Cold wakes Lyra before the bell does.It always does. Her room sits at the end of the servants' hall, the last door before the stone gives way to bare rock, and the wind finds every crack in the wall like it's looking for her on purpose. She pulls the thin blanket tighter and stares up at the ceiling, watching her own breath curl into the dark.Somewhere above her, the rest of Blackthorn Keep is still asleep. Warriors in their warm beds. Healers in rooms with real fireplaces. The Alpha, high up in the Moon Tower, wrapped in furs thick enough to swallow a person whole. Lyra used to imagine what that felt like, waking up warm. She doesn't anymore. There's no use aching for something she'll never have.She is an Omega. The lowest rank in the pack, lower than lowest, really, because at least the other low ranks get looked at once in a while. Lyra gets looked through. She has learned to move through the Keep like smoke, quiet and gray and easy to forget, because the alternative is worse. O
Last Updated : 2026-08-14 Read more