Chapter 6

Elara Vance's POV:

A fragile tendril of hope unfurled in my chest as I made my way toward the archives the next morning. It wasn't happiness, not even close, but it was a sense of purpose. A job. A space of my own. A life, however small, that I could build with my own two hands.

My path took me through the main hall, where a regal, sharp-featured woman stopped me with a single word.

"You."

Her voice was quiet, but it carried the unmistakable weight of command. It was Mira Thorne, Ryker's mother, the pack's former Luna. She sat on a plush velvet sofa, sipping tea, a picture of aristocratic disdain. Beside her stood a terrified-looking Omega servant I recognized as Martha.

I stopped, bowing my head respectfully. "Good morning, Luna Mira."

She set her cup down with a delicate clink, her eyes raking over me, sharp and critical. "Don't call me Luna. I wouldn't want to be associated with an Omega who somehow managed to slither her way into the position."

The insult landed, hot and shameful, but I kept my face a blank mask.

Mira gestured to Martha, who approached me with a trembling hand, holding a tray with a single, steaming cup of tea.

"A special welcome gift," Mira said, a smile playing on her lips that didn't reach her cold eyes. "Drink it."

A strange, acrid scent mingled with the aroma of chamomile. My wolf, ever vigilant, snarled a warning in my mind. Wolfsbane. Not enough to kill, but enough to cause weakness, nausea. A poison meant to punish and humiliate.

My blood ran cold. "Thank you, but I'm not thirsty."

"I wasn't asking." Mira's voice was steel. To defy her was to defy the Alpha's family. It was social suicide.

With a shaking hand, I took the cup. I could feel Martha's pity, a silent, helpless wave. Mira watched me, leaning back into the cushions, her expression one of pleasant anticipation, as if I were a bug under her magnifying glass.

"Must I have it poured down your throat?" she asked sweetly.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and drained the cup. The liquid was bitter, and a burning trail seared its way down my throat and into my stomach. A wave of dizziness and weakness washed over me almost instantly. I fought back the urge to gag, placing the empty cup back on the tray with a steady hand. I would not give her the satisfaction of seeing my pain. This was a lesson I had learned a thousand times in the Omega dens: the more it hurts, the less you show.

Mira looked momentarily surprised by my stoicism, but it quickly melted back into contempt. "You have the constitution of a sewer rat, I'll give you that," she said dismissively. "Remember your place, Elara. You may have fooled the Elders, but to me, you will always be dirt beneath my heel."

My body trembled with the effort of standing upright.

"Now, get out of my sight."

I turned and walked away, each step an exercise in pure willpower. The weakness was a creeping vine, wrapping around my limbs, but I would not falter. Not here. I could feel her malevolent gaze on my back, a physical weight, all the way down the hall.