The morning bell tolled three times, a hollow clang that shivered through stone and bone.
Luna jerked awake, heart already racing before memory had a chance to catch up. For a moment she lay still on the narrow mattress, staring at the low ceiling of her room as the cold seeped through her thin blanket, clinging to her skin like damp cobwebs.
Then the second set of bells rang—faster, more urgent.
Late.
She lurched upright, pain flaring along her side where yesterday's bruises bloomed hidden beneath her shirt. The room was still grey with pre-dawn, the small square window a darker rectangle in the wall. Her breath puffed faintly in the chill air as she scrambled for her clothes.
Shirt, patched at the elbow. Trousers, mended at the knee. She dragged them on with hurried hands, fingers clumsy with sleep and cold. Shoes next—worn leather, soles so thin she could feel every stone through them. She tied the laces wrong the first time and had to redo them, cursing herself under her breath.
By the time she stepped into the laundry room, the pipes were already clanking to life, rusty metal carrying the roar of heating water. Steam ghosted up from the nearest basin. The smell of wet cloth, soap, and old stone wrapped around her like a familiar, suffocating shawl.
"Finally," a voice snapped.
Mara, the housekeeper, stood with hands on her hips, her already sharp features pinched even tighter with impatience. Wisps of iron-grey hair had escaped her braid and clung damply to her temples.
"I'm sorry," Luna said quickly, ducking her head. "I—"
"No excuses." Mara shoved a basket into her arms, the wicker biting into Luna's bruised ribs. "Sheets from the Alpha's wing. Strip, wash, and hang before the first horn. And don't you dare mix his with anyone else's."
"Yes, Mara."
"And after that," Mara added, turning away, "the future Luna wants the east windows polished. Inside and out. She said you'd know which ones."
Luna's stomach sank.
The east windows lined the main hall. High, broad panes of glass that caught the morning sun and turned it into a bright flood over the breakfast tables. They were also directly in view of almost everyone who mattered.
"Go on," Mara barked, already moving to shout at one of the younger girls for stacking linens wrong. "You're already behind."
Luna hugged the basket closer to her chest and shouldered open the outside door. The air hit her like a slap—sharp with cold, bright with the thin, colorless light of dawn. Frost dusted the packed earth and clung to the edges of the training yard, crunching under the boots of the earliest warriors.
Beta Kael stood near the sparring ring, barking orders, his voice carrying easily in the stillness. A handful of warriors moved through warm-up drills, muscles bunching and stretching under simple training clothes. Their breath plumed white in the air.
Luna kept her gaze on the ground and took the back path along the building, slipping around the corner of the Alpha's wing. The sheets from those rooms were always the finest—soft, expensive fabric that snagged easily and stained permanently if she wasn't careful.
She stripped the beds quickly, fingers working on instinct. Alpha Orion's scent clung to the linen—pine, smoke, something darker and wilder underneath. Selene's softer fragrance threaded through the sheets from the adjoining chamber: roses, jasmine, and something sharp that pricked the back of Luna's throat.
By the time she returned to the laundry with the basket full of tangled white, the grey outside the small windows had begun to pale. First horn would sound soon. Her hands moved faster, sorting, soaking, scrubbing.
The routine was a cage, but a familiar one. Soak. Soap. Scrub until her knuckles burned and the weave of the fabric blurred. Rinse until the water ran clear. Wring until her arms trembled.
She didn't let herself think. Thinking made the work heavier.
She was just hanging the last of the Alpha's sheets in the cold yard behind the laundry when the first horn finally blared from the main tower, a long, low sound that signaled the official start of the pack's day.
Luna sagged for half a heartbeat, relief loosening the knot between her shoulders.
Then Mara appeared in the doorway like a storm cloud.
"You're not done," she snapped. "She's waiting. Take the bucket and rags. Run."
"Yes, Mara."
The bucket sloshed as Luna grabbed it, icy water splashing over her already chilled fingers. She shoved a bundle of rags under one arm and hurried across the yard toward the main house, shoes skidding slightly on the thin frost.
The pack was fully awake now.
Warriors streamed toward the hall in twos and threes, laughing, shoving, calling greetings. Young trainees scampered along the edges, faces flushed with cold and excitement. Omegas carried trays and jugs from the kitchen, weaving around the stronger bodies with practiced care.
