Page 140 of The Moonborn's Curse

Seren

Seren shadowed Ana at work on the first day. By the second afternoon, the Hollow Moon descended into beautiful, maddening chaos.

It started slow—two shifters with tattoos and broken noses arguing over pool. A trio of witchlings on a hen do shrieking with laughter at the bar, knocking back lilac shots that gave off sparkling plumes. Then came the warlords, all brooding silence and sharp suits, trailed by humans who clearly wanted a taste of the wild side.

There were also the humans with bad intentions—the snitches, the spies.

The music pulsed. Glass clinked. Voices rose.

And Seren struggled.

Trays slipped. Orders blurred. She forgot table numbers, dropped coins, and once—tripped over a tail.

"Watch it," snapped a shifter with curved horns and too many teeth.

Rhea, behind the bar, tried to help—but her patience had seams. "Focus, kid," she muttered after the third time Seren returned for the wrong drink.

Ana flitted through the floor like a queen on roller skates—flirtatious, efficient, untouchable. She winked at the cute ones, snapped at the handsy ones, and somehow managed three trays at once without spilling a drop.

Mira, the fourth waitress, was sweetness and fire—but she was busy mixing drinks so fast the glasses blurred.

And Ravaryn?

Was a pain in the arse.

Mocking. Cold. Sharp as shattered glass.

"You'll get eaten alive if you keep looking like a baby bird," she told Seren that night in the hallway, brushing past her without looking.

And then came Griff.

He cornered her near the kitchen.

"You want to be here, little bird?" he growled. "Then do your job. This place doesn't have room for dead weight."

She nodded, humiliated, throat tight.

By the time she got home, her hands were sticky with liquor, her feet blistered, and her eyes burned with held-back tears.

Talis was already home. He'd cooked something that smelled of garlic and basil and home.

She barely made it past the door.

"It's awful," she gasped, voice cracking. "I am so useless."

Then the tears came. This wasn't supposed to be her life.

Messy. Heaving. Furious.

He didn't say anything at first—just handed her a fork.

"You could quit," he said after a while, softly. "You don't owe anyone this."

But she shook her head.

"No," she whispered. "I want to stay. I need to prove I can."

The weeks passed.

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