I wake to the sound of drawers opening and closing. My bedroom—the guest quarters I've been relegated to—is filled with the quiet, efficient movements of pack Omegas. They work with the practiced invisibility of people who have learned that being noticed is dangerous.

I sit up slowly, pressing my palms against my temples. The headache is already building behind my eyes, but I don't let it show. 'What's happening?'

'Miss Lily,' Martha appears at my bedside, her face carefully neutral. 'Alpha Jaxson has ordered your remaining belongings moved from the Luna Suite. They're... they're clearing it out for Miss Turner.'

Of course they are. I should have expected this. The Luna Suite isn't just any room—it's the symbolic heart of the pack's female leadership. It's where generations of Lunas have lived, loved, and led. It's mine by right of bond, and he's giving it to her.

'I'll get dressed,' I say, my voice steady. 'I want to see.'

Martha helps me into my wheelchair, and together we make our way down the hallway. The corridor outside the Luna Suite is bustling with activity. I recognize most of the Omegas—they're the ones who usually avoid looking at me directly. Today, they're too busy hauling my life out of the room to avoid my gaze.

I watch them carry my medical texts, the ones I've studied for years. My mother's silver hairbrush. The small wooden box where I keep the few pieces of jewelry I own. Each item is handled with the awkward care of people who know they're participating in something wrong but lack the power to stop it.

'Miss Lily,' one of the younger Omegas whispers, her eyes wide with something that might be shame or fear. 'I'm so sorry—'

'Don't be,' I tell her, because what else can I say?

Jaxson appears in the doorway of the Luna Suite, and the Omegas freeze. He's dressed in his Alpha formal wear—the kind he wears for pack business. His eyes find mine across the chaos, and there's nothing in them. Not anger. Not regret. Just... nothing.

'Is there a problem?' he asks, his voice carrying that edge of command that makes the Omegas flinch.

'No problem,' I reply. 'Just watching the pack's traditions get packed away.'

He doesn't respond. He turns back into the suite, and I hear Gia's laughter—bright, victorious, filling the space that was once mine.

They move me to the ground floor. The room is small, with a single window that looks out at the service entrance. It's where visiting servants stay. I've never seen a Luna housed here before, but I suppose I'm not really a Luna anymore.

Martha helps me settle in, arranging my few remaining possessions with the same quiet efficiency she brings to everything. When she finds my journal—the small leather-bound book where I write in the Old Tongue—she pauses.

'Is this important?' she asks.

'Yes,' I say. 'It's... private.'

She places it on the nightstand without opening it. She knows I can't read the Old Tongue, but she respects that it matters to me.

When she leaves, I open the journal. My hands are steady as I write the entry. The words flow in the ancient script of our kind—a language I learned from my grandmother, one that Jaxson and the rest of the pack have long forgotten.

'Today, I lost my sanctuary,' I write. 'Tomorrow, I will lose more. But I will not lose myself.'

A week passes. I establish my routine in the new room. I continue my work in the pack's medical wing, tending to the Omegas and lower-ranked wolves who still seek my help. I avoid the Luna Suite. I avoid Jaxson.

Until he finds me.

He storms into my room without knocking. His Alpha aura fills the space, pressing down on me like a physical weight. 'Liliana,' he says, his voice dropping into that particular tone—the Alpha Tone. The one that compels obedience.

I feel it hit me like a command. My body responds before my mind can resist. 'Yes, Alpha.'

'Gia is experiencing cramping,' he says, his jaw tight. 'You will examine her. Now.'

My heart contracts painfully, but I can't fight the command. My hands push the wheels of my chair forward. He leads me to the Luna Suite—my former home—and I see her lying on the bed. Gia Turner, her hand resting protectively over her belly.

'She's pregnant,' Jaxson says, and the words hit me like a physical blow. 'Three months. She's having... complications.'

I know what this means. I'm the pack's best Healer. I've delivered pups, treated pregnancies, saved lives. And now, my mate is commanding me to save the child of the woman who took my place.

My hands shake as I approach the bed. Gia's eyes meet mine, and there's triumph there, barely concealed beneath a mask of vulnerability.

'The Alpha says you're the best,' she says softly. 'I knew he'd send you.'

The dining hall is too bright tonight. Someone—probably Gia—insisted on lighting every chandelier, and the result is a glare that makes my headache worse. I position my wheelchair at the far end of the table, the spot that used to be reserved for visiting Betas. Martha sets a plate in front of me without meeting my eyes.

Jaxson sits at the head, Gia to his right in the seat that was mine. She's glowing in that way pregnant women are supposed to glow, her hand resting on the small swell of her belly like it's a crown jewel. The pack members fill in around us—Beta Kane, Gamma Torres, a handful of ranked wolves whose names I've stopped bothering to remember.

'This is nice,' Gia says, her voice carrying that particular sweetness she uses when she wants an audience. 'Having everyone together like this. It feels like... family.'

I focus on cutting my food into smaller pieces than necessary. The silver fork is cold against my palm.

'We should do this more often,' Jaxson agrees. His tone is lighter than I've heard it in months. 'Pack unity matters.'