The hierarchy was visible in every line, every glance.
At the top stood the Alpha and his future Luna, seated at the highest table, their plates always the fullest, their cups always filled first. The Beta and Gamma flanked them, solid pillars of authority. Below them, ranked in order of strength and service, were the elite warriors and seasoned scouts. Lower still, the general warriors, trainees, and specialized roles—the blacksmith, the healer, the seers.
At the very bottom, scraping what fell through the cracks, were the omegas.
And then there was Luna.
Not fully omega, because that was at least an accepted role. Not fully servant, because she wasn't bound by blood to any household. Not anything, really, but a needful mouth with no family name behind it and a history no one wanted to claim.
She slipped in through a side door as the second horn finished its echo, keeping her head down to avoid meeting any eyes.
"About time."
Selene's voice reached her before she saw her, smooth as cream and twice as rich.
Luna lifted her gaze just enough to see the future Luna standing near the eastern windows, framed by pale light. A tray of polished glass bottles sat on the sill beside her, catching and fracturing the dawn.
Selene wore soft grey today, a simple morning dress that still managed to look more luxurious than anything in Luna's entire existence. Her hair was braided over one shoulder, a silken rope of gold threaded with thin silver ribbons.
She smiled when she saw Luna.
The expression didn't reach her eyes.
"I thought perhaps you'd decided to sleep in," Selene said lightly. "I hear laziness is common in... lower bloodlines."
Luna's grip tightened on the handle of the bucket until her knuckles whitened.
"I was finishing the Alpha's sheets," she replied, careful to keep her voice even.
"Mmm." Selene tilted her head, considering her like one might a smudge on a window. "It's sweet that you think that's an excuse, but really, Luna... you should learn to move faster. The pack moves on my schedule now, not yours."
Her gaze flicked briefly beyond Luna's shoulder, toward the tables where wolves were beginning to gather. Orion wasn't there yet, but Kael had taken his place near the foot of the dais, and a few of the higher-ranked warriors had settled into their usual seats.
Selene stepped closer, dropping her voice just enough that those at the tables would hear a murmur, but not the words.
"You know why I asked Mara to send you, and not any of the other girls?" she asked, smile not fading.
Luna swallowed.
"Because you enjoy my company?" she said, unable to keep the thin thread of bitterness from her attempt at humor.
Selene's smile sharpened.
"Oh, how adorable," she cooed. "She thinks she can joke."
Her fingers darted out, catching Luna's chin with a practiced quickness. Luna stiffened, the memory of yesterday's bruising grip flashing hot behind her eyes.
"Careful with that tongue, little stray," Selene whispered. "It's the only thing you have, and I can make even that worthless if I choose."
Luna's heart stuttered. Her jaw ached under the deceptively gentle pinch of Selene's fingers.
"I asked for you," Selene continued, "because you're useful. You're small enough to reach the corners no one else can. Quiet enough that you don't distract from important conversations. And pathetic enough that every time someone sees you scrubbing on your knees, they're reminded how very kind I am for letting you stay here at all."
She released Luna and stepped back, eyes bright with satisfaction.
"So. Get to work. The windows are filthy. I could barely see my reflection this morning."
Luna set the bucket down and dipped a rag into the cold water, her hands still trembling slightly from the aftershock of Selene's grip. She wrung it out and moved to the nearest pane, starting at the bottom where she could reach easily.
Selene remained where she was, leaning back against the opposite sill, the very picture of casual grace. Her gaze, however, tracked Luna's every movement.
"Higher," Selene said after a moment. "You missed a spot."
Luna stretched her arm up, the rag squeaking faintly against the glass.
"Higher."
She rose onto the balls of her feet, fingers just reaching the top corner. Pain flared in her side, sharp where the bruise was deepest, but she ignored it.
A knot of younger warriors passed by on their way to the tables, talking loudly. One of them—a broad-shouldered male not much older than Luna—slowed as he caught sight of her.
"Careful, runt," he called with a smirk. "If you fall and break your neck, we might have to find a new floor mop."
His friends chuckled. Luna's cheeks heated, but she kept her eyes on the glass.
Selene laughed softly, a sound perfectly timed to blend with the warriors' amusement.
