The servants' quarters smelled like mildew and broken dreams.

I pressed my back against the thin mattress that served as my bed, staring at the water stains spreading across the ceiling like ugly bruises. Two weeks. Two weeks since the explosion that destroyed my life, and I was still waiting for someone—anyone—to realize this was all a mistake.

My fingers traced the raised scar tissue along my left temple, the skin still tender and angry red. The burns had healed wrong without proper medical care. Alpha Luca had made it clear that Omegas didn't deserve the pack healer's attention. My right ear rang constantly now, a high-pitched whine that never stopped. Half the world sounded muffled, like I was underwater.

But the worst part wasn't the scars or the hearing loss. It was the silence where my wolf used to be. The wolfsbane had poisoned our bond, leaving me hollow and incomplete. I kept reaching for her instinctively, the way you might reach for a light switch in the dark, only to find empty space.

A sharp kick to my door made me flinch.

"Get up, Omega." Brittany's voice dripped with false sweetness. "The main hall needs scrubbing. Again."

I pulled myself to my feet, my ribs still aching from injuries that refused to heal properly. Without my wolf, my body was as fragile as any human's. Maybe more so.

The main hall stretched before me like a punishment. I'd cleaned these floors yesterday. And the day before. But Brittany always found reasons for me to do it again. I filled my bucket with soapy water and knelt on the cold stone, my knees already raw from endless hours in this position.

The scrub brush felt heavy in my hands. Everything felt heavy now.

"Oh, look what we have here." Brittany's heels clicked across the floor I'd just cleaned. She wore a flowing blue dress that complemented her blonde hair perfectly. Luna colors. She'd been wearing them more and more lately, even though Luca hadn't officially made her his mate yet.

She paused directly in front of me, her designer shoes inches from my face.

"You missed a spot," she said, and deliberately kicked over my water bucket.

Soapy water rushed across the stones, soaking through my thin dress and pooling around my knees. The cold made me gasp, but I didn't look up. Couldn't. The Omega conditioning had been drilled into me through two weeks of Alpha Commands and pack hierarchy. Keep your head down. Don't speak unless spoken to. Accept your place.

"Clean it up," Brittany ordered. "And do it right this time."

I reached for the mop with shaking hands, but she stepped on the handle.

"With the brush," she clarified, her smile sharp as broken glass. "On your hands and knees. Like the dog you are."

My cheeks burned with humiliation, but I obeyed. I always obeyed now. The alternative was worse—more Alpha Commands, more pain, more isolation. I scrubbed at the wet stone while Brittany watched, occasionally stepping in puddles to track mud across my work.

"You know," she said conversationally, "I've been thinking about your father."

My hands stilled on the brush. Papa. I hadn't been allowed to see him since the night of the explosion. Pack law stated that Omegas couldn't leave the packhouse without permission, and Luca had made it clear that permission would never come.

"Such a shame about the rumors," Brittany continued, examining her nails. "People are saying he was involved in your little assassination plot. That he trained you. Helped you plan it."

Ice flooded my veins. "That's not true."

"Isn't it?" She tilted her head, mock concern creasing her features. "I mean, he did train our Alpha. He'd know exactly how to hurt him. And you are his daughter. Blood tells, doesn't it?"

"My father is loyal to this pack," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "He served as Gamma for thirty years."

"Served," Brittany repeated. "Past tense. People change, Evelynn. People get bitter when they're forced to retire. When they see their daughters failing to live up to expectations."

She crouched down beside me, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"I heard some of the younger wolves paid him a visit yesterday. Left him a little message about what happens to traitors in this pack."

My blood turned to ice. "What kind of message?"

Brittany's smile was poison-sweet. "Oh, just some paint. Red paint. Looks lovely against his front door. Really makes the word 'TRAITOR' pop."

I lunged to my feet so fast the world spun. "You can't—he's innocent—"

"Sit. Down."

The Alpha Command hit me like a physical blow, forcing my legs to buckle. I collapsed back onto my knees in the puddle of dirty water, my body betraying me even as my mind screamed in protest.

Brittany stood, smoothing her dress. "Your father made his choice when he raised a terrorist. Now he gets to live with the consequences."

