Chapter 4

The hearing was convened at midday.

Liniluna stood alone at the center of the hall, hands folded loosely behind her back, posture straight. The elders sat in a half circle above her, elevated not just by stone but by expectation. Clan leaders and witnesses filled the outer benches, murmuring until the signal was given.

Silence followed.

The clerk read the charge. “Violation of Pack Law Three. Unofficial labor performed by an omega outside sanctioned domestic roles.”

Liniluna listened without expression.

“Do you deny this charge?” an elder asked.

“No,” she said.

A ripple moved through the room.

“Then explain,” the clan leader said, voice measured. “Why did you choose to violate standing law?”

Liniluna lifted her chin—not defiant, not submissive. Present.

“I work at the healer’s hut,” she said calmly, “because healing requires patience, sensory awareness, and consistency. Omegas are trained in all three.”

An elder frowned. Another leaned forward.

“Our laws do not question ability,” one said. “They preserve order.”

“Order that weakens the pack is not preservation,” Liniluna replied evenly.

Murmurs rose, then stilled.

She continued, unhurried. “In the past year alone, I have cataloged forty-seven local herbs and roots. I assist in drying, grinding, and preserving them. I prepare poultices, track reactions, and monitor dosage adjustments based on scent sensitivity.”

A pause.

One elder’s brows rose. Another exchanged a glance with the clan leader.

“I track patterns,” Liniluna added. “Seasonal shifts. Soil changes. How stress alters healing outcomes.”

“And why,” an elder cut in sharply, “should an omega be involved in this?”

Liniluna did not hesitate. “Because omegas are taught to notice what others overlook. Because our lives depend on reading change early.”

The hall grew still.

“Omegas are subdued from childhood,” she said, voice calm but carrying. “Taught to be quiet. To wait. To endure. That endurance does not disappear when confined—it turns inward.”

She let that settle.

“When omegas are denied purpose beyond survival,” she continued, “their quality of life declines. Depression increases. Healing slows. Fertility drops. The pack loses not just individuals, but momentum.”

An elder shifted uncomfortably.

“You speak boldly,” another said. “For someone accused.”

“I speak accurately,” Liniluna replied.

The clan leader studied her. “And your own reason?”

She met his gaze. “I work at the healer’s hut because it keeps me whole. Because my heat recovery improved. Because my body responds better when my mind is engaged. Because healing others anchors me.”

Silence stretched.

From the back of the hall, unseen by her, Mivirick Thorne watched without moving, one quiet thought crossing his mind: She speaks like someone who knows her worth.

An elder cleared his throat. “You are proposing a reform?.”

“No,” Liniluna said. “I am presenting reality.”

Another elder leaned forward. “If we allow omegas to work, boundaries erode.”

“Boundaries already erode,” she replied. “You simply don’t look where the cracks form.”

A murmur of agreement—small, dangerous—rose from the benches.

The clan leader raised a hand. “Enough.”

The hall fell silent again.

“You do not ask for permission,” he said slowly.

“No,” Liniluna agreed. “I ask for consideration.”

He studied her for a long moment. “And if we deny it?”

Liniluna did not flinch. “Then I will comply with the ruling. But the need will remain.”

One elder sighed. “She is not wrong.”

Another snapped, “She is an omega.”

“Yes,” the first replied. “And she is useful.”

Liniluna’s jaw tightened—not in offense, but restraint.

The clan leader stood. “This hearing is adjourned for deliberation.”

The gavel struck.

As the hall broke into low conversation, Liniluna bowed once—precise, respectful—and turned to leave.

She did not look back.

She did not need to.