The darkness in the Omega quarters had weight. It pressed against my skin, filled my lungs, made time meaningless. I'd stopped counting days after the third one. Or maybe it was the fourth. My body had stopped asking for food somewhere around the second day. Now it just ached — a hollow, grinding pain that started in my stomach and radiated outward until even my bones felt brittle.

I sat against the cold stone wall, knees pulled to my chest, and tried not to think about Aila. Tried not to see her face. Tried not to hear that last whisper of my name.

I failed every time.

Lyra was still silent. That scared me more than the hunger, more than the locked door, more than Edison's betrayal. A wolf's silence meant something had broken that couldn't be fixed with time or food or freedom. It meant the bond between human and wolf — the sacred thing that made us whole — had fractured.

Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. Heavy. Measured. Alpha footsteps.

The bolt scraped back. The door swung open, and Edison stood in the frame, backlit by the hallway torches. He looked the same as always — strong jaw, dark hair, the aura of command that had drawn me to him three years ago. But his eyes were different now. Flat. Cold. Like looking at a stranger wearing my mate's face.

He didn't come inside. He crouched just outside the threshold and slid a piece of paper across the floor toward me.

"Sign it," he said.

I didn't move. Didn't reach for it. My throat was too dry to speak, and even if I could, I wasn't sure what I'd say.

"It's a formal agreement," Edison continued in that flat administrative tone he'd been using since Aila died. Since he let her die. "You drop all claims against Ricky. You acknowledge that the pack bears no responsibility for what happened during the border patrol incident. You agree not to pursue any further investigation or justice."

I stared at the document. The words blurred in the dim light, but I didn't need to read them to understand. He was asking me to say my sister's murder didn't matter. That her life was worth less than his convenience.

"If you don't sign by morning," Edison said quietly, "I'm burning all of Aila's belongings. Every photograph. Every piece of clothing. The bracelet your mother gave her before she died. All of it. Gone."

My hands curled into fists against the stone floor. Lyra stirred — just barely, just enough to remind me she was still there, buried deep.

"You can't," I whispered. My voice came out cracked and raw.

"I can." Edison's gaze didn't waver. "I'm the Alpha. I can do whatever I decide is necessary for pack stability. And right now, this—" he gestured at the paper, "—is necessary."

"She was my sister."

"She was a pack member who died during a rogue encounter. Tragic, but not uncommon." His voice was so calm. So reasonable. Like he was discussing crop rotations or border schedules. "Sign the paper, Simone. Or watch everything she owned turn to ash."

He stood and walked away. The door stayed open this time. A small mercy, or maybe just another form of control — letting me know the cage had no lock anymore, but I still couldn't leave.

I crawled forward and picked up the document. My hands shook. The words swam in front of my eyes, but I forced myself to read every line. Every clause that erased my sister's death. Every sentence that protected Ricky and Edison and the pack's reputation.

I thought about refusing. Thought about letting him burn it all. Thought about holding onto the truth even if it cost me the last pieces of Aila I had left.

But I was so tired. And if I died here in this basement, if I gave up now, then Aila's death meant nothing. Her murder would stay buried forever.

I needed to survive. Just long enough to get out. Just long enough to make sure someone, somewhere, knew what Edison had done.

I signed.

They let me out the next morning. No ceremony, no apology. Just a warrior unlocking the door and telling me I was reassigned to Omega duties. Kitchen work. Laundry. Cleaning the common areas.

I didn't argue.

Charlee sat at the head of the dining table that evening, wearing my Luna's pendant. The silver caught the firelight, glinting against her throat — the same throat Edison had been kissing while my sister bled out on the floor below.

She smiled at me as I served the meal. That same smile from the bedroom. The one that said she'd won.

I kept my face blank and my hands steady and pretended I didn't notice Edison watching me from across the room.

Two weeks crawled by. I worked alongside the Omegas, slept in a small room near the kitchens, and avoided every space that reminded me of what I used to be. The pack members wouldn't meet my eyes. The Alpha command still held them silent, but I could see the guilt in the way they turned away, the way they hurried past me in the halls.

Marcus, the healer, looked like he'd aged ten years.

Then came the formal pack dinner.

Edison called it to celebrate some alliance treaty with a neighboring pack. The dining hall filled with warriors and their families, everyone dressed in their best clothes, the tables laden with food.

I served. That was my role now. I carried platters and filled cups and cleared plates, moving through the crowd like a ghost.

Edison gestured me over when I passed his chair. "Simone. Sit."

I froze. Every head in the room turned toward us.

"Sit," he repeated, pointing to an empty chair near the end of the table. Not at the head where I used to sit. Not beside him. But at the table, with the pack.

I sat.

A plate appeared in front of me. Grilled fish. Butter sauce. Herbs. And shellfish. A full serving of shrimp and scallops arranged carefully across the center.

