The first thing I notice is the pain.

It's everywhere—a dull, throbbing ache that pulses through my skull like someone's taken a hammer to it. My eyelids feel heavy, weighted down, and when I finally manage to pry them open, harsh fluorescent lights stab into my vision. I wince, turning my head away, and that's when the panic sets in.

Where am I?

The room smells sterile. Antiseptic. There's the steady beep of a heart monitor somewhere to my left, and beneath that, the faint scent of pine and earth. Pack territory. The knowledge comes instinctively, though I can't explain how I know it.

I try to sit up, but my body protests. Everything hurts. My ribs, my back, even my fingers feel bruised and tender. What happened to me?

"Easy there." A woman's voice, calm and professional. I turn my head—slowly this time—and see a middle-aged woman in a white coat standing beside my bed. Her dark hair is pulled back in a neat bun, and her eyes are kind but concerned. "You've been through quite an ordeal, Lyla. Don't push yourself."

Lyla. That's my name. I know that much, at least.

"What... what happened?" My voice comes out raspy, like I haven't used it in days.

The doctor—Dr. Cross, according to the name tag on her coat—exchanges a glance with someone behind her. "You had a fall. A bad one. You've been unconscious for two days."

A fall. The word echoes in my mind, but there's nothing there. No memory of falling, no memory of anything before waking up in this bed. It's like someone took an eraser to my brain and wiped everything clean.

The door opens, and two people walk in. The man is tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and eyes that could cut through steel. He moves with the kind of confidence that demands attention, and something deep inside me responds to his presence. My wolf stirs—I can feel her there, a presence in the back of my mind—and she's... reaching for him?

Daddy.

The word surfaces in my consciousness like a lifeline, and suddenly everything makes sense. This is my father. I don't know how I know, but I do. The certainty of it washes over me, warm and safe.

"Daddy!" I reach for him, my voice breaking with relief.

He freezes. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, something flickers across his face—shock? Disgust? But then it's gone, replaced by a carefully neutral expression.

The woman beside him steps forward. She's beautiful, with honey-blonde hair and delicate features, though there's something sharp in her eyes that makes me uneasy. But when she smiles at me, it's warm and motherly, and my wolf relaxes.

"Oh, sweetheart," she coos, moving to my bedside. "You gave us such a fright."

Mommy. The word comes just as naturally as the first, and I reach for her hand. She takes it, her fingers cool against my skin.

Dr. Cross clears her throat. "Alpha Stone, could I speak with you outside for a moment?"

Alpha Stone? I look at my father—Daddy—confused. Why is she calling him that?

He nods curtly and follows the doctor out of the room, leaving me alone with Mommy. She perches on the edge of my bed, still holding my hand, but her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"How are you feeling, darling?" she asks.

"Confused," I admit. "I don't... I don't remember anything. What happened?"

Her expression shifts to something that might be sympathy. "You fell, sweetheart. From the balcony. It was a terrible accident."

A balcony. I try to picture it, but there's nothing. Just empty space where memories should be.

Daddy returns a few minutes later, his face grim. He doesn't look at me, and something about that makes my chest ache. Did I do something wrong?

"We're taking you home," he says, his voice flat. "Dr. Cross says you're stable enough to leave."

Home. The word should bring comfort, but instead, it fills me with a strange sense of dread I can't explain.

The pack house is enormous. I stare up at it from the car, trying to find something familiar, but it's like looking at a stranger's home. Daddy helps me out of the car—though his touch is stiff, impersonal—and Mommy guides me inside.

Pack members stop and stare as we pass. I hear whispers, see the way they look at me with a mixture of pity and something else. Disgust? Why would they look at me like that?

Daddy leads me upstairs and down a long hallway. He stops in front of a door and pushes it open, revealing a room that makes my stomach drop.

It's decorated like a child's bedroom. Pale pink walls, stuffed animals on the bed, even a nightlight shaped like a crescent moon. I'm not a child. I know that much. So why...?

"This is your room now," Daddy says, still not meeting my eyes.

"But... where's your room?" I ask. "Where will you and Mommy sleep?"

His jaw clenches. "Down the hall. In the Alpha Suite."

Something about that feels wrong. So wrong. My wolf whimpers, confused and hurt. Why would my parents sleep so far away? Why does the thought of them together make my chest feel like it's being torn apart?

"Can't I... can't I stay with you?" The words come out small, pleading.

"No." The word is sharp, final. "You'll sleep here. Alone."

Mommy squeezes my shoulder. "It's for the best, darling. You need your rest."

They leave me there, closing the door behind them. I stand in the middle of the room, surrounded by childish decorations that feel like a mockery, and listen to their footsteps fade down the hall.

When I hear a door close—their door—something inside me breaks.

I climb into the too-soft bed and pull the covers up to my chin. My wolf is howling, a sound of pure anguish that echoes through my mind. She's reaching for something, someone, but I don't understand what.

All I know is that something is terribly, horribly wrong.

And as I cry myself to sleep in this strange pink prison, one thought keeps circling through my fractured mind:

Why does it hurt so much to be away from Daddy?

Mommy wakes me before dawn.

