Elara Thorne POV:

My first act of freedom was to search for food. The kitchen was as bare as I remembered, a testament to Astrid’s cruelty. All I found was a small, stale loaf of bread with green spots of mold blooming on the crust. The phantom pains of starvation from my previous life made my stomach clench.

"Go hunt," I told Magnus, my voice leaving no room for argument. "I want enough meat to last us three days."

He simply nodded, his eyes still wide with a dawning awe, and left without a word.

The front door creaked open a short while later, and my father-in-law, Gideon Stone, stumbled in. He was a large, burly man, and the reek of cheap ale preceded him.

"Astrid!" he bellowed, his voice thick with drink. "Where's my dinner? Is that Omega slacking off again?"

I stepped out of the kitchen, my expression cold and unreadable. "I locked her up."

Gideon stared at me for a second, then burst into a loud, mocking laugh. "You? You locked her up? A pathetic creature who can barely feel her own inner wolf?"

He lumbered toward me, using his height and bulk to try and intimidate me, a tactic that had always worked before. "I don't care what little fit you're throwing. Let my wife out now, and get back to your chores!" He reached out to grab the collar of my worn-out tunic.

My inner wolf let out a warning snarl in my head. A wild light flared in my eyes.

Before his fingers could touch me, I moved. My knee shot up, slamming hard into his soft belly.

Gideon let out a choked grunt, doubling over in pain. Disbelief was etched all over his face. He never thought I’d dare to touch him, let alone with such force.

Rage contorted his features. "You're dead!" he roared. His body began to tremble, the tell-tale sign of an impending shift. His fingernails darkened and elongated.

I knew my current body stood no chance against a half-shifted wolf. But I felt no fear.

My eyes darted to the fireplace. I lunged for the heavy, iron fire poker resting beside it. The tip was adorned with a small, decorative piece of silver, a trinket left behind by a visitor years ago.

Gideon’s transformation halted abruptly when he saw the glint of silver. Primal fear flashed in his eyes.

In that split second of hesitation, I swung the poker with all my might. It connected with his kneecap with a sickening crack.

He screamed, a raw, agonized sound, and collapsed to the floor. The silver tip sizzled against his skin, the smell of burning flesh filling the air. The pain and the terror of the silver completely broke his will to fight.

I pressed the silver tip against his throat. He shuddered violently, the metal searing his skin.

I looked down at him, my voice as cold and hard as the iron in my hand. "This house is mine now. Do you have a problem with that?"

He gritted his teeth, pain and humiliation warring on his face. "...No," he finally choked out.

"Good," I said, pulling the poker back. "Go to the woodshed. Stay there with your wife. Before I change my mind."

Gideon struggled to his feet, a venomous glare in his eyes. But he didn't dare defy me. He limped away, dragging his shattered leg, a broken patriarch.

I watched him go, the adrenaline slowly draining from my system. I had gambled, and I had won.

I went back to the kitchen and carefully cut the mold off the bread. As I waited for my son to return, my mind was already racing ahead. I had to get stronger. I had to get out of here.

I had to find Lycus Stone.

The house was quiet, but the balance of power had been shattered and remade. The real fight had not even begun.

Elara Thorne POV:

Magnus returned with a deer slung over his shoulders, a fine prize. I nodded in approval and immediately set to work, my hands moving with a practiced skill I'd learned surviving in the wild during my last life. Magnus watched me, a look of awe and confusion on his face. This was not the helpless mother he knew.

A loud, rattling engine announced the arrival of a beat-up pickup truck. My daughter, sixteen-year-old Freya, jumped out. She was dressed in clothes far too expensive for our family, her face painted with makeup.

Her eyes lit up when she saw the deer. "Finally, some real food! I'm starving," she complained, already reaching for the choicest cut, a thick leg of venison. "Hurry up, Mom. My friends are waiting for me in town."

It was her usual routine: take the best for herself to show off, leaving us the scraps.

My skinning knife flashed, its tip stopping an inch from her manicured fingers.

Freya shrieked, snatching her hand back. "What are you doing? Are you crazy?"

I slowly looked up from my work, my eyes flat and devoid of warmth. "None of this is for you."

She stared at me, then laughed as if I'd told a joke. "What did you say? This is my brother's kill!"

A cold smile touched my lips. "And what have you done for this family, Freya? Have you ever washed a dish? Chopped a piece of firewood? What gives you the right to enjoy any of it?"

She was speechless for a moment, then her face flushed with anger. "I'm your daughter! It's your duty to provide for me!"

She turned to her brother for support. "Magnus, look at her! She's lost her mind!"

Magnus glanced from my icy expression to his sister's indignant one and remained silent.

I stood up, wiping my bloody hands on a rag, and walked over to her. "From now on, 'duty' is a word that I define in this house."

I gestured to the truck. "Those 'friends' of yours only hang around because you occasionally steal something good from home to share. Now, there's nothing left to steal."

My eyes narrowed. "And that dress, that makeup... Astrid's been giving you money behind my back, hasn't she?"

The color drained from Freya's face. It was her secret.

"Well, her money is gone now," I continued, my voice relentless. "From now on, if you want to eat, you hunt. If you want new clothes, you earn the money to buy them."

I walked back to the deer, sliced off a small, gristly piece of meat from the neck, and tossed it at her feet. "That is your share for today. Eat it, or leave."

Freya trembled with a rage and humiliation she had never known. Tears welled in her eyes. "I hate you!" she screamed. "I'm going to find Grandma and Grandpa!"

She spun around and stormed toward the house to tattle, just as she always had.

I didn't stop her. I just called out calmly, "They're in the woodshed. You can join them if you like."

She skidded to a halt at the woodshed door and saw the heavy bolt slid across it. The faint sound of her grandparents' moaning drifted out from within.

The reality of the situation finally crashed down on her. Her protectors were gone. She was alone.

A wave of pure terror washed over her, and she collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.

I ignored her cries. I turned to Magnus, my voice even. "Finish skinning the deer. We're eating well tonight."

My tone was completely steady, as if Freya's breakdown was nothing more than the rustling of leaves in the wind.

Magnus looked at his weeping sister, then back at me. The respect in his eyes deepened into something closer to fear.

I knew what I was doing was harsh. But for a child as spoiled as Freya, the only way to force her to grow was to sever all her dependencies at once.

Elara Thorne POV:

The smell of roasting venison filled our small cabin, a rich, savory scent we hadn't enjoyed in years. I ignored Freya's wails from outside, focusing on seasoning the meat with the wild herbs I had gathered. This meal was a reward—for me, and for Magnus, the son who had stood by me.

Freya's crying, however, had attracted attention. I saw a few neighbors peer out of their windows, though none dared to approach. The Stones were known for their violent tempers.

Then, a vehicle I recognized pulled up—an old truck belonging to the pack administration. Silas Croft, the pack's deacon, stepped out. He was a stern, middle-aged man on his regular patrol to collect pack taxes. He frowned when he heard Freya's sobs.

Seeing him, Freya scrambled to her feet as if he were her savior. "Uncle Silas! Help me! My mother's gone insane!" she cried, running to him.

Silas caught her, his expression concerned. "What's going on, Freya?"

She launched into a dramatic, tear-filled story, claiming I had attacked her for no reason, refused her food, and locked her poor, innocent grandparents away.

I heard the commotion and stepped outside, wiping my hands on a cloth. I met Silas’s suspicious gaze with a tired, long-suffering smile. "Deacon Silas. I apologize for the scene."

I knew how to handle men like him. I had dealt with their condescending pity my entire first life.

"Elara," he said, his tone accusatory. "Is what Freya says true? Where are Gideon and Astrid?"

I let out a heavy sigh, a perfect picture of a weary mother at her wit's end. "It's just family trouble, I'm afraid. Gideon drank too much again last night, got into a terrible fight with Astrid. They're both so stubborn, they've locked themselves in their room and won't see anyone."

I twisted the truth, turning my act of rebellion into a common domestic dispute.

Then, I looked at Freya with heartbreaking disappointment. "And this one... she gets more spoiled by the day. She threw a tantrum because I wouldn't buy her the latest dress from town, and now she's telling lies that I won't feed her."

I pointed to the piece of meat still lying in the dirt near her feet. "You see? I cut that for her myself. She threw it on the ground because she said it wasn't good enough."

Silas's gaze flickered from Freya’s fancy clothes to my own simple, patched tunic. His expression softened. He was already believing me.

"No! She's lying!" Freya protested desperately.

I spoke over her, addressing Silas directly. "Her grandparents have spoiled her rotten. In fact, I was just thinking it's time she went to the pack's Youth Training Camp. Learn some discipline, some responsibility."

This was a smart move. The pack elders were always complaining about the laziness of the younger generation.

Silas's face cleared completely. He nodded in approval. "You're right, Elara. A little hard work would do her good." He turned to Freya. "Your mother is thinking of your future."

He then looked back at me. "About the pack tax..."

"Of course," I said, quickly fetching a small pouch from inside.It was filled with rare healing herbs, found by the hardworking and devoted me of the past. "Here is our contribution for the season. I believe this should be more than sufficient."

Silas’s eyes lit up. The herbs were far more valuable than the few coins we were expected to pay. My status in his eyes instantly shifted from a troubled Omega to a resourceful, responsible pack member.

"Thank you, Elara," he said, taking the pouch. "I'll leave you to your family matters."

He got in his truck and drove away without a second glance.

Freya stared after him, her mouth agape. Her one chance at rescue had not only failed but had backfired spectacularly.

I walked over to her, my voice low and cold. "You have two choices now. One, you pack your things and report to the training camp tomorrow. Or two, you stay here, and you learn how to hunt and earn your keep."

She looked into my emotionless eyes and, for the first time, she felt a sliver of true fear.

I left her there and went back inside. "Come, Magnus," I said to my son, who had watched the entire exchange in silent awe. "Dinner is ready."

The crisis was averted. And in solving it, I had also dealt with the problem of my daughter.