The communal dining hall buzzed with morning activity as I slipped into my usual seat at the far end of the long oak table. My fingers nervously smoothed the fabric of my simple gray sweater—the nicest thing I owned, yet still a stark contrast to the designer clothes that adorned the higher-ranking wolves. Muffin, still adjusting to our new living arrangement, was curled up in Cyrus's wing, which left me feeling oddly vulnerable without her comforting presence.

I kept my eyes down, focusing on arranging my silverware just so, when the chair beside me scraped against the floor. I tensed, expecting one of the other Omegas, but instead caught the unmistakable cedar scent before I saw him.

'Good morning, Lia,' Cyrus said, his voice warm and low, meant only for me despite the crowded room.

My cheeks flushed as I nodded, acutely aware of the curious glances from nearby pack members. A Lycan Prince sitting next to an Omega? Unheard of.

'Thank you for... last night,' I whispered, still uncomfortable with the kindness he'd shown me.

His amber eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. 'Of course.'

Before I could say more, a hush fell over the dining hall. Collin had entered with Bianca on his arm, her crimson lips curved in a triumphant smile as she surveyed the room. My stomach clenched as they approached our table.

Cyrus's posture shifted subtly beside me, his presence suddenly more commanding, though he said nothing as Collin and Bianca took seats directly across from us.

'The pack house seems quite... crowded these days,' Bianca's voice dripped with false sweetness as she glanced pointedly at me. 'Some wolves seem to be occupying spaces they haven't earned.'

I focused on my untouched plate, pretending not to hear. Years of practice made it easy to disappear, to become invisible when necessary.

The server brought out steaming bowls of egg and vegetable stew, and I began to eat mechanically. I picked out the scallions one by one, placing them in a small pile beside my bowl—a habit I'd developed since childhood. I never liked them, but I'd never complained either. What was the point?

Across the table, I couldn't help but notice how Collin leaned toward Bianca, his fingers carefully removing each scallion from her portion. The tenderness in his movements was something I'd never seen directed at me, not once in all our years together. He'd never even noticed I disliked them.

'You don't like scallions?' Cyrus's quiet voice broke through my thoughts.

I glanced up, startled. 'No, I—it's fine. I just...' I gestured vaguely at the pile beside my bowl.

Cyrus watched me for a moment longer than necessary, his expression unreadable, before returning to his own meal.

The rest of breakfast passed in tense silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. I was relieved when it ended, escaping to the laundry room where I had duties to complete.

I was sorting through the day's linens when a shadow fell across my work. I looked up to find Bianca leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest. She wore Collin's old training jacket—the one with his pack insignia and scent still embedded in the fabric.

'Well, well,' she purred, her voice laced with venom. 'Look at you, little Omega, suddenly living in luxury. Did you think moving to the Lycan wing would make you special?'

I continued sorting, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response.

'Years I spent with Collin, and he never once brought me there,' she continued, stepping closer. 'And yet here you are, with your pathetic little wolf pup and your sad devotion, somehow worming your way into places you don't belong.'

I folded a white sheet with deliberate care, my hands steady despite the anger building in my chest. When I finished, I looked up at her, meeting her gaze without flinching.

'I have work to do,' I said simply, and walked past her toward the door.

As I brushed by her, she hissed, 'This isn't over, Lia. You're still nothing but an Omega playing dress-up.'

I didn't look back, but for the first time in years, her words didn't cut as deeply as they should have. Something was changing inside me—something that had begun the moment I'd seen that scarf and condom, and had continued with every small kindness Cyrus had shown me since.

The announcement came at dusk.

A pack run—official, ceremonial, meant to welcome the members who'd returned to Moonveil in recent weeks. Everyone knew what that meant. Everyone knew who it was really for.