"Up, sweetheart," she says, her voice syrupy sweet. "We have a lot to do today."

I blink against the darkness, my body heavy with exhaustion. I didn't sleep well. Every time I closed my eyes, my wolf whimpered and reached for something I couldn't name.

"What... what are we doing?" I ask, sitting up slowly. My head spins.

"Rehabilitation," Mommy says, pulling back my covers. "You've been so clumsy lately, darling. We need to work on that."

Clumsy? I don't remember being clumsy. But then again, I don't remember much of anything.

She leads me downstairs to the kitchen, where she's already prepared a cup of tea. The steam rises in lazy curls, and the smell is... odd. Bitter beneath the honey.

"Drink this first," she says, pressing the cup into my hands. "It's a vitamin tonic. It'll help you get stronger."

I take a sip. The taste makes me want to gag, but Mommy watches me with those sharp eyes, so I force it down. All of it.

"Good girl," she murmurs, taking the empty cup. "Now, let's get you to work."

Work turns out to be the laundry room in the basement. Mountains of clothes wait in baskets, and Mommy gestures to a large metal tub filled with water.

"Hand-washing builds character," she says. "And it'll teach you to be more careful with your movements."

I stare at the tub, then at my hands. They're already starting to tremble. "Can't we use the machines?"

"No." Her voice goes cold. "You need to learn discipline, Lyla. Now get to work."

She leaves me there, and I sink to my knees beside the tub. The water is freezing. My hands shake as I scrub at the fabric, and my wolf feels... distant. Like she's fading into fog.

By the time Mommy returns hours later, my fingers are raw and my arms ache. She inspects my work with a critical eye.

"Better," she says. "But you'll need to practice more tomorrow."

The days blur together after that. Every morning, the bitter tea. Every day, more chores that leave me exhausted and trembling. My wolf grows quieter and quieter, until I can barely feel her at all.

I'm so tired. All the time.

The pack dinner happens on a Friday night. Mommy dresses me in a simple gray dress that hangs loose on my frame—when did I get so thin?—and leads me to the dining hall.

The room is full of pack members, all seated at long tables. At the head sits Daddy, looking powerful and distant. My heart lurches at the sight of him. I want to run to him, to feel safe, but Mommy's hand tightens on my arm.

"You'll sit here," she says, guiding me to a table in the back corner. The Omega table. I recognize some of the faces—they're the ones who do the cooking and cleaning, the ones everyone else ignores.

"But... why can't I sit with you and Daddy?" I ask.

Her smile is razor-sharp. "Because you need to learn manners first, darling. You're not ready for the adult table."

Shame burns through me as I sink into the chair. Around me, pack members whisper and stare. I hear fragments of their words.

"...broken..."

"...pathetic..."

"...Alpha must be so embarrassed..."

I try to eat, but my hands shake so badly I can barely hold the fork. Halfway through the meal, I remember the drawing I made this morning—a picture of the moon, something I thought might make Daddy smile.

I stand, clutching the paper, and make my way toward the head table. My legs feel weak, unsteady, but I push forward.

"Daddy," I say softly when I reach him. "I made this for you. I thought—"

"Lyla!" Mommy's voice cracks through the hall like a whip. Everyone goes silent. "What did I tell you about interrupting adult time?"

I freeze. Daddy doesn't even look at me. His jaw is tight, his eyes fixed on his plate.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I just wanted to—"

"Go back to your table," Mommy says, her voice dripping with false patience. "Now."

The walk back feels like miles. Laughter follows me. Whispers. By the time I collapse into my chair, tears are streaming down my face.

I crumple the drawing in my fist.

The next morning, I'm on my knees in the foyer, scrubbing the marble floors. My hands won't stop shaking. The bitter tea from this morning sits heavy in my stomach, making everything feel fuzzy and wrong.

I hear the front door open, but I don't look up. Probably just another pack member coming to stare at the broken Luna.

"Lyla?"

The voice is different. Warm. Familiar in a way that makes my wolf stir—just barely—from her fog.

I glance up and see a man standing in the doorway. He's tall, with kind brown eyes and dark hair. He's staring at me like I've been struck, his face pale with horror.

He rushes forward, dropping to his knees beside me. "Lyla, what—"

I flinch back, my heart racing. "I'm sorry," I gasp. "I'm sorry, I'll work faster, I—"

"No, no, it's okay," he says gently, reaching for my hands. "It's me. It's Nico."

Nico. The name means nothing to me.

"Are you... are you a friend of my father's, Sir?" I ask, my voice small.

He goes completely still. The color drains from his face, and something in his eyes breaks.

"Your father?" he repeats, his voice barely a whisper.

I nod, confused by his reaction. "Alpha Stone. He's... he's my daddy."

Nico stares at me for a long moment, and I see his hands start to shake. He looks at my raw fingers, my gaunt face, the tremors I can't control.

"Oh, Lyla," he breathes. "What have they done to you?"

Nico doesn't let go of my hands. His grip is warm, steady, and for a moment I forget about the scrub brush and the cold marble beneath my knees.

"I need to speak with Alpha Stone," he says, his voice tight. "Now."

Before I can respond, footsteps echo down the hallway. Mommy appears, her smile bright and false.