She walked away, her heels echoing off the stone walls like gunshots. I stayed kneeling in the cold water, my whole body shaking with rage and helplessness.

Somewhere beyond these walls, my father was alone and afraid, painted with accusations he didn't deserve. And I couldn't do anything to help him.

I couldn't even help myself.

The dish slipped from my hands and shattered against the stone floor.

Pain—sharp and sudden—lanced through my chest like a knife between my ribs. Not my pain. His pain. Even with my wolf silent and broken, the bond between father and daughter ran deeper than rank or magic. It pulsed through me now, frantic and fading.

Papa.

"Evelynn!" The Beta's voice cracked like a whip behind me. "You don't leave your station without—"

I was already running.

My bare feet slapped against the wet grass as I tore through the back gardens. Rain had started to fall, cold and stinging against my scarred skin. My lungs burned. My ribs screamed. I didn't care. That thread of connection in my chest was unraveling fast, and if I didn't reach him—

No. I couldn't think about that.

The forest path to Papa's cabin blurred past me. Branches whipped at my face and arms, drawing blood I couldn't afford to lose. My weak, human body was already failing, my legs shaking with exhaustion after only half a mile. But I pushed harder, driven by the static-filled whisper that kept echoing in my mind.

Help. Please. Evie—

I burst into the clearing and my heart stopped.

The cabin door hung off its hinges, splintered wood scattered across the porch like broken bones. The smell hit me next—copper and fear and something wild and rotten. Rogue scent. My stomach heaved, but I forced myself forward, my hands trembling as I gripped the doorframe.

"Papa?"

Silence. Then, faint and terrible, a wet, rattling breath from somewhere beyond the cabin.

I found him at the forest edge.

The rain was washing the blood away almost as fast as it poured from the gashes across his chest and throat. Deep, vicious wounds that no human—no wolf without their healing—could survive. His eyes were half-closed, his skin gray beneath the mud and gore.

"No, no, no." I dropped to my knees beside him, my hands hovering uselessly over the wounds. There was so much blood. Too much. "Papa, stay with me. Please stay with me."

His eyes flickered open. Recognition sparked there, followed immediately by grief so profound it made my chest ache.

"Evie," he rasped. "Run."

"I'm not leaving you." I slid my arms beneath his shoulders, trying to lift him. He was so heavy. When had he gotten so heavy? "The packhouse isn't far. The healer can—"

"No healer." His hand caught mine, his grip weak but desperate. "Alpha... ordered..."

The words died in a cough that brought up blood.

I understood anyway. Luca had ordered the healer not to treat him. Just like he'd ordered the healer not to treat me. We were both expendable now. Both traitors in his eyes.

Fine. Then I'd save him myself.

I hauled Papa onto my back with strength I didn't know I possessed. Adrenaline, maybe. Or desperation. His weight nearly crushed me, driving my knees into the mud, but I locked my legs and stood. One step. Then another. The rain came harder now, turning the forest path into a river of mud that sucked at my feet with every step.

"Put me down," Papa whispered against my shoulder. "Too heavy. You can't—"

"Shut up." Tears mixed with rain on my face. "You don't get to die. You hear me? You don't get to leave me alone with them."

His blood soaked through my thin dress, warm against my back even as the rain chilled everything else. I could feel his heartbeat—irregular, weakening. The bond between us flickered like a candle in the wind.

I walked faster.

My burns screamed in protest. My ribs felt like they were grinding against each other with every breath. My legs shook so badly I nearly fell twice, catching myself on trees at the last second. But I didn't stop. Couldn't stop.

The packhouse lights appeared through the trees like distant stars.

Almost there. Just a little further.

"Evie." Papa's voice was barely a whisper now. "Proud of you. Always... proud..."

"Don't." I choked on the word. "Don't you dare say goodbye."

But his weight was growing heavier. His breathing more shallow. And the bond—that precious thread connecting us—was fraying strand by strand.

I stumbled into the packhouse clearing just as my legs finally gave out. We collapsed together in the mud, the rain pounding down on us like judgment from the Moon Goddess herself.

"Help!" I screamed toward the lit windows. "Someone help us!"

The packhouse door opened. Light spilled out across the wet grass.

