LAYLA'S POV
Since the binding ceremony, I have perfected the art of disappearing.
I decide to stay far away from Lucian, for real this time. If he trains in the courtyard, I scrub the kitchens. If he walks the halls, I duck into side passages with my head bowed low. My chores become a way to avoid him. I tell myself it is safer this way, safer for me, safer for him, safer for the mess of feelings that we have between us. Things are just too complicated.
But my body is a traitor. My heart races whenever I hear his voice down the hall. My wolf stirs when his shadow crosses my path. Every part of me wants to look, to reach, to remember the feel of his eyes on me. And every time, I force myself to look away.
I have no idea if I am really in love with him or I just like the attention he gives me and how he makes me feel. All I know is that I can't afford trouble. Not now. Not when I am barely holding myself together.
That day, I stand in the laundry quarters when Janet appears. She doesn't wait for us to be alone; she pulls me to a corner behind stacks of folded sheets.
"Layla," she whispers, "You saved me during the attack. Thank you."
I blink at her. "I… I did what anyone would've done. You're my friend."
She shakes her head. "No. Don't lie to me. I saw what you did. You pulled me out from under stone that would've crushed two grown men. I was there. I felt your hands drag me out. Omegas don't do that."
My stomach twists. "It was adrenaline. People do impossible things in danger."
"Adrenaline doesn't move boulders, Layla," she says flatly. Her eyes search mine. "Who are you really?"
Her words shock me. Who am I really? I have asked myself the same thing a hundred times, every time I have strength when I should have been weak.
"I don't know," I whisper.
Her expression softens. "Then listen to me. Strength like that draws attention. Not the good kind. If people see what you did, they'll either want to own you… or destroy you. You need to be careful. You might not be an ordinary omega, Layla."
The words sink deep inside me: not an ordinary omega. My heart pounds faster. For years I have hidden those strange bursts of power, telling myself they are mistakes, accidents, miracles I shouldn't think about. But Janet's warning feels too close to the truth I've always feared.
I force a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. "I'll be careful."
She nods, squeezing my arm. "Good. Because secrets like that don't stay hidden forever."
By dusk, I am carrying a tray of wine into the great hall. I do my best to keep my head down. The nobles sit at long tables as they gossip.
"Politics, bloodlines, power," one lord chuckles. "The omegas are good for nothing but serving drinks."
Their words land like stones in my chest. I grip the tray tighter, forcing my face blank.
Lucian sits at the high table. He doesn't look at me outright, but I feel his gaze burn across the room. Every step I take is careful. My body screams to look at him, to see what lies in his eyes. I refuse. If I look, I'll break.
That is when Allora's voice echoes through the laughter.
"Oh dear," she coos, as she moves past me in her jeweled gown. She deliberately sticks her leg out and I don't see it in time. Her leg catches my ankle. The tray jolts. Red wine splashes onto the floor. Gasps rise from the nobles.
I stumble, catching myself just before the tray hits the ground. My cheeks burn hot.
Allora presses a hand to her chest, feigning horror. "Clumsy little omega. Perhaps they shouldn't allow you to serve in such fine company. Imagine, spilling wine before the lords and ladies. What a disgrace."
Laughter breaks out around her like wildfire. Snickers. Sneers.
My throat aches, but I swallow hard, drop to my knees, and begin scrubbing at the spill with trembling hands. I keep my eyes glued to the floor, refusing to lift them toward the high table. Not once.
But I feel Lucian watching. He is silent. His lack of reaction cuts sharper than laughter. Does he feel nothing? Or does he hide it? Either way, I don't dare look.
Humiliation burns through me, but I press my forehead lower and scrub harder until the floor sparkles again. Then I stand and walk out as if my pride hasn't just been ripped apart.
The library is my refuge. It is the one place I can go to have peace. I walk along the shelves, trailing my fingers over spines. The silence here calms me.
That's when I notice it, a stone in the wall, looser than the others. I am curious as soon as I see it. I dig my nails in, pulling until the stone scrapes free.
Behind it is a bundle wrapped in cloth. My breath catches as I unwrap it, revealing a small leather-bound diary. The cover is cracked with age. The pages are yellow. It looks really old.
I sit on the floor between shelves and open it.
At first, the words are simple. It tells a story of the life of a Luna long gone. Notes about courtly dinners, training schedules, children's laughter echoing through the halls. But as I turn the pages, the tone shifts.
The writing grows hurried. It speaks about warnings of betrayal. Fears of someone close plotting against her. She makes desperate scribbles about being erased.
My hands shake as I turn another page.
"The bloodline cannot be erased. It lives on, hidden even among those thought lowest," she writes.
I freeze. My breath comes shallow. The lowest. Omegas. Could she mean…?
I read further. My heart is hammering at this point.
"There is a place deep within the catacombs, where truth lies locked away, waiting for the blood-bound to claim it," she says.
I shut the book too fast. My palms are damp. My pulse is frantic. Could this be connected to me? To the strength I've never understood?
The idea sends a shiver through me. It could be far-fetched; this might have nothing to do with me. I mean, how could it? I'm not even from here. But maybe it could help me understand more.
I clutch the diary to my chest. "Maybe this is it. Maybe this is who I am."
But I know one thing: if answers exist, they are hidden in the catacombs.
And I will find them. Alone, in secret. No matter the risk.