The crystal chandeliers of the Royal Obsidian Hotel cast a harsh, unforgiving light over the banquet hall. To the average guest, the room smelled of expensive champagne and fresh lilies. But to **Ren**, whose senses were sharpened by years of survival in the Wildlands, the air was thick with something far more nauseating: the metallic tang of greed and the cloying sweetness of artificial flattery.
She stood near the window, her hand hovering inches above the dark wood of the violin displayed on the velvet stand.
"HEY! STOP!"
The shriek cut through the polite chatter like a serrated knife. The music died instantly. Conversations halted mid-sentence.
**Aunt Rita** , a woman draped in enough gold to sink a small ship, rushed forward. Her heels clicked frantically against the marble floor as she positioned herself between Ren and the instrument, acting as a human shield.
"Don't you dare touch that!" Rita gasped, her chest heaving with indignation. She looked at Ren as if the girl were covered in mud. "Do you have any idea what this is? This is a **Cremona Masterpiece**, imported directly from the artisans in Italy! It cost **580,000 Wolf Coins**!"
A ripple of murmurs went through the crowd.
*"580,000? That's the price of a luxury car."*
*"Is that the sister from the Wildlands? She looks... rough."*
*"She probably thought it was a toy. Poor thing doesn't know any better."*
**Vera**, Ren's mother, stood frozen in the center of the room. Her face drained of color. She rushed over, grabbing Ren's arm with a grip that was tight enough to bruise.
"Ren!" Vera hissed, her voice trembling with humiliation. "What are you doing? I told you to stay in the corner! Why must you always ruin everything?"
Ren looked at her mother's hand on her arm, then up at Rita's sneering face. Her expression didn't change. It remained as cold and still as a frozen lake.
"I wasn't going to break it," Ren said. Her voice was low, raspy, and utterly bored. "I was just checking the varnish."
"Checking the varnish?" Rita let out a shrill laugh. "Listen to her! A dropout who spent her life playing in the mud thinks she can appreciate fine art? This instrument is for **Faye**. It requires a delicate touch, a refined soul. Not... whatever you have."
Across the room, **Faye** stood surrounded by her admirers. She held a glass of sparkling juice, watching the scene with wide, innocent eyes. She didn't step in to help. She didn't say a word. She just watched, letting the humiliation wash over her sister like a tidal wave.
Ren slowly pulled her arm from her mother's grip. She looked at the violin one last time.
580,000 coins. A decent price for a mid-tier instrument. The wood was maple, yes, but the grain was too wide. The varnish was applied too thickly, likely to hide imperfections in the craftsmanship. It would sound bright, but hollow.
Ren thought of the black backpack she had tossed onto the bed in the guest room upstairs. Inside, wrapped in an old, oil-stained flannel shirt, lay a violin crafted by **Master Wei**—the legendary luthier and Grandmaster of the Global Music Association.
Master Wei had spent three years carving that violin for her. He had used wood salvaged from a 300-year-old lightning-struck spruce. He had refused an offer of **50 million** for it, giving it to Ren instead because, as he put it, *"Only a demon can play a demon's instrument."*
Compared to that, the thing on the velvet stand wasn't an instrument. It was kindling.
"You're right," Ren said, the corner of her lip curling up in a mockery so subtle it was almost invisible. "I shouldn't touch it."
She took a step back, shoving her hands into the pockets of her loose school blazer.
"It would be a shame to get dust on such expensive **firewood**."
The silence in the room deepened. Rita's mouth opened and closed like a fish. Firewood? Did this uneducated girl just call a half-million-coin masterpiece *firewood*?
Ren didn't wait for a reaction. She turned on her heel and walked away. The crowd parted for her, not out of respect, but out of confusion. They didn't understand her arrogance. They didn't see the lion walking among sheep.
***
The air on the second-floor terrace was biting cold. The wind howled through the high-rise buildings of Moon City, carrying the scent of snow and exhaust fumes.
Ren leaned against the stone railing, taking a deep breath. She finally felt like she could breathe.
Inside, the applause erupted. Faye had started playing. The notes of *Canon in D* drifted through the glass doors. It was technically perfect—every note in place, every rhythm precise. But it was mechanical. It was the sound of someone who played to be praised, not someone who played to bleed.
"Boring," Ren muttered to the night sky.
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. To the untrained eye, it looked like a bulky, outdated brick from a decade ago. In reality, it was a custom-built terminal with a satellite uplink and a processor she had salvaged from a military drone.
The screen glowed green in the darkness.
**[ ID: Unknown Idiot ]**
*Target: Southern Council Secure Archives.*
*Bounty: 50,000,000 Wolf Coins.*
*Status: Pending...*
Ren unwrapped a lollipop and popped it into her mouth. The sugar hit her tongue, sharpening her focus.
"Fifty million," she whispered. "Let's see if you're good for it, Juan."
Her thumbs began to fly across the screen.
The Southern Council's firewall was a fortress. It was a shifting maze of encryption algorithms designed by the best cyber-security Alphas in the country. A normal hacker would need weeks to find a crack.
Ren didn't look for a crack. She made one.