I wonder if he hears the irony. I wonder if he cares.

Gia launches into a story about the nursery renovations—the Luna Suite's adjoining room, the one I'd once imagined painting soft yellow. She's chosen cream and gold instead. Very regal, she says. Very fitting for an Alpha's heir.

The conversation shifts to baby names. Of course it does. Gia has opinions about everything, and she delivers them with the confidence of someone who's never been told no.

'For a boy, I'm thinking something strong,' she says. 'Marcus, maybe. Or Kane, after the Beta.'

Beta Kane looks uncomfortable. Good. At least someone in this room still has a conscience.

'And for a girl?' someone asks.

Gia tilts her head, pretending to consider. But I see the way her eyes flick to Jaxson, the way her smile sharpens at the edges. This is rehearsed.

'I'm not sure yet,' she says. 'What do you think, Jax?'

Jaxson sets down his wine glass. He looks directly at me for the first time since the meal began.

'Selene,' he says.

The fork slips from my hand. It hits the plate with a sound that echoes too loud in the sudden quiet. Every head turns toward me, and I feel the weight of their stares like physical pressure.

Selene. The name I told him when we were twelve, sitting at the border woods with our feet in the creek. The name I'd whispered to him one night after the bond snapped into place, when I still believed he might love me back. The name I wrote in my journal in the Old Tongue, over and over, like a prayer to a future that would never come.

He gave it to her.

'That's beautiful,' Gia breathes. 'Selene. After the Moon Goddess herself.' She reaches across the table and squeezes Jaxson's hand. 'It's perfect.'

I press my thumb against the inside of my wrist. Count to eight. The pain behind my eye is a white spike now, drilling straight through to the base of my skull. I taste copper at the back of my throat.

'Excuse me,' I manage. My voice sounds far away, like it's coming from someone else's body.

I don't wait for permission. I turn my chair and wheel myself out of the dining hall, and if anyone says anything behind me, I don't hear it over the rushing in my ears.

Martha finds me in my room twenty minutes later. She doesn't ask what happened. She just helps me into bed and brings me the herbal paste and a glass of water that I can't drink because my hands won't stop shaking.

'Miss Lily,' she says quietly.

I shake my head. I can't talk about it. If I talk about it, something inside me will break that I won't be able to put back together.

She stays until I fall asleep. Or pretend to.

---

The next morning, I go to the garden. It's the one place in this Pack House that still feels like mine—a small plot behind the medical wing where I grow Moon Lilies and medicinal herbs. The flowers are blooming despite the cold, their white petals luminous in the early light.

I'm checking the soil moisture when I hear footsteps behind me.

'You really do love those death flowers, don't you?'

Gia's voice. I don't turn around.

'They're funeral flowers,' I say. 'There's a difference.'

'Is there?' She moves into my peripheral vision, her hand resting on her belly in that proprietary way she has. 'They still smell like endings.'

I continue working, my fingers pressing into the cool earth. I will not give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

'You know,' she says, her tone shifting into something sharper, 'I've been meaning to talk to you. About that... smell you've been covering up.'

My hands still.

'Don't worry,' she continues, leaning closer. 'I won't tell anyone you've been having hygiene issues. It must be hard, you know, with the...' She gestures vaguely at my legs. 'Limited mobility.'

She thinks it's poor hygiene. She has no idea she's smelling death.

'But I thought you should know,' Gia says, her voice dropping to a whisper, 'Jaxson notices too. He told me you remind him of a broken doll. Pretty to look at, maybe, but... not functional. Not where it counts.'

The words land like a physical blow. Not functional. Not where it counts.

She's telling me he's been with her. Intimately. Comparing us.

The last thread snaps.

'Thank you for your concern,' I say. My voice is steady. Distant. 'Was there anything else?'

Gia straightens, and I can hear the disappointment in her silence. She wanted me to break. To cry. To beg.

I won't.

'No,' she says finally. 'I think that covers it.'

She walks away, and I sit there in the garden with my hands in the dirt and the Moon Lilies blooming around me like small white ghosts.

I know what I have to do.

---

The storm hits just after midnight. I hear it coming—the wind picking up, the first drops of rain against the window. By the time I've packed my small bag, the downpour is torrential.

I don't leave a note. There's no one left who would read it.

The ground floor exit leads directly to the service path, and from there, it's a straight route to the territory border. I've mapped it in my head a hundred times. I know exactly where the patrol gaps are, exactly when the guards rotate.

What I didn't account for is the mud.

The rain has turned the path into a slick, churning mess. My wheels sink immediately, and I have to use all my upper body strength just to keep moving forward. The bag on my lap is already soaked. My hair is plastered to my face. The cold is so sharp it feels like it's cutting through my skin.

I'm fifty yards from the border when the wheels lock completely.

I push. Nothing. I try to rock the chair back and forth, but it only sinks deeper. The mud is up to the axles now, thick and black and impossible.

I try again. And again. My arms are shaking. My breath comes in ragged gasps.

I can't move.

The rain pounds down, and I sit there in the dark with my useless legs dragging in the dirt, and for the first time in years, I let myself cry.

