a generous slice and charges her the posted price.

After what feels like an eternity, Holden emerges with a burlap sack. “Five silver,” he says, not meeting my eyes.

I know that’s double the usual price, and this time I can’t let it slide. “Five silver? That’s twice what flour normally costs.”

Holden shrugs, his expression bored. “Prices have gone up. Supply issues.”

“Supply issues?” I gesture toward his shop window, where several fresh loaves are displayed. “You clearly have plenty of flour to make all that bread.”

“That’s different flour,” he says smoothly. “Premium quality. This is what I have available for...customers like you.”

The way he says “customers like you” really irks me, but I force myself to stay calm. “The market price for standard flour is two and a half silver. I’ve bought it from you dozens of times.”

His smile turns cruel. “If you don’t like my prices, you’re welcome to shop elsewhere.”

We both know there is nowhere else. His is the only bakery in the settlement, and the next closest one is a day’s travel away.

“This is ridiculous,” I say, my voice rising despite my efforts to stay composed. “You can’t just arbitrarily charge more because you don’t like someone.”

“Watch me.” He leans against the doorframe, clearly enjoying my frustration. “Five silver, or leave empty-handed. Your choice.”

I stand there for a moment, weighing my options. I could walk away on principle, but then I’d have no flour at all. I could report him to Alpha Gareth, but we both know the pack leader wouldn’t care. Or I could pay his inflated price and accept the loss.

My stomach growls. I remember that I really need this flour—and that it was supposed to last me a week.

“Fine,” I decide, counting out the coins. “But this is theft, and we both know it.”

“Theft?” Holden laughs as he snatches the coins. “This is business. Supply and demand, like I said.” He hands over the sack and says mockingly, “Pleasure doing business with you.”

The sack feels heavier than it should as I carry it home. It’s weighted with more than just flour: with humiliation and the knowledge that I’ve just been robbed in broad daylight. Luna greets me at the door with a concerned meow, as if she can sense my frustration.

“Let’s see what we got for our fortune,” I say tightly, setting the sack on the kitchen counter.

When I open it, my heart sinks. The flour is not only stale but also riddled with weevils. Tiny black insects crawl through the grayish powder, their movement making my stomach turn. Dark specks that definitely aren’t supposed to be there dot the entire contents.

“No, no, no,” I whisper, my hands shaking as I examine the ruined flour. This isn’t simply poor quality; it’s completely unusable. Holden must have gone to the very back of his storage room to find flour this old and infested.

I sink into a kitchen chair, staring at the worthless sack. Five silver pieces. Nearly all my food money for the week. Gone. I was deliberately sabotaged.

The tears come before I can stop them. Hot and frustrated and tired, I bury my face in my hands, my shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping quiet. Even here, in my own home, I’m afraid to sob too loudly.

Why? Why does the mere idea of me existing bother them so much?

It has always been this way. Just when I think it can’t get any worse, something else happens. Even as a child, I remember being forced to venture into the forest to find food. There were some who took pity on me and gave me scraps, but nobody dared to show me kindness openly. I was a stain on their pack’s honor, the hideous creature that shouldn’t have survived.

Is that it? Do they want me to die of starvation or be killed out there in the woods? Who is going to do all their dirty work then, the small, filthy tasks that are always assigned to me?

Luna jumps into my lap, purring softly, and I stroke her fur with trembling fingers.

The little flower Mary gave me falls from my shirt pocket, its purple petals already beginning to wilt.

I pick it up and stare at it, my voice hollow. “At least there is some innocence in this place.”

Sighing, I push the flour aside. It’s not like this is the first time something like this has happened. I’ll find a way to use it. Right now, I have to focus on my injury instead. After rolling up my pant leg, I carefully peel away the bandages. The wound looks better; the edges are closing, and the angry redness has faded to a dull pink. But it’s healing slowly—too slowly for someone who needs to be back in those dangerous woods soon.

The healing paste I made is sitting in a small, ceramic jar on the counter. I apply another layer, wincing as the herbs sting the still-tender flesh. As I rewrap the wound, I try to push away thoughts of what will happen if it doesn’t heal properly. If I can’t gather herbs next week, I won’t have any income at all.