I stood near the tree line with the other Omegas, already dressed in the lightweight training clothes I'd worn for every run since I was sixteen. Around me, the pack gathered in loose clusters, rank sorting itself without anyone saying a word. That's how it always worked. Alphas and Betas at the front. Warriors behind them. And then the rest of us, fading back into the rear like an afterthought.

I was fine with that. I'd always been fine with that.

Bianca wasn't.

'The Omegas will take rear guard tonight.' Her voice carried across the clearing with the practiced ease of someone who had spent years learning how to sound like an authority she didn't technically hold. Her eyes found mine immediately. 'Including the newer additions. We wouldn't want anyone slowing down the front line.'

A few wolves shifted. Someone near me exhaled quietly.

I kept my face still. Rear guard meant the youngest pups and the weakest members. It meant being managed. It meant being reminded, in front of everyone, exactly where I stood.

Collin said nothing. He stood at the head of the group with that cool, unreadable expression I'd spent years trying to decode, and he said nothing.

I was already turning toward the back when I heard it.

'Lia.' Cyrus's voice. Unhurried. Calm. Carrying just enough weight to make the clearing go quiet. 'You're with me.'

I stopped.

He was standing at the front of the group—the Lycan position, ahead of even the Alpha line—and he was looking at me with that steady amber gaze, one hand extended slightly as if the invitation were the most natural thing in the world.

Bianca's smile didn't move, but something behind her eyes did.

Collin's jaw tightened.

I walked to the front. My heart was hammering, but my steps were even. I didn't look at Bianca. I didn't look at Collin. I looked at Cyrus, and he gave me a single nod, and then we ran.

---

Lycans run differently than wolves. I'd heard that before, but I'd never felt it until tonight.

The pace was relentless—long, ground-eating strides that ate up the forest floor like it was nothing. Within the first mile, my lungs were burning. By the second, my legs had started to argue with me in earnest.

I didn't fall back. I refused to fall back. But I was struggling, and Cyrus knew it.

He slowed.

Not dramatically. Not with any announcement. He simply adjusted, his long stride shortening until it matched mine, his breathing easy beside me while I worked to keep up.

'You're fighting your own rhythm,' he said, not looking at me, his eyes on the path ahead. 'Stop trying to match mine. Find yours.'

'I'm fine,' I managed.

'I know you are.' A pause. 'Find your rhythm anyway.'

I stopped fighting it. I let my stride settle into something that was actually mine, and somewhere around the third mile, the burning in my lungs eased. The trees blurred past us in the dark, silver-edged with moonlight, and for a few minutes I forgot about Bianca and Collin and everything I'd left behind in that laundry room.

I just ran.

At some point I became aware that we were moving in sync—not because I was matching him, but because he was matching me. Our footfalls landing together in the dark. It was such a small thing. It felt enormous.

From somewhere behind us, I caught the sharp, clean scent of Collin's anger. I didn't turn around.

---

The fever hit me like a wall two hours after we returned.

One moment I was sitting on the edge of my bed in Cyrus's wing, unlacing my trainers. The next, the room tilted. I pressed my palm flat against the mattress and waited for it to stop, but it didn't stop. My skin felt like it was radiating heat from somewhere deep inside, and Muffin was already at my feet, whining softly.

'I know, girl,' I whispered. 'I know.'

I don't remember lying down. I remember the ceiling, and the warm glow of the hallway light under the door, and thinking distantly that Cyrus had left the lights on again.

At some point I heard Derek Shaw's voice in the corridor, low and careful. 'She's running a high fever. Someone should—'

Then Bianca's voice, smooth and immediate, cutting across his. 'Collin, the Northern Pack delegation is expecting an answer tonight. This can't wait.'

A silence.

Then footsteps, walking away.

I closed my eyes. The ceiling swam. Muffin pressed her warm body against my legs and didn't move.

Somewhere outside, the pack house settled into quiet, and I lay there in the dark with a fever climbing steadily higher, wondering if I'd imagined the sound of someone else's footsteps—slower, deliberate—stopping just outside my door.