The healing herbs came in a velvet pouch the color of old blood.

Miles set it on the desk between us with the careful precision of someone handling a transaction. Not a gift. Not an apology. A payment.

"Moonpetal root," he said, his voice carrying that Alpha resonance that made my wolf want to bare her throat even though I didn't have a wolf to bare. "Silverleaf extract. Starwillow bark. All rare. All valuable." He pushed a second pouch across the desk—this one clinking with the unmistakable sound of pack currency. "This should more than cover any... inconvenience you experienced while harboring a rogue on pack lands."

I stared at the pouches. At his hands—hands I'd bandaged, hands that had touched my face with a gentleness that made me believe in second chances. They looked the same. Everything about him looked the same except for the eyes, and the eyes were everything.

"Inconvenience," I repeated softly.

Celeste's perfectly manicured fingers tightened on the back of his chair. She was watching me the way you'd watch a stray dog that had wandered too close to the dinner table—wary, faintly disgusted, waiting to see if it would need to be kicked.

Miles's expression didn't change. "You provided shelter and basic medical care to an injured wolf. The pack appreciates your... discretion in this matter." He leaned back slightly, and the Alpha aura rolling off him intensified just enough to make my lungs constrict. "However, I trust you understand that this incident is not to be discussed. With anyone. My momentary lapse in judgment—" He said it like the words tasted bad. "—is pack business. Not Omega gossip."

I pressed my fingers to the inside of my wrist. Hard. The pain helped.

"Of course, Alpha," I said. My voice came out steady. I was proud of that. "Will that be all?"

Celeste smiled. "Actually, there is one more thing." She moved around the desk with the fluid grace of someone who'd never had to make herself small, never had to calculate how much space she was allowed to take up. "The formal pack dinner is tomorrow night. I'll need the grand hall prepared to proper standards." Her eyes met mine, and there was nothing honey-sweet about them now. "I trust an Omega understands what proper standards mean?"

I looked at Miles. Waited for him to say something, anything. To remember that three days ago he'd smiled at me in the pre-dawn light and asked for five more minutes like it was a gift he was offering.

He said nothing at all.

"I understand, Luna candidate," I said, and took the pouches because refusing them would have required an explanation I didn't have the strength to give. The velvet was soft against my palm. Expensive. Wrong.

I left before either of them could dismiss me.

The pack kitchens were empty at midday, everyone either on patrol or handling their assigned duties. I stood at the long wooden counter, staring at the pouches I'd dropped there like they were evidence of a crime I couldn't name. The Moonpetal root alone was worth more than I made in six months. Silverleaf extract was the kind of thing Alphas gave to their Lunas as mate gifts.

Compensation.

"Kylee."

I didn't jump. Jack Murphy moved too quietly for jumping—you either heard him coming or you didn't, and I never did.

He stood in the doorway, still in his training gear, face carefully neutral in that way that meant he'd already assessed the situation and made seventeen calculations I'd never see. Retired Gamma. Elite warrior. The only wolf in this pack who'd ever looked at me like I was something other than my rank.

"Rough morning?" he asked quietly.

I laughed. It came out wrong, sharp and brittle. "The Alpha heir has returned to his proper place in the hierarchy. I should be celebrating."

Jack moved into the kitchen, closing the door behind him with a soft click. "Alphas," he said, and something in his tone made me look up. "They're all the same, in the end. Arrogant. Entitled. They take what they want and call it their right." He picked up the velvet pouch, weighed it in his palm. "And when they're done, they pay you off like you were a service they purchased."

My throat closed. I pressed my fingers harder against my wrist.

"You're better off without him," Jack continued, setting the pouch down with a gentleness that felt like understanding. "Without any of them. The hierarchy is just cruelty dressed up in ceremony."

I wanted to argue. Wanted to defend Miles, the Miles I'd known, the one who'd asked instead of demanded. But that Miles was gone. Maybe he'd never existed. Maybe I'd just projected Francis's ghost onto a blank slate and called it healing.

"I need to make tea," I said, because I needed something to do with my hands that wasn't pressing bruises into my wrist. "The calming blend. The one I forage from the north border."

"I'll keep you company," Jack offered.

So I brewed the tea—crushing the dried leaves between my palms, measuring the proportions I'd memorized years ago, letting the familiar ritual smooth the jagged edges of the morning. Jack stood near the window, not crowding me, just present. Steady.

The tea steeped. Steam rose. I wrapped my hands around the cup and let the heat ground me.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

Jack turned from the window. "For what?"

"For not looking at me like I'm broken."

Something flickered across his face—too fast for me to read, gone before I could name it. "You're not broken, Kylee," he said. "You're just finally seeing clearly."

I drank my tea and tried to believe him.

The grand hall's floors were marble. Real marble, imported from somewhere expensive and far away, the kind of stone that showed every scuff mark and grain of dirt. I'd been scrubbing them for two hours, on my hands and knees with a brush and bucket, while the ranked wolves gathered for the formal pack dinner.

Celeste had given the order personally. In front of Miles. In front of the Beta and Gamma and every Delta warrior who'd bothered to show up early.

"I want it spotless," she'd said, smiling that smile that didn't reach her eyes. "An Omega should take pride in her work, don't you think?"

Nobody had argued. Nobody had even looked uncomfortable.

So here I was, scrubbing marble while the pack filed in above me, their shoes tracking in dirt I'd just cleaned, their conversations washing over me like I was furniture. My shoulder ached from the fall three days ago. My knees were raw. My hands were starting to crack from the cleaning solution.

I kept scrubbing.

Someone's shoe stopped inches from my brush. Expensive leather. Custom-made. I didn't need to look up to know whose.

"Kylee."

Miles's voice. Alpha tone stripped away, just my name, quiet and strained.

