CHAPTER SEVENTEEN The quiet scratch of my quill on parchment is a comforting sound, the rhythm of it blending with the soft crackle from the hearth in Richard's study. I'm engrossed in transcribing ancient texts, texts that speak of curses and dark magic, things that seem too fantastical to believe, even for a shifter like me. "Skye, make sure you capture every symbol accurately," Richard reminds me from across his cluttered desk, his voice a gentle chide. His spectacles slide down the bridge of his nose as he leans closer to his own manuscript, his world reduced to the page before him. "I always do," I murmur, more to myself than to him. I can't afford mistakes; my position here is one of privilege, not right. As an Omega, opportunities don't come often, especially not in a place like