"Beta Lewis," she says, her tone dripping honey. "What a lovely surprise. I'm afraid the Alpha is quite busy—"

"I don't care." Nico stands, pulling me up with him. My legs wobble. "I need to see him. It's urgent pack business."

Mommy's eyes narrow for just a second before the smile returns. "Of course. Follow me."

She leads us through the pack house, her heels clicking against the floor. Nico keeps his hand on my elbow, steadying me, and I'm grateful because the world keeps tilting sideways.

Daddy's office is all dark wood and leather. He sits behind a massive desk, papers spread before him, and doesn't look up when we enter.

"Alpha Stone," Nico says, and there's an edge to his voice I've never heard before. "What the hell is going on here?"

Daddy's head snaps up. His eyes flash with something dangerous. "Watch your tone, Beta."

"Watch my tone?" Nico's hand tightens on my arm. "Your Luna is scrubbing floors like an Omega. She's half-starved and clearly being poisoned with wolfsbane. And you're sitting here doing paperwork?"

The word Luna makes my head spin. That's not right. I'm not—

"This is a family matter," Daddy says, his voice cold as winter. "Lyla is... unwell. Mentally. The fall damaged more than just her body."

"So you demote her? Humiliate her?"

"I'm protecting her." Daddy stands, and the power rolling off him makes my knees weak. "She can't handle Luna responsibilities in her current state. It would destroy what's left of her mind."

The door opens again. Mommy glides in, carrying a tray with tea. She sets it on the desk and moves to Daddy's side, placing a hand on his arm.

"Poor Nico," she says softly. "You don't understand. We're doing everything we can for her. It's been so hard, watching her struggle like this." Her voice cracks, and I see tears shimmer in her eyes. "I barely sleep anymore, making sure she's safe."

Nico stares at her. Then at Daddy. Then at me.

"This is insane," he says quietly.

Daddy's jaw clenches. "You're dismissed, Beta Lewis. And if you value your alliance with this pack, you'll keep your opinions to yourself."

The threat hangs in the air. Nico's hand falls from my arm, and I feel the loss of his warmth like a physical blow.

He moves toward the door, then pauses beside me. "Lyla," he says, so soft only I can hear. "You dropped something."

His hand brushes my apron pocket. I feel something small and folded slip inside.

"Let me help you up," he says louder, offering his hand. I take it, and he squeezes once before letting go. "Take care of yourself."

Then he's gone.

Mommy escorts me back to my room. "Don't listen to him, darling," she says. "He doesn't understand how delicate you are right now."

I nod, but my hand keeps drifting to my pocket.

That night, after Mommy brings me the bitter tea and leaves, I pull out the note. My hands shake as I unfold it.

The words are written in neat, careful script: You are a Luna, not a child. Watch their eyes, not their smiles.

Luna. There's that word again. It makes my wolf stir, pushing against the fog in my mind.

I read it three more times before hiding it under my mattress.

An hour later, my stomach cramps. Hard. I double over, gasping, as pain rips through my gut. The tea. Something in the tea.

I stumble to Mommy's room and knock weakly. "Mommy? I don't feel good."

The door opens. For just a second—one brief, horrible second—I see her face. The sneer. The cold satisfaction in her eyes.

Then it's gone, replaced by concern. "Oh, sweetheart, come here."

But I saw it. I saw it.

Watch their eyes, not their smiles.

My wolf growls, a sound I haven't heard in weeks. The fog around her starts to thin, just a little.

Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.

Three days later, the pack house buzzes with activity. Regional Alphas are arriving for some kind of treaty signing. I watch from the kitchen as Mommy directs the staff, her voice sharp and commanding.

She spots me and smiles. "Lyla, darling. I have a special job for you today."

My stomach drops.

"You're going to serve coffee to our guests," she says. "It'll be good practice for you."

"But... my hands..." I hold them up. They're shaking worse than ever after this morning's tea.

"You'll be fine," she says, pressing a silver tray into my grip. "Just be careful."

The conference room is full of powerful wolves. I can feel their dominance pressing against my skin as I enter. Daddy sits at the head of the table, and beside him—

Mommy. Sitting in the Luna's chair.

My wolf snarls.

I move around the table, pouring coffee with trembling hands. The visiting Alphas watch me with a mixture of pity and disdain. One of them—a gray-haired man with cold eyes—holds out his cup.

"Careful, girl," he says.

I lift the pot. My hands shake. The tremor hits just as I start to pour.

Scalding coffee splashes across the treaty documents spread before him. The Alpha jerks back with a curse. Brown liquid spreads across the papers, destroying hours of careful negotiation.

The room goes silent.

Daddy's eyes meet mine, and what I see there makes my blood run cold.

Rage. Pure, unfiltered rage.

"Lyla," he says, and his voice drops into that tone—the one that makes my bones ache and my wolf whimper. "Get. Out."

But I can't move. The Alpha tone has frozen me in place, and the tray slips from my numb fingers.

It hits the floor with a crash that echoes like thunder.

And somewhere deep inside, beneath the fog and the fear and the confusion, my wolf finally wakes up.

And she is furious.