*Line 405: Bypass proxy.*
*Line 890: Inject ghost protocol.*
*Line 1024: Force authentication.*
Her eyes scanned the cascading waterfall of code, her mind moving faster than the data stream. She visualized the firewall not as a wall, but as a living organism. It breathed. It had a rhythm.
And right there, between the heartbeat of the server refresh... a 0.03-second gap.
*Gotcha.*
Ren's thumb hit the 'Execute' key.
The screen flashed. A progress bar appeared and filled up instantly.
**[ ACCESS GRANTED ]**
**[ DOWNLOADING ARCHIVES... 100% ]**
**[ MISSION COMPLETE ]**
Ren checked the timer in the corner of her screen.
**02:58.**
"Slow," she critiqued herself, closing the application. "I'm rusty."
***
Meanwhile, in the Presidential Suite on the top floor of the hotel.
The room was dark, lit only by the city lights below and the glow of multiple computer monitors.
**Alpha Juan** was not asleep. He was standing by the window, wearing a black silk robe that hung loosely off his broad shoulders. He held a glass of red wine, swirling the dark liquid as he stared down at the world beneath him.
**Dr. Luke** was sitting at the command desk, his fingers tapping nervously on the table.
Suddenly, the main monitor let out a sharp, piercing *PING*.
The screen turned a bright, aggressive green.
Luke jumped so hard he nearly knocked over his chair. "Master! Master, look!"
Juan turned slowly, his expression bored. "What is it?"
"The Council's firewall!" Luke stammered, pointing at the screen with a trembling finger. "It's been breached! The hacker... **'Q'**... she just sent the data packet."
Juan paused. He walked over to the desk, his movements fluid and graceful. He looked at the timestamp on the screen.
**Elapsed Time: 00:02:58.**
The boredom vanished from Juan's eyes instantly. The dark pupils dilated, swallowing the iris. A dangerous, predatory light ignited in their depths.
"Three minutes?" Juan murmured. His voice dropped an octave, vibrating with a mix of disbelief and arousal. "The Council spent three billion developing that system. And she tore it down in three minutes?"
"It's impossible," Luke whispered. "Unless she had the keys. Or unless she's... a god."
Juan leaned closer to the screen. "Trace it."
"I'm trying!" Luke typed furiously. "The signal is bouncing off satellites in three different countries... wait."
Luke frowned. He hit a few more keys.
"The final bounce," Luke said, confused. "It's local. It's... extremely local."
"How local?"
"Master," Luke looked up, his face pale. "The signal origin is coming from a device connected to *this hotel's* guest Wi-Fi relay. The hacker is in the building."
Juan straightened up. A slow, terrifying smile spread across his face.
He thought back to the car ride. The girl in the rearview mirror. The way she had looked at him when he mentioned the price. The calluses on her fingertips. The cold, intelligent look in her eyes that didn't match her 'dropout' persona.
*Ren.*
"Don't bother tracing anymore," Juan said, setting his wine glass down on the table. "I know who it is."
He tightened the belt of his robe and walked toward the door.
"Master? Where are you going?"
"Downstairs," Juan said, his voice humming with anticipation. "I need to go collect my debt."
***
Ren had just slid her phone back into her pocket when the wind on the terrace changed.
The scent hit her first. It wasn't the smell of the city. It was the smell of deep, untouched snow, ancient cedar wood, and the metallic tang of rust.
It was a heavy, suffocating pressure that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. **Alpha Pheromones.**
She didn't turn around immediately. She finished chewing her lollipop stick.
"You move quietly for a big man," Ren said to the darkness.
"And you type quickly for a high school student," a voice replied.
Ren turned.
Juan was leaning against the stone archway of the terrace entrance. The wind whipped at his dark hair and the hem of his silk robe. He looked relaxed, almost lazy, but his eyes were locked onto her with an intensity that made her feel like a prey animal caught in a scope.
He walked toward her, his bare feet making no sound on the stone tiles. He stopped right next to her, leaning his elbows on the railing, invading her personal space.
"The party inside too loud for you?" Juan asked casually.
"Too fake," Ren replied, staring straight ahead. "I prefer the cold."
"Me too." Juan turned his head, studying her profile—the pale skin, the long eyelashes, the stubborn set of her jaw. "I just got some good news. A very expensive problem of mine was solved by a... mysterious contractor."
Ren raised an eyebrow. "Congratulations. Sounds like you should pay them."
"I intend to," Juan murmured. He reached out, his hand hovering near her shoulder. He didn't touch her, but the heat from his hand seeped through her thin school blazer. "But this contractor... she has a bad habit of hiding. She wears masks."
Ren turned to look at him. Their faces were inches apart.
"Maybe she wears masks because the people around her are blind," Ren said calmly.
Juan chuckled. It was a low, rumble deep in his chest. "I'm not blind, Ren."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object. It was a lollipop. Premium brand. Grape flavor.
He held it out to her.
"Fifty million," Juan whispered, his lips curving into a smirk. "And a sweet for the road. Good job, **Partner**."
Ren looked at the lollipop, then at his knowing eyes. She didn't deny it. She didn't panic.
She reached out and took the candy.
"Don't call me Partner," she said, unwrapping it. "I'm just a vendor. And you're just a customer with too much money."
"We'll see," Juan said, watching her eat. "The night is still young."