And Luca stepped into the rain, his face cold as stone.

The iron gates loomed before me like the entrance to hell.

I collapsed against them, Papa's weight finally too much for my shaking legs. The metal was cold and unforgiving beneath my palms as I gripped the bars, my father's blood mixing with rain and mud on my hands.

"Marcus!" My voice cracked, raw from screaming. "Marcus, please!"

Movement in the packhouse. Lights flickering on in windows. Faces appearing behind glass, then quickly disappearing. No one wanted to be seen helping the Omega and her traitor father.

But I saw him—Marcus Webb, the Head Healer, standing in the doorway with his medical bag already in hand. His face was pale, conflicted. He took one step forward.

"Marcus, please." I pressed my face against the bars, tasting rust and desperation. "He's dying. You have to—"

"Stop."

The voice came from above. I looked up through the rain and saw him on the second-floor balcony. Luca. My mate. The man my father had trained from a boy into an Alpha.

Brittany stood beside him, holding an umbrella over his head. They were dry. Comfortable. Safe behind their walls while we bled in the mud.

"Luca." His name tore from my throat. "Please. I'm begging you. Just let Marcus through the gates. That's all I'm asking. Please."

Papa's breathing rattled beneath me, each exhale weaker than the last. The bond between us was a fraying rope, and I could feel every strand snapping.

Luca's eyes met mine. For one desperate second, I thought I saw something flicker there—recognition, maybe. Regret. But then his face hardened into stone.

"Marcus." His Alpha tone rolled across the courtyard like thunder. "You will not move from that doorway."

I watched Marcus freeze mid-step, his body going rigid under the command. His medical bag slipped from his fingers and hit the ground with a dull thud.

"No." The word came out broken. "No, you can't—"

"Guards." Luca's voice was calm. Measured. Like he was discussing the weather instead of condemning a man to death. "The gates remain locked. Resources are for loyal pack members, not the families of terrorists."

Terrorists. He kept using that word. Kept painting us with that lie until everyone believed it.

"He trained you!" I screamed up at him, my voice shredding. "He taught you everything you know! He was loyal to this pack for thirty years!"

"And his daughter tried to murder me." Luca's tone didn't change. "Actions have consequences, Evelynn. You should have thought about that before you planted those bombs."

Brittany leaned closer to him, whispering something that made her smile. The umbrella tilted, and for a moment I saw her face clearly. She wasn't just satisfied. She was triumphant.

This was what she wanted. What they both wanted.

"Luca." Papa's voice was so faint I barely heard it over the rain. "Please. Not... Evie. She's... innocent."

Even dying, he was trying to protect me.

Luca looked down at the man who'd been like a father to him, and his expression didn't change. "The gates stay closed."

Then he turned his back and walked inside. Brittany followed, the umbrella disappearing into the warm, dry packhouse. The balcony door clicked shut with a sound like a coffin closing.

I looked down at Papa. His eyes were still open, still focused on my face. Blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm sorry." My tears fell onto his cheeks, mixing with the rain. "I'm so sorry, Papa. This is my fault. All of this is—"

"No." His hand found mine, his grip so weak I barely felt it. "Not... your fault. Never... your fault."

The bond between us flickered. Dimmed.

"Don't leave me." I pressed my forehead to his, my whole body shaking. "Please don't leave me alone with them. I can't do this without you. I can't—"

"Strong." His thumb brushed across my knuckles one last time. "My... strong girl. Love... you."

The light in his eyes went out like a candle in the wind.

The bond snapped.

And I screamed.

The sound that tore from my throat wasn't human. It was animal. Primal. The howl of a wolf who'd lost everything and had nothing left to lose. It cracked my voice, shredded my vocal cords, and echoed across the packhouse grounds like a curse.

Behind the windows, faces appeared again. Watching. Witnessing. Doing nothing.

I held Papa's body against the iron gates and screamed until I had no voice left. Until the rain washed away my tears and his blood and any last shred of hope I'd been clinging to.

When I finally fell silent, the packhouse was dark again. Everyone had gone back to their warm beds and their safe lives.

And I was alone in the mud with my father's corpse, locked outside the gates of the only home I'd ever known.