The Omega quarters were damp, smelling of mold and despair. My stomach twisted with a hunger that had become a constant companion over the last three days. I huddled in the corner of the small cell, wrapping my thin, gray rags tighter around my shivering frame. Pierce had made his point. I was nothing to him now but a stain he wanted to scrub away.

But as the moon climbed high, casting silver bars of light across the dirt floor, a shadow detached itself from the darkness of the corridor.

My heart leaped into my throat. I scrambled back, expecting Pierce or one of his guards coming to deliver another beating. But then the scent hit me—rain, cedar, and deep, earthy musk.

"Apollo?" I breathed, scrambling to my knees at the bars.

He was there, crouching in the shadows like a phantom. He looked rougher than before, dirt smudged on his cheekbones, but his golden eyes burned with an intensity that warmed the cold air between us.

"I told you I wouldn't leave you," he whispered, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in my chest.

He reached through the iron bars. In his hand was a bundle wrapped in a large leaf—strips of fresh, roasted venison and a small flask of water. I took it with trembling hands, tearing into the meat like a starving animal. He watched me, his jaw tight, a flicker of pain crossing his face as he saw my desperation.

"I thought Pierce chased you off," I said between bites, wiping grease from my chin. "If he finds you here..."

"He won't," Apollo said, his tone hard with confidence. He reached through the bars again, his calloused fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. The touch sent a jolt of electricity down my spine, reawakening the bond my wolf was screaming for. "Listen to me, Sloan. I can’t get you out tonight—not without alerting the whole pack. But justice is coming. I promise you."

I gripped the cold iron bars, leaning into his touch. "What kind of justice? Pierce is the Alpha. His word is law."

Apollo’s eyes darkened. "Not for long. But I need something from you. You know this house better than anyone. You’ve seen who comes and goes."

I nodded slowly. "I used to run the infirmary. I saw everything."

"Does Pierce have private dealings? Meetings he keeps off the official pack records?" Apollo asked, his gaze searching mine. "I need proof, Sloan. Concrete evidence of who he’s really working with."

My mind flashed back to nights I spent late in the library, researching herbs. I remembered the heavy thud of boots on the floorboards above—in Pierce's private study. I remembered the scent of rogues lingering in the hallway the next morning, and the way Pierce would lock his door whenever I walked by.

"The study," I whispered. "On the third floor. There’s a loose floorboard under the bear skin rug. I saw him hide a black ledger there once when he thought I wasn't looking."

Apollo’s expression sharpened. "Can you get to it?"

"Tomorrow is the Coronation," I said, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. "The whole pack will be chaotic. Everyone will be focused on Isabela."

"Use the chaos," Apollo urged, squeezing my hand one last time before pulling back into the shadows. "Get that ledger. It’s the key to our freedom."

The next morning, the Pack House was a hive of frantic activity. Servants rushed past with garlands of flowers, and the smell of roasting pigs for the feast filled the air. As an Omega, I was invisible. I was given a bucket and a rag and told to scrub the baseboards of the grand hallway.

I worked my way slowly toward the staircase, keeping my head down. Pierce was shouting orders in the ballroom, his voice booming about the seating arrangements for the visiting Alphas. Isabela was nowhere to be seen, likely preening in the master suite.

This was my chance.

I left my bucket near the kitchen entrance and slipped into the servants' stairwell. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. If I was caught up here, in the Alpha’s private wing, the punishment wouldn't just be starvation. It would be public execution.

The third-floor corridor was silent. The thick carpet swallowed the sound of my bare feet as I crept toward the double mahogany doors of Pierce's study. I pressed my ear to the wood. Silence.

I turned the handle. Locked.

Panic flared, but I forced it down. I was a Healer; I had steady hands. I pulled a thin metal pin from my ragged dress—a remnant of my old life—and slid it into the lock. I twisted, feeling for the tumblers. *Click.*

The door creaked open. I slipped inside and closed it softly behind me.

The study smelled of Pierce—tobacco, expensive leather, and the underlying rot of his cruelty. I didn't let myself linger on the fear. I moved straight to the massive bear skin rug in the center of the room.

I threw the heavy fur aside. The floorboards looked seamless, but I knew where to look. I ran my fingers along the dark wood grain until I felt the slight groove I had noticed months ago. I dug my fingernails in and pried upward.

The board popped loose with a groan that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room. I froze, holding my breath.

Nothing happened. No alarms. No footsteps.

I reached into the dark hollow beneath the floor. My fingers brushed against cool leather. I pulled it out—a thick, black ledger, bound with no title.

I opened it to a random page. My eyes widened as I scanned the neat handwriting. It wasn't just accounting. It was a list of shipments. *Silver. Wolfsbane. Assault Rifles.* And next to each shipment were names of known rogue leaders and coordinates for drop-offs in the neutral zones.

Pierce wasn't just tolerating rogues; he was arming them. He was funding the very terrorists that threatened the Lycan Kingdom.

