My room was exactly how I'd left it. Small. Dim. Mine.
The bed creaked as I dropped my bag onto it. I headed straight for the bathroom, already pulling my shirt over my head as I walked. Rhea had made herself at home on my mattress, sitting cross-legged with a piece of paper in her hands.
"Look!" she said, holding up her drawing. "This is the T-Rex! I gave him fangs like a wolf."
I peeked from the bathroom door and grinned. "He's terrifying. You're getting too good at this."
"I know," she beamed.
While I showered, she kept talking—bouncing between her field trip stories, her opinion on cafeteria pizza (gross), and which classmate she thought might secretly be a witch.
I listened. Mostly. Threw in a "yeah?" and "no way" when needed.
She didn't seem to notice—or didn't care—that I was half-tuned in.
She just wanted me there. That was enough.
Dinner was quiet.
Just the three of us at the table. Rhea chattered between bites, Lilian added in soft encouragement, and I stayed mostly silent, eating slowly, thinking about everything and nothing.
Dad didn't come home before sunset, which wasn't unusual. Patrols were long, especially for someone like him—part of the Alpha's outer ring of security. He didn't talk much about it. And honestly, I didn't ask.
Once the plates were cleared, I changed back into my work clothes. The second shift at the pack house wasn't optional.
Because of school, omegas like me only worked mornings and evenings. The older ones—either graduated or dropped out—worked full-time. Most of them had given up on escaping their rank. Some didn't even bother dreaming anymore.
Me? I was holding on by a thread.
Studying medicine wasn't just a choice—it was survival. If I managed to get my wolf, I could apply to become a full-fledged pack doctor once I graduated. That title came with respect, security… dignity. Things I hadn't had in a long time.
But without a wolf?
That dream meant nothing.
No wolf, no shift, no full bond to the pack. Just a degree and empty hands.
Still, I studied. I worked. I hoped.
Even if hope was starting to taste like blood in my mouth.
The pack house was louder in the evening. Most ranked wolves had finished their training or patrols by then, and the place became a hive of activity—dinner being prepared, meetings held, gossip whispered in corners. Omegas moved like background noise, blending into the architecture, never seen, never thanked.
I reported to the head omega, got assigned to the dining hall clean-up. Scrubbing tables, collecting dishes, wiping down chairs—glamorous, I know.
I moved mechanically, my body on autopilot, my mind drifting as I watched the high-rank wolves laugh over roasted meat and fine wine.
Leon wasn't there.
Neither was Ava.
Probably eating in the private hall.
Didn't matter. I avoided eye contact, kept my head down, and worked in silence.
I was invisible again.
And somehow, that felt safer than being seen.
By the time I finished my shift at the pack house, the sky was already soaked in darkness. The moon hung low and full, casting a soft silver glow across the trees as I walked down the gravel road toward the outer gates. Most of the wolves in the pack house were either finishing their dinner or heading off to patrols. Me? I just wanted to get home.
I spotted my father near the east guard station. He'd just finished his own work shift and was checking in with the Alpha's inner circle, reporting on the day's patrols with the other senior warriors. I didn't interrupt—he wouldn't want me to. But when he finally spotted me waiting by the edge of the trail, he gave me that small, tired smile of his.
The one that never quite reached his eyes anymore.
He didn't ask how my day went. He didn't need to. He already knew. They all did. School was always the same. The Alpha's house was always the same. The sneers. The whispers. The bruises that weren't always physical.
He knew how it wore me down.
But he also knew he couldn't fix it.
Not anymore.
When I was younger, he tried. Gods, he tried. Every time someone shoved me, insulted me, spat on me, he'd show up—quiet but furious—and step between me and the world. And for a while, it worked. They left me alone. Until they didn't.
Until the names got worse.
"Daddy's little pet."
"Useless omega hiding behind her warrior daddy."
"Can't fight her own battles—needs a babysitter."
And yeah, maybe he could've kept shielding me longer. Maybe he wanted to. But eventually he realized something: if I never learned to hold my own ground, I'd get eaten alive the second he wasn't there.
And I'd be alone a lot more often than not.
So instead of protecting me, he started training me.