The headlights cut through the rain before I hear the engine. I'm still stuck, wheels buried axle-deep in mud, when Jaxson's truck skids to a stop twenty feet from where I sit. The door slams. His boots hit the ground with a sound that carries even over the storm.

I don't look up. I keep my hands on the wheels, even though they won't move, even though my arms are shaking so hard I can barely grip the metal.

'What the hell do you think you're doing?'

His voice cuts through the rain. Not the Alpha Tone—not yet—but close. I can hear the edge of it, the warning.

'Leaving,' I say. My voice is steadier than I expected.

He's in front of me now, close enough that I can see the rain running down his face, the way his jaw is locked tight. 'You don't get to leave.'

'I'm not your prisoner.'

'You're my mate.' He spits the word like it's poison. 'You're bound to this pack. You don't just—' He gestures at the mud, at my pathetic attempt at escape. 'You can't even make it fifty yards without getting stuck.'

The truth of it burns worse than the cold. He's right. I'm trapped by my own body as much as by him.

He grabs the handles of my wheelchair and yanks it backward. The wheels come free with a sucking sound, and the sudden movement throws me forward. I catch myself on the armrests, but barely. He drags me back toward the Pack House, not walking, not helping—just pulling the chair like it's a piece of luggage he's annoyed to be carrying.

'Jaxson—'

'Shut up.' The Alpha Tone, finally. It hits me like a physical force, and my mouth closes against my will. My wolf is gone, but the bond still responds to his command. I hate it. I hate him.

We reach the service entrance. He shoves the chair through the doorway hard enough that I have to grip the wheels to keep from tipping. Martha is there, her face pale, her hands twisting in her apron.

'Get her cleaned up,' Jaxson says. He doesn't look at me. 'And make sure she understands she doesn't leave this building without my permission.'

He turns to go, and that's when I see it—the way his eyes drop to my left hand. To the ring.

My mother's ring. The one she wore as Luna. The one the pack elders gave me when they forced Jaxson to accept the bond. It's simple—silver band, small moonstone—but it's mine. The only thing I have left of her.

Jaxson's hand shoots out and grabs my wrist. His grip is iron.

'You don't deserve this,' he says.

He pulls. The ring catches on my knuckle, and for a second I think it won't come off, but then it does. He holds it up between us, and the moonstone catches the light.

'This belongs to a Luna,' he says. 'Not a crippled pretender who can't even make it to the border.'

He pockets the ring and walks away.

I sit there, dripping rainwater onto the floor, staring at my bare finger. Martha's hand touches my shoulder, but I can't feel it. I can't feel anything.

---

Two days later, I'm alone in my room when I pull out the burner phone Martha smuggled to me last week. My hands are steady as I dial the number I memorized.

'Thorne Hospice.' Dr. Marcus Thorne's voice is calm, professional.

'It's Liliana Anderson,' I say quietly. 'I need to arrange a transfer.'

There's a pause. 'Are you in immediate danger?'

'Not the kind you're thinking.' I take a breath. 'I have an inheritance. My mother's estate. I want it liquidated and transferred to your facility. For the Wolfless Pups program.'

Another pause. 'Liliana—'

'After,' I say. 'It goes into effect after. Martha will bring you a letter. You'll know when.'

He's quiet for a long moment. Then: 'I understand.'

I end the call and destroy the SIM card. Martha will dispose of the pieces. She's good at that—at making things disappear.

---

The scream comes from the Luna Suite just after dawn.

I'm in the medical wing, restocking supplies, when I hear it. High, panicked, followed by Jaxson's roar. My hands freeze on the bandage roll.

Footsteps thunder down the hallway. The door to the medical wing slams open.

'You.' Jaxson's eyes are wild. 'What did you do?'

I turn slowly. 'I don't—'

'Gia's sick. Vomiting. Shaking.' He crosses the distance between us in three strides. 'She said you brought her tea last night.'

My blood goes cold. 'I didn't—'

'She said you poisoned her.'

The accusation hangs in the air between us. I see it in his eyes—he believes her. He doesn't even question it.

'I haven't been near the Luna Suite in weeks,' I say. My voice is calm. Too calm. 'You know that.'

'You're lying.'

His hand closes around my throat.

The world narrows to the pressure of his fingers, the way my airway collapses, the burning in my lungs. I claw at his wrist, but he's too strong. His eyes glow gold—his wolf is surfacing.

'If anything happens to my heir,' he growls, and his voice is layered now, human and wolf speaking together, 'I will kill you myself.'

The edges of my vision go dark. I can't breathe. Can't think. There's only the pressure and the gold of his eyes and the certainty that this is how I die.

He releases me.

I collapse against the medical cabinet, gasping, my hands at my throat. He stands over me, chest heaving, and for a moment I think he's going to do it anyway. Finish what he started.

But he just turns and walks out.

I sit there on the floor, my throat burning, my hands shaking, and I feel it—the last thread of the bond, the one I've been holding onto despite everything, finally snap.

He would have killed me. He wanted to.

And I don't care anymore.