"I got you," I whispered, clutching the book to my chest.

Suddenly, the doorknob rattled.

"I'm telling you, I heard something," a guard's voice muffled through the wood.

Terror, cold and sharp, pierced through me. I shoved the floorboard back into place and kicked the rug over it. There was nowhere to hide. I shoved the ledger down the front of my dress, the leather cold against my skin, and pressed my back against the heavy velvet drapes of the window, praying to the Moon Goddess that shadows would be enough to save me.

The drums began. A low, rhythmic thrumming that vibrated through the floorboards of the empty Pack House, syncing with the frantic beating of my heart. Outside, hundreds of pack members were chanting, their voices rising in a feverish crescendo. "Luna Isabela. Luna Isabela."

Each syllable was a fresh insult, but today, they were also my salvation.

I pressed the stolen black ledger tight against my chest, the cold leather warming against my skin. It was heavy—not just in weight, but in the innocent lives it represented. Pierce’s treason was written in ink on these pages, and I was the only one who could deliver it to the right hands. But first, I had to survive leaving the territory.

I slipped out of the study, moving like a ghost through the corridors that had once been my home. The servants, the guards, even the omegas were all gathered at the ritual grounds for the coronation. The house was eerily silent, smelling of stale cigar smoke and the lingering rot of Pierce’s cruelty. I didn't look back at the infirmary door. The Sloan who healed quietly in the shadows was dead. The woman walking out was a survivor.

I burst through the rear kitchen door and sprinted toward the treeline. The cool night air hit my face, smelling of pine and freedom. My legs burned, weakened from days of starvation in the omega cells, but my wolf surged forward, lending me her strength. *Run,* she urged. *Run before he claims her. Run before he remembers us.*

I tore through the underbrush, thorns snagging my gray rags, tearing at my skin. I didn't stop. I couldn't. The border was a mile out—a mile between me and the neutral lands where Pierce’s Alpha command would lose its absolute hold.

The chanting grew fainter behind me, replaced by the sounds of the night forest. Finally, I saw it. The ancient oak tree that marked the northern edge of the Blood River territory. Its bark was scarred with the claw marks of generations of wolves who had patrolled this line.

I skidded to a halt before it, my chest heaving. I could cross now. I could just step over the line and disappear. But if I left the bond intact, Pierce would always be able to track me. He would feel my emotions, sense my location, and his Alpha voice could still bring me to my knees if he got close enough.

I had to break it.

I reached into the pocket of my rags and pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment I’d stolen from the study, along with a silver letter opener I’d swiped from a desk. My hands trembled, not with fear, but with the magnitude of what I was about to do.

I placed my left hand against the rough bark of the oak. With a sharp inhale, I drew the silver blade across my palm.

Pain flared, hot and sharp, but it was nothing compared to the agony of the last three days. Blood welled up, dark and thick in the moonlight. I pressed my bleeding palm flat against the parchment, leaving a stark, crimson handprint—the ancient symbol of a blood oath.

Dip, write. Dip, write.

Using my own blood as ink, I scrawled the words that would shatter my world.

*"I, Sloan Morgan, formerly of the Blood River Pack, do hereby reject you, Alpha Pierce, as my mate. I reject your title. I reject your bond. I reject your blood."*

I took a breath that rattled in my lungs. *"Let the Moon Goddess witness my release."*

I slammed the parchment onto the trunk of the border tree, driving the silver letter opener through the center of the bloody handprint to pin it in place.

The moment the metal pierced the wood, the world stopped.

A soundless crack echoed in the center of my chest, followed by a blinding, white-hot pain. It felt as if an invisible hook had been ripped violently from my heart. I gasped, falling to my knees in the dirt, clutching my chest. My wolf howled in mourning—not for Pierce, but for the loss of the mate bond itself, a sacred connection now severed beyond repair.

The pain was suffocating, a vacuum where a soul should be. But then, it cleared. The heavy, suffocating pressure of Pierce’s dominance vanished. The invisible chain around my neck dissolved.

Silence hung heavy in the forest for one heartbeat. Two.

Then, from a mile away, a sound tore through the night that made the birds scatter from the trees.

It was a roar. A guttural, agonizing scream of pure, unadulterated loss. It wasn't human, and it wasn't entirely wolf. It was the sound of an Alpha being brought to his knees.

I squeezed my eyes shut, imagining the scene. Pierce, standing on the dais, the crown in his hands, ready to place it on Isabela’s head. And then—the snap. The sudden, violent emptiness. He would be on the ground now, gasping for air, his wolf thrashing in confusion and pain as the bond he had ignored was ripped away from him.

He knew. He finally knew what he had lost.

"Goodbye, Alpha," I whispered into the dark.

I stood up, my legs shaking but my spirit lighter than it had been in years. I turned my back on the Blood River territory, stepped over the boundary line, and disappeared into the shadows of the neutral lands.