A Crown of Bones

The air in the car is thick with tension, a silent testament to the long drive and the heavier weight of your impending fate. Trees blur past the window, each one a reminder of the freedom you crave, a freedom ripped away a year ago by the brutal 'Conversion.'

Your parents sit in front, a suffocating presence. Your mother occasionally mumbles to herself, her gaze fixed on her nails, while your father stares straight ahead, the set of his jaw radiating impatience. Their tension is palpable, a mixture of greed and apprehension for the bargain they are about to strike. You stare at the back of his head, a silent challenge you know he feels, even if he pretends not to.

"Remember to not talk," your mother's voice cuts through the silence, a familiar refrain. You know why she says it. The Conversion changed you. You returned different, a shattered vase poorly glued together, and your words now carry a weight that makes them flinch.

"If you ruin this deal, you'll be leaving your mother and me in some trouble," your father adds, his voice low and menacing. Trouble, you scoff internally. He means money. Their crippling, self-inflicted debt. You remain silent, adhering to their desperate plea, even as your mind races with defiance and a simmering rage. You are being sold, a transaction for their financial salvation. And the buyer? The infamous Wolf King.