Prologue
Justice never sleeps. Neither do I.
Kissimmee, Florida, a town nearing its 150th year, has transformed from quiet farmlands to a bustling cultural hub. The charm of its past still lingers—history woven into every brick, whispered from the cobbled streets.
I fell in love with this city not just for its beauty, but because it’s a true melting pot of humans and supernaturals—though the humans remain blissfully unaware. Here, under the neon glow of modern life, creatures of myth walk beside mortals, their struggles blending with the mundane.
My office sits in the old courthouse—a relic of the past, steeped in history. Built on May 6, 1890, it remains Florida’s oldest working courthouse, though its official duties have long since moved elsewhere. The halls are silent now,mostly.
My workspace? The third floor—the floor where trials once unfolded, where verdicts shaped lives. These days, the building has been repurposed into office suites, but justice lingers in the walls, quiet but undeniable, a presence that refuses to fade.
And if you drive by at night, you might catch the faint glow from the old jail cell—the one light that, even after all these years, refuses to go dark.
And me? I work beneath its glow, navigating laws both human and supernatural, ensuring justice is served in a world where justice is never just one thing.
People come to me when the law fails them, or when they’ve failed it first.
My name is Valeria Runehart, and around town, I’m known as an exceptional lawyer, a legal strategist, and—depending on who you ask—the last person you want opposing you in court.
Oh, and I’m a werewolf.
I don’t belong to a pack—before you ask. That would mean following rules I didn’t write, and I prefer my legal battles with a little more leverage. I’m not a rogue either. Rogues break the laws. I defend them. And, when necessary, I dismantle them piece by piece.
My expertise spans both human and supernatural law, because neither side truly understands the other—until things go wrong.
Supernatural cases bring me ancient blood pacts, werewolf territory disputes, and witches demanding legal recognition for enchanted evidence (yes, there’s paperwork for spellcraft).
Human cases involve contract loopholes, fraud, and lawsuits that seem perfectly normal—until you realize the defendant isn’t technically alive.
Law school was a breeze—three years, in and out. The Bar Exam? Passed with a perfect 400-point score across 42 states. Did I study hard? Absolutely. Did I memorize every major statute, regulation, and legal code for those states, plus federal law? You bet. Does that make me insufferable at trivia nights? Without question.
But my real edge? Lex and Vero—my inner wolves, gifted to me by the Moon Goddess herself.
Lex is my legal tactician, razor-sharp and merciless. She picks apart contracts, dismantles arguments, and finds weaknesses before the opposition even realizes they exist. Cold, calculated, and relentless, she ensures I never forget a loophole—and that I always know the best way to exploit it.
Vero, on the other hand, is pure instinct. She doesn’t just detect lies—she feels truth, fear, hesitation, and intent before a single word is spoken. When a witness takes the stand, Vero already knows who’s hiding something and who’s about to crack. She’s the reason opposing counsel avoids eye contact—and why I never lose a case.
Together, they make me unstoppable in court—and deeply inconvenient for anyone trying to deceive me.
Justice isn’t blind. It just has bad night vision and refuses to wear glasses.
Whether I’m arguing before a supernatural tribunal or a human judge, I stand at the crossroads of law, logic, and the occasional magical technicality. My opponents call me ruthless. My clients call me their last hope.
Either way, I always win.
Welcome to my world. Try not to get subpoenaed.