I kept scrubbing.

"Kylee, you don't have to—"

"The Luna candidate wants the floors spotless," I said, not looking up. "I'm just following orders. Isn't that what Omegas do?"

Silence. Heavy and wrong.

Then Celeste's voice, bright and carrying: "Miles, darling, leave her to her work. We have guests to greet."

The expensive shoes moved away.

I scrubbed until the marble gleamed, until my reflection stared back at me from the stone—pale and hollow and exactly as invisible as I was supposed to be. Around me, the pack dinner began. Laughter. Conversation. The clink of crystal and silver.

Nobody looked down.

Nobody saw me at all.

From my place at the edge of the grand hall, bucket and brush finally set aside, I could feel his eyes on me. Miles. Alpha heir. The wolf who'd asked for five more minutes in the pre-dawn light like it was a gift.

I didn't look up. Looking up would have required acknowledging that he was watching me scrub floors while he sat at the head table in tailored clothes that probably cost more than my entire quarters. Looking up would have meant seeing Celeste's hand on his arm, possessive and certain.

So I kept my eyes down and wrung out the cleaning cloth one last time, my hands raw and pruned from two hours in chemical water. The marble gleamed. My reflection stared back at me from the stone—pale, hollow, exactly as invisible as I was supposed to be.

I stood slowly, my knees screaming in protest. Around me, the pack dinner continued. Laughter. The clink of crystal. Nobody looked at the Omega gathering her supplies.

Except him.

I felt it like pressure against my skin—that Alpha aura, focused and intent. My wolf, the one I'd never had, would have wanted to bare her throat. Instead, I pressed my fingers briefly to the inside of my wrist and picked up the bucket.

"Kylee."

Celeste's voice, bright and carrying. I stopped.

She was standing now, one hand still resting on Miles's shoulder, her smile sharp as broken glass. "Before you go, darling, the silver needs polishing. I noticed some tarnish on the serving platters." She tilted her head, all false concern. "You don't mind, do you? It's just that standards are so important for pack events."

The room had gone quiet. Not silent—conversations continued, silverware still clinked—but there was a quality to the noise now, an awareness. Wolves pretending not to watch while watching everything.

I opened my mouth to agree, because that's what Omegas did, when the crash came.

Loud. Violent. The sound of an entire tray of crystal hitting marble, exploding into a thousand glittering shards. A servant—young, Delta-ranked, his face gone white with horror—stood frozen in the wreckage, hands still outstretched like he couldn't understand how the tray had slipped.

Chaos erupted. Celeste's attention snapped toward the disaster. Higher-ranked wolves pushed back from the table. Someone was shouting for a broom, for the healer, for the poor bastard to explain himself.

In the confusion, a hand closed gently around my elbow.

Jack Murphy. He didn't say anything, just guided me toward the service exit with the kind of quiet efficiency that made the movement look natural, unremarkable. By the time anyone thought to look for the Omega, I was already gone.

The night air hit my face like a blessing. I sucked in a breath, then another, my lungs finally expanding properly now that I was out from under all that Alpha aura and hierarchical weight.

"Thank you," I whispered.

Jack released my elbow. In the dim light from the pack house windows, his expression was carefully neutral. "Accidents happen," he said quietly. "Especially when servants are overworked and underpaid."

I looked back at the grand hall, at the warm light spilling from its windows, at the shapes of wolves moving inside like shadow puppets. Miles's silhouette was still visible at the head table. He hadn't moved.

"Go home, Kylee," Jack said, and there was something in his voice I couldn't name. "Get some rest."

So I did.

Celeste arrived at my quarters the next afternoon, dressed like she was attending a coronation. The gilded invitation she carried probably cost more than my monthly food allowance.

She didn't knock. Just opened the door like she owned it—which, in every way that mattered to pack hierarchy, she did.

"Good afternoon, Kylee." That smile again, honey-sweet and poisonous. She held out the invitation like it was a weapon. "I wanted to deliver this personally. The Mate Ceremony. Two weeks from tomorrow. I do hope you'll attend."

I took the invitation. Heavy cardstock, embossed with silver. *Alpha Miles Matthews and Luna Candidate Celeste Mitchell cordially invite you to witness their union under the Moon Goddess's blessing.*

"It's beautiful," I said, because it was true and because the truth was the sharpest thing I had left.

Celeste's smile widened. "I'm so glad you think so. Miles spared no expense." She moved into my quarters without invitation, her eyes cataloging everything—the worn furniture, the simple curtains, the pressed wildflower I should have thrown away weeks ago. "You know, I really must thank you. For taking care of him when he was... confused. It must have been so difficult, caring for a wolf so far above your station."

I set the invitation on my small table. Then I walked to the wooden chest beside my bed and opened it.

The ring sat in the corner, wrapped in a scrap of cloth. Simple. Woven from dried sweetgrass and pack territory flowers. Miles—my Miles, the one who'd smiled in the pre-dawn light—had made it with his own hands, sitting on my floor while his shoulder healed, his fingers clumsy and determined.

"For you," he'd said, slipping it onto my finger. "So you remember you're not alone."

I picked it up now. The sweetgrass had dried brittle. The flowers had faded to brown.

I walked back to Celeste and placed it in her perfectly manicured palm.

"Would you return this to the Alpha?" I asked quietly. "I believe our transaction is complete."

Celeste stared at the ring. At me. Something flickered behind her eyes—confusion, maybe, or the first edge of uncertainty.

Then she closed her fingers around it and smiled again, but this time the smile was different. Smaller. Almost real.

"Of course," she said. "How... practical of you."

She left. The door clicked shut.

I stood in my empty quarters, my hand still tingling from where the ring had rested for three weeks, and pressed my fingers to the inside of my wrist until the feeling passed.

It didn't pass.