My throat closed.

Everyone in this pack knew about my allergy. It was in my medical file. It had been discussed at pack meetings. Edison himself had rushed me to the healer once when I'd accidentally eaten something cross-contaminated.

I looked up and met his eyes.

He smiled. "Eat."

"I can't," I said quietly. "You know I can't."

"It's a formal dinner. Everyone eats." His voice dropped into that tone. The Alpha tone. The one that turned my muscles to stone and made my wolf whimper. "Eat, Simone. That's a command."

The compulsion slammed into me. My hand moved without permission, picking up the fork. My arm lifted. My mouth opened.

I bit down on a piece of shrimp.

The reaction was immediate. My throat swelled. My tongue felt thick and foreign. I tried to spit it out, but my jaw wouldn't obey. The Alpha command held me frozen, fork still raised, while my airway closed and my vision tunneled.

I hit the floor. Somewhere far away, Charlee was laughing. The sound echoed in my skull as my body convulsed, my lungs screaming for air that wouldn't come.

Edison's face appeared above me. He watched. Just watched. His expression was calm, almost curious, like he was conducting an experiment.

My vision went dark at the edges.

Finally — finally — he nodded toward Marcus. "Healer. Treat her."

The EpiPen stabbed into my thigh. Air rushed back into my lungs in a painful, gasping flood. I curled on my side on the dining hall floor, shaking, while the pack members stared down at their plates and said nothing.

Edison leaned close. His voice was soft, meant only for me.

"Next time," he whispered, "I might wait longer."

He straightened and returned to his seat. Charlee's hand found his. She squeezed, and he squeezed back.

I lay on the cold stone and understood, with perfect clarity, that my mate was trying to kill me.

And no one in this pack would stop him.

The warriors came for me three days after the dinner.

I was folding linens in the Omega quarters when they appeared in the doorway — two Deltas I'd known for years, men who used to nod respectfully when I passed. Now they wouldn't meet my eyes.

"Luna—" One of them caught himself. "Simone. The Alpha wants you in the main hall."

I set down the sheet I'd been folding. My hands were steady. That surprised me. Everything else inside me was screaming, but my hands didn't shake.

The main hall was empty except for Edison and Charlee. And the fireplace.

Edison stood in front of the hearth, feeding logs into the flames. The fire was already roaring, crackling loud in the silence. Charlee stood beside him with her hand resting on his forearm — casual, possessive, like she'd been standing there her whole life.

On the floor near Edison's feet sat a wooden crate.

I knew what was inside before I saw it. I could smell the faint scent of Aila's favorite lavender soap, the one she'd used since we were kids. The one Mom had taught her to make before she died.

"Simone." Edison's voice was calm. Pleasant, even. "Come here."

I didn't move.

He gestured to the Deltas. They crossed the room and took my arms — not rough, but firm. They walked me forward until I stood ten feet from the fireplace. Close enough to see. Close enough to feel the heat.

Close enough that I couldn't look away.

"I gave you a chance to sign that agreement without conditions," Edison said. He reached into the crate and pulled out a photograph. Aila at sixteen, grinning at the camera with dirt on her face after her first successful border patrol. "You chose to make this difficult."

"I signed it," I said. My voice came out flat. Dead.

"You did." He held the photograph up to the firelight, studying it. "But I don't think you've fully accepted what that means. What you agreed to. So I'm going to help you understand."

He tossed the photograph into the flames.

It curled immediately, the edges blackening, Aila's face disappearing into ash. I lunged forward. The Deltas' grips tightened, holding me in place.

"Let me go," I snarled.

"No." Edison reached into the crate again. This time he pulled out Aila's training jacket — the one with her name stitched across the back, the one she'd worn every morning for two years. "You're going to watch. All of it. That's not a request."

He fed the jacket into the fire.

I fought against the warriors' hands. Kicked. Twisted. Lyra surged up inside me, trying to force a shift, but she was so weak now. So distant. The shift wouldn't come.

Edison worked methodically. He didn't rush. He pulled out item after item — her favorite blanket, the one with the star pattern. Her patrol boots. A stack of letters I'd written to her when I was away at warrior training. He read one aloud before burning it, his voice mocking the encouraging words I'd written to my baby sister.

Charlee laughed. A light, tinkling sound that made my stomach turn.

"This is excessive," one of the Deltas muttered behind me. His grip loosened slightly.

"Quiet," Edison snapped. The Alpha tone threaded through the word, and the Delta's hands tightened again immediately.

The mate bond hummed between Edison and me — that cursed connection I couldn't sever, couldn't escape. Through it, I felt his emotions bleeding into mine. Satisfaction. A cold, calculated pleasure. And underneath it, something else. Something that felt almost like relief.

He wanted this. Wanted me broken. Wanted every piece of the woman I used to be erased until there was nothing left but obedience.

He pulled out the last item. Mom's bracelet. The silver one with the tiny wolf charm. Mom had given it to Aila on her thirteenth birthday, the day her wolf first awakened. Aila never took it off.

I stopped fighting.

"Please," I whispered. The word tasted like ash in my mouth. "Not that. Please."

Edison looked at me. Really looked at me, for the first time since this started. His eyes were empty.

"You should have thought about that before you made me the villain," he said softly.

The bracelet disappeared into the flames.

Something inside me shattered. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a quiet, final crack — like ice breaking on a frozen lake.

Lyra went completely silent.

I stopped feeling the bond.

I stopped feeling anything at all.

The Deltas released me. I didn't run. Didn't move. I just stood there, staring at the fire, watching the last pieces of my sister turn to smoke.

Edison brushed his hands off and turned to Charlee. She smiled up at him, and he kissed her. Right there. In front of me. In front of the ashes.

When they finally left, I sank to my knees on the stone floor. The fire was still burning. I could smell the lavender soap, faint and fading.

I didn't cry.

I couldn't.

There was nothing left inside me to break.

The winter border run was mandatory.

Edison announced it at the pack meeting two days later, his voice carrying easily across the assembled wolves. Full moon. Midnight start. Every able-bodied wolf participates. No exceptions.

I stood at the back of the hall with the other Omegas and said nothing.

My body was failing. I knew that. Two weeks of starvation followed by minimal rations had left me weak in a way I'd never experienced. My muscles felt thin. My bones ached. When I tried to shift in my room that night — just to see if I still could — Lyra barely responded. The shift was slow, painful, incomplete. My wolf form felt wrong, like wearing a coat that didn't fit anymore.

I should have refused to go. Should have claimed illness or injury or anything.

But I didn't.

Because some small, stubborn part of me — the part that used to be a warrior — refused to let Edison see me quit.

The pack gathered at the northern border just before midnight. Sixty wolves, maybe more. The full moon hung huge and cold overhead, turning the snow blue-white. Edison stood at the front in his Alpha form — a massive dark grey wolf that commanded attention without effort.

Charlee stood beside him in her human form, wrapped in a fur cloak. She didn't run. Omegas rarely did. But she was there, watching, her hand resting on Edison's fur.

He howled. The pack howled back. And we ran.

I stayed toward the middle of the group, pacing myself, trying to ignore the way my legs trembled after the first mile. The pack moved fast — too fast for a casual patrol. This was a show of strength, a demonstration for the neighboring packs. Edison pushed the pace harder, and the wolves around me surged forward, their excitement palpable.

I fell behind.

Not dramatically. Just a little. Enough that the main group pulled ahead, and I found myself running with the stragglers — the older wolves, the injured, the weak.

That's when the howls started.

Rogues.

They came from the flanks, bursting out of the tree line in coordinated strikes. Not random. Not opportunistic. Planned.

The pack scattered. Warriors wheeled to engage. I heard Edison's commanding bark somewhere ahead, rallying the fighters.

A rogue slammed into me from the side.

I went down hard, my shoulder hitting a tree root buried under the snow. The rogue was huge — easily twice my size, with scarred flanks and yellow eyes that held no recognition, no mercy.

I tried to shift my weight, to roll, to do anything. But my body was too slow. Too weak.

The rogue's jaws closed around my left leg.

The bone snapped.

I didn't scream. Couldn't. The pain was so massive it swallowed sound. I felt the fracture all the way up my spine, felt something in my ribs crack when I hit the ground again.

The rogue released me and circled, preparing for another strike.

I forced myself onto my side, dragging my shattered leg through the snow. My vision blurred. Blood — mine — stained the white ground black in the moonlight.

The rogue lunged.

A grey wolf intercepted — not Edison, someone smaller — and drove the rogue back. The sounds of fighting filled the air. Snarls. Yelps. The wet crunch of teeth meeting flesh.

I tried to shift back to human form. Tried to call for help.

Nothing came.

Lyra was gone. Completely gone. I couldn't feel her at all.

I lay in the snow, bleeding, broken, and utterly alone inside my own mind.

Footsteps crunched nearby. I lifted my head.

Edison stood there in his wolf form, massive and powerful, completely uninjured. He looked down at me.

Our eyes met.

I waited for him to shift. To call the healer. To do something.

He turned and walked away.

Not ran. Walked. Deliberately. Back toward where Charlee waited at the border edge.

He left me there.

The cold sank into my bones. My breathing slowed. The sounds of fighting faded into a distant hum.

I thought about Aila. About Mom. About the warrior I used to be.

I closed my eyes.

And I let go.