Before the first light of dawn pierced the heavy drapes of the omega quarters, Jade was already awake.
The makeshift cot beneath her felt like a bed of stones. Sleep had come only in brief, haunted snatches — when nightmares didn't claw her back into the waking world. The chill of the night air clung to her thin, tattered blanket, and the stale scent of mold and old sweat filled her nostrils.
As the first crack of light slipped into the room, the guards came.
"Up, mutt!" one barked, kicking at her cot. Jade jerked upright, her body heavy with exhaustion.
She moved mechanically, dragging her aching limbs into motion. No words were spoken. No sympathy offered. She knew better than to expect it now.
The pack house awaited — vast and sprawling, a living testament to the strength of the Moonfall Pack. Its halls gleamed with polished wood and
stone, the pride of generations.
And it was hers to clean.
Bucket in hand, she knelt and scrubbed the floors until her hands were raw and bleeding. She polished the grand staircases, dusted the towering shelves of the library, scrubbed the scum from the kitchen's cavernous sinks.
All while pack members walked past her, not sparing her a second glance — or sneering openly down at her.
"Missed a spot, omega," a warrior said, kicking over the water bucket so it spilled across the newly cleaned floor.
Jade bent without a word, mopping up the mess as the warrior chuckled and sauntered away.
By midday, her muscles screamed in protest. Her palms were blistered, knees bruised from kneeling on stone and wood. Her body was a
battleground of pain.
But there was no reprieve.
At the kitchen, things grew worse. Omegas she once helped and comforted now treated her worse than a stray dog. They threw her stale bread — dry and rock-hard — laughing as it hit her chest and fell to the floor.
"Eat up, mutt," one snickered.
Jade's cheeks burned with humiliation, but she picked up the bread anyway, clutching it to her chest. Hunger had long since stolen her pride.
It was then that Lucan entered the kitchen.
The room stilled.
Lucan, the Beta of the Moonfall Pack — once Caden's closest friend, now a conflicted figure who carried his grief like a second skin. His presence commanded attention, a reminder of power, loyalty, and mourning.
The omegas straightened quickly, masks of false innocence slipping into place. Jade kept her eyes lowered, willing herself invisible.
Lucan's sharp gaze swept the room. He said nothing about the scene he'd just witnessed, but Jade felt the judgment in his silence — cold and
unreadable.
"You," he said, his voice cutting through the heavy air.
Jade startled, eyes darting to his face.
"Follow me."
Wordless, she obeyed, trailing behind him through the winding halls. Her legs trembled from fatigue, but she forced herself to keep up.
They stopped near the Beta's office, where fewer eyes lingered.
Lucan turned and tossed something at her. Instinctively, she caught it: a loaf of fresh bread, still warm.
She stared at it, then at him, bewildered.
"Eat," he muttered, his tone rough. "Before you collapse and become even more useless."
Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back fiercely.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Lucan's jaw tightened. He looked away, as if her gratitude physically pained him.
"Save your thanks. They're worthless to me," he said, voice grating. "Caden..." His voice faltered briefly before hardening again. "Caden wouldn't want you dead in a corner like a rat. That's the only reason."
Jade lowered her head, cradling the bread against her chest.
"I understand."
"Good," he snapped. Then, after a beat, softer — almost reluctant: "Stay out of trouble."
He turned on his heel and strode away without another word.
Jade remained frozen, overwhelmed by the brief encounter.
Lucan hated her — she could see it in the tight lines of his face, hear it in the contempt threading his voice. But buried deep within that hatred was something else: a flicker of reluctant pity. A fragile, reluctant tether to Caden's memory.
She ate the bread slowly, savoring every bite as if it were a feast.
That night, as she curled up on her cot once more, the voices and laughter of the thriving pack floating down the hallways, Jade pressed a hand to her aching chest.
The hurt was still there.
The loneliness.
The shame.
But also... a tiny, stubborn spark of defiance.
They had thrown her into the dirt.
They had stripped her of everything.
But she was still breathing.
And somehow, somehow, she would survive.