Morning comes gray and bitter.

Claire wakes on the hard floor of the old storage hut, her body aching from the beatings of the night before. The damp smell of mold clings to the air, and her stomach twists with hunger. They hadn’t given her food since her trial.

She pushes herself up slowly, her palms sore and cracked. Every movement reminds her she is no longer a daughter of the pack, no longer someone with dignity. She is Omega now. Slave. Nothing.

The door bangs open. Zoe stands there with two other she-wolves, smirking.

“Get up, Omega,” Zoe snaps. “The Alpha wants the yard cleaned before the sun is high.”

Claire swallows back her pain and forces herself to her feet. “I’ll do it.”

Zoe’s eyes gleam with cruelty. She steps closer, grabbing Claire’s chin roughly. “Say it properly.”

Claire’s throat burns. “Yes, I’ll do it, my lady.”

Zoe releases her with a shove, laughing. “Good. Remember your place.” She turns to the others. “Watch her. If she slacks, whip her.”

The wolves laugh as Claire stumbles outside into the morning light.

The pack’s central yard is already buzzing with life—warriors sparring, children running, women hanging clothes. All of them pause to stare at her. Some spit on the ground as she passes. Others whisper loud enough for her to hear.

“She used to think she’d be Luna.”

“Now look at her. Filthy Omega.”

“She deserves worse.”

Claire grips the broom in her hands and lowers her head. She begins sweeping the dirt yard, each stroke slow and painful. Her body protests, but she keeps moving. If she stops, the lash of the whip will follow.

Hours drag. Her stomach growls, but no one spares her food. When a half-eaten loaf falls from a child’s hand, Claire bends quickly to grab it.

But a warrior snatches it first, crushing it in his fist. “Omega eats when she’s told,” he growls. He shoves the ruined bread into the mud. “Not before.”

Claire’s lips tremble, but she says nothing. She kneels, sweeping the dirt once more, her hunger gnawing at her insides.

As she works, memories slip in unbidden.

Her mother’s hands, soft and warm, brushing her hair back.

Her mother’s voice, soothing when Claire had nightmares.

Her mother’s laughter, gentle and kind.

Tears blur her vision. Her mother is gone—taken in blood—and the world blames her for it.

Did I really kill her? The thought slices through her again. Was it really me?

The image flashes—waking in her room, blood on her hands, her mother’s lifeless body. But something doesn’t add up.

The door had been open. She never left it open when she slept. And she remembers a smell—sharp, unfamiliar, mixed with iron. Not just blood. Something else.

Her broom slows. Her breath catches. Could someone else have been there?

Before she can think further, a sharp whip cracks across her back. She gasps, stumbling forward.

“Work, Omega!” the guard snarls. “Don’t stand like a fool.”

Claire bites her lip until she tastes blood. She lowers her head and continues sweeping, her body burning from the lash.

Hours later, the yard is finally clean. Claire leans on the broom for support, her vision swimming.

From the corner, she hears voices—low, hushed. Two Elders, standing near the hall. She freezes, her ears straining.

“…it worked. The pack believes it.”

“They had to. We gave them proof.”

“And the girl? Without her wolf, she’s nothing. She won’t last long.”

Claire’s heart slams against her ribs.

Proof? Believes?

Her breath catches, and she steps closer, hiding behind the wall.

One Elder mutters, “But we must be careful. If anyone learns Helena’s death was planned—”

Claire’s stomach drops.

Planned.

Her mother’s death wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t her frenzy. It was murder.

And someone in the Elders knows.

Her pulse races. She grips the wall to steady herself. But her foot slips on the loose dirt, and a small stone skitters across the ground.

The whispers cut off.

“Who’s there?”

Claire’s blood runs cold. She scrambles back, clutching her broom.

A shadow falls across her. Elder Seraphine’s sharp eyes narrow as she steps forward. “You,” she hisses. “Omega. What are you doing here?”

Claire bows quickly, forcing her voice steady. “Sweeping, my lady. Only sweeping.”

Seraphine studies her for a long, tense moment. Then she sneers. “Stay in your place, girl. A curse like you has no business near the hall.”

“Yes, my lady,” Claire whispers, lowering her eyes.

The Elders turn away, their voices dropping too low for her to hear.

Claire stays frozen until they disappear. Then she exhales shakily, her heart hammering.

She clutches the broom tighter. Her body aches, her stomach twists with hunger, her back burns from the whip. But her mind is sharper now.

She didn’t kill her mother. She is sure of it. The Elders know something. They are hiding the truth.

And though she is beaten, starved, mocked, and called cursed—Claire knows one thing.

She will find out the truth.

And when she does, the pack will regret the day they made her an Omega.