"Don't be cruel, Daren," she chided, though there was no real reprimand in her tone. "She's trying her best. Aren't you, Luna?"
Luna forced herself to answer.
"Yes," she said, keeping her focus resolutely on the smear of fog her breath left on the glass. "I am."
"See?" Selene said. "She knows her place. That's what makes her... tolerable."
Daren grinned and moved on, his friends nudging each other. Their laughter faded into the general din of the hall.
Luna moved to the next pane.
There were six in total along the hall's east side, each taller than she was, stretching from waist level to just below the rafters. By the time she finished the third, her shoulders ached and her fingers had gone nearly numb from the cold water. The wet rag had leached what little warmth her hands had left.
She stretched up again, trying to smear away a stubborn streak near the top.
"Slower," Selene said suddenly. "You're moving too fast."
Luna blinked, caught off guard.
"I—"
Selene pushed off from the sill and approached, heels clicking lightly against the stone floor.
"If you smear instead of polish, we'll just have to do it all again," she said, plucking the rag from Luna's hand. "Here. Let me show you."
She stepped in behind Luna, so close that her breath stirred the loose hairs near Luna's ear. Everyone who glanced their way would see a future Luna generously instructing a lesser on proper duties. Only Luna felt the cold thread of calculation coiled in Selene's spine.
Selene took Luna's wrist in a gentle grip and guided her hand in slow circles over the glass, the rag squeaking faintly.
"See?" she murmured. "Small, careful motions. Patient. Thorough."
Her fingers tightened around Luna's wrist, the pressure just shy of painful.
"Unlike you," she went on, voice dropping so only Luna could hear, "who is rushed, sloppy, and like a dog who's been let in from the rain—grateful for any corner of the floor."
Luna's throat constricted. She watched their combined reflection in the glass—Selene's golden head bent near hers, Luna's own darker hair a messy shadow. To anyone else, they might almost look like sisters. The thought made her stomach twist.
"Are you listening?" Selene asked softly.
"Yes," Luna whispered.
"Good."
Selene abruptly released her and stepped away, inspecting the window with a critical eye.
"Better," she announced. "Continue. And remember: the way you do *this* is how people assume you'll do *everything.* If you're careless with windows, they'll expect you to be careless with plates. Or with instructions. Or with secrets."
Luna frowned slightly, caught by that last word despite herself.
Secrets.
Selene's gaze flicked to her, catching the tiny crease between her brows.
"You think I don't know why the pack tolerates you?" she asked, voice airy and conversational now, as if chatting about the weather. "Why they let you sleep under their roof and eat their food?"
Luna swallowed and said nothing. Her rag moved in steady circles, the cloth dragging a clearer view of the training yard into being.
"They say it is because of the old Alpha's promise," Selene continued. "Because he found you on the border and vowed to the Moon Goddess to raise you as pack. Sweet, isn't it? Almost noble."
The way she said *almost* made it sound like *not at all*.
"But Alpha Rian is gone. His word is... less binding these days." Selene tapped one finger thoughtfully against the glass. "The only real reason you're still here is because it costs more, politically, to throw you out than to let you linger in the corners."
Luna couldn't help it; the rag stilled in her hand.
"Politically?" she echoed, voice low.
Selene's smile returned, bright and brittle.
"Oh, little stray," she cooed. "You scrub floors in the same house where generals decide which packs live or die, and you've never once thought about politics?"
Luna opened her mouth, then closed it again. Whatever answer she might have had felt childish against Selene's assured disdain.
Selene took her silence as invitation.
"Wolves follow strength," she said, her tone taking on the smooth cadence of someone repeating a lesson long memorized. "And strength is more than muscle. It's... image. Perception. Tradition."
She gestured lazily toward the dais, where Orion had just entered the hall.
Conversations dimmed, then quieted entirely as he strode to his place. Even from this distance, even with the weight of half a glass of grime between them, Luna felt the air change around him. Deference moved like a ripple through the room.
He didn't look their way.
"The Alpha must appear strong," Selene continued. "Merciful, yes, but firm. Decisive. Loyal. If he honored his father's promise to you, then throwing you out now—after years of housing and feeding you—would make him seem fickle. Weak. Unreliable."
Her gaze slid back to Luna, sharp and intent.
"And if there is one thing an Alpha cannot be, little one, it is unreliable."
"So I'm... a symbol," Luna said slowly. "To make him look good."
Selene's eyes gleamed.
"Very good," she purred. "He looks merciful because you exist. He looks constant because he keeps you. You're a story they can tell at gatherings: 'Our Alpha is so noble, he honors even the promises of the dead.'"
Luna's chest tightened.
"You say that like it's bad," she murmured.
"Oh, it's not bad," Selene replied lightly. "For him." She leaned in, her voice dropping an octave. "For you, it means you're alive only as long as you're useful to his image. And usefulness, dear Luna, is... negotiable."
A chill, colder than the frosted morning air, slid down Luna's spine.
"What do you mean?" she asked, despite herself.
Selene sighed dramatically and looked away, as if bored.
"Imagine," she said, toying idly with a silver ring on her finger, "if you suddenly became... inconvenient. If you broke something valuable. Defied an order. Spoke out of turn where it mattered."
Her gaze returned, piercing.
"Or," she added softly, "if you started to think you deserved more than what you have."
Luna's mouth went dry.
"Then," Selene finished in a tone of airy indifference, "it wouldn't be so hard for me to convince the right people that the runt has become a liability. That keeping you is no longer a show of strength, but of poor judgment. And once that seed is planted..." She brushed an invisible speck of dust from her sleeve. "Well. Roots grow quickly in the right soil."
The rag in Luna's hand had gone limp, water cold against her fingertips.
"You wouldn't," she said, but the protest sounded thin even to her own ears.
Selene's smile was all teeth.
"You overestimate your place," she replied. "And underestimate mine."
A murmur of conversation rose and fell from the tables as food was served. The clatter of cutlery, the scrape of chairs—ordinary sounds that now felt like the background music to a slowly tightening noose.
"You see," Selene went on, almost conversational, "while you were learning how to scrub floors without missing a spot, I was learning how to *read* people. How to make them see what I want them to see. How to make them want what I want them to want."
Her eyes flicked toward the high table, toward Orion.
"They look at me and see their future Luna," she said softly, possessively. "Their Alpha's chosen mate. The mother of their next line of leaders. They trust me to manage the household. To guide the young. To... temper Orion's harsher instincts with a gentler hand."
Her lips curved in something like satisfaction.
"They will believe me when I say you are dangerous," she finished, her voice soft, deliberate. "Even if you've never lifted a finger in your life."
Luna's breath stuttered.
"Dangerous?" she echoed. "I'm... I'm nothing."
"Exactly," Selene said, smiling as if Luna had confirmed a private joke. "And nothing is *unpredictable.* Blank spaces invite questions. Questions invite fear. Fear invites control."
She took a half-step closer, until Luna could see the faint flecks of a darker blue near the center of her irises.
"You want to stay? You want to keep sleeping in that little box they call a room? You want your morsels of leftover meat and your scraps of bread?" Selene's voice was almost gentle now. "Then remember this."
Her next words were a whisper, edged with steel.
"You are here because *I* allow it. Not because of some half-remembered promise to a dead Alpha. *I* am the one who speaks to the warriors' mates over tea. *I* am the one who comforts their children when they fall. *I* am the one who sits beside Orion when decisions are made."
A faint, satisfied smile touched her lips.
"And *I* am the one they will believe if I say the stray has outlived her usefulness."
Luna's fingers tightened around the rag so hard her joints ached.
"What do you want from me?" she asked quietly. The words tasted like surrender.
Selene's smile softened.
"There now," she murmured. "That's the right question."
She reached up and, to Luna's horror, brushed a lock of hair back from her face in a motion that could almost have been affectionate.
"I want you to remember your place," she said. "To stay small. To stay quiet. To stay grateful. I want you to look at me"—her voice took on a hint of cold delight—"and see the difference between a runt caught in a trap and the wolf who owns the forest."
Her hand dropped, lingering for a moment on Luna's shoulder.
"And I want," she added, softer now, her breath ghosting across Luna's cheek, "to make sure everyone else sees it too."
Her fingers tightened suddenly, digging into bruised flesh with surgical precision. Luna hissed in pain, teeth clenching.
"If you ever try to stand taller than I tell you to," Selene whispered, "if you so much as *hint* to anyone that you deserve more than this... I will cut your legs out from under you so thoroughly that even the Goddess won't remember what you looked like standing."
She released her and stepped back, expression once again the picture of serene kindness for anyone watching.
"How are the windows coming?" she asked brightly, loud enough for the nearest omegas to hear as they carried platters past. "Is our little Luna doing a good job?"
Luna forced a breath into lungs that suddenly felt too small.
"Yes, Selene," she said, because any other response would be a hammer to her own knees. "I'll... I'll make sure they're perfect."
"Of course you will," Selene replied, beaming. "You're so *eager* to please. It's almost endearing."
She turned then, drifting toward the high table with the fluid confidence of someone who knew every eye would follow her.
They did.
Luna watched as Selene slipped into the seat at Orion's side, her hand finding his arm in a gesture that was almost proprietorial. He turned his head to listen as she leaned in, lips moving near his ear. Whatever she said made his brow furrow faintly, but then his expression smoothed, and he nodded once.
Luna couldn't hear the words.
She didn't have to.
The pack saw Selene whispering to their Alpha and took note. They saw her serene smile and heard only warm laughter. They saw a future Luna, already weaving herself into the fabric of their daily lives.
They did not see the way her fingers had tightened into bruising clamps around Luna's flesh. They did not hear the quiet threat coiled beneath every softly spoken word.
Luna turned back to the glass as the hall filled with the sounds of breakfast: cutlery, conversation, the occasional burst of laughter. The world beyond the windows slowly brightened, the training yard coming into sharper view as the sun climbed.
She wiped and polished until her arms throbbed, until her fingers lost feeling, until every pane shone without a streak. Her reflection stared back at her—pale, tired, eyes too big in her thin face.
A runt caught in clear, merciless light.
At the far end of the hall, the seer—an old woman with hair like spun silver and eyes clouded with the fog of too many visions—sat at a small, separate table, sipping something from a chipped cup. People seldom noticed her, except when they needed omens or comfort for their dead.
Now, though, Luna saw her glance up and squint toward the bright windows.
For a heartbeat, their eyes met.
The seer's gaze flicked over Luna's face, then slipped up toward the moonstone amulet that hung, as always, above the high table—a round stone carved with a crescent moon, suspended on a chain between two carved wooden wolves.
Her expression changed. Softened. Sharpened. Luna couldn't tell which.
Then the old woman looked away, her fingers tracing absent circles around the rim of her cup.
Luna blinked and rubbed harder at an imaginary smudge, heart beating faster for reasons she couldn't quite name.
The rest of the morning passed in a haze of tasks.
After the windows came the dishes—stacked high and greasy, buckets of water turned cloudy and gray by the time the last plate was scrubbed. Then sweeping the hall, dodging boots and benches as wolves filtered out to their respective duties. Then resetting the tables for midday.
Everywhere she went, Selene's presence lingered.
In the whispers of the warrior's mates as they cleared their plates.
"She's *perfect* for him," one young woman gushed, eyes shining. "So poised. Did you see the way she spoke to Gamma Rowan when he snapped at that pup? Smoothed it right over."
In the offhand comment from a senior warrior as Luna brushed past.
"Careful with those cups, runt. If you break one, you'll have Selene to answer to."
Even in the cook's gruff muttering by the stoves.
"Future Luna wants more herbs in the stew. 'Too plain,' she says. As if I haven't been feeding this pack since before she was whelped."
Selene was everywhere and nowhere at once, her influence a fine, invisible thread woven through the pack's daily rhythm.
She smiled at the warriors' mates and remembered their children's names. She complimented the healer's neat bandages and asked after old wounds. She listened to the Elders' stories and laughed in all the right places.
And in the quiet spaces between, when no one else was looking, she honed her cruelty on the smallest, weakest target she could find.
By midday, Luna's body ached in a slow, grinding way that made each movement feel heavier than the last. Her mind, though, was bright with new, unwelcome understanding.
She had always known she was low in the pack's hierarchy. She had worn that knowledge like a second skin.
Today, Selene had peeled it back and shown her the raw, vulnerable flesh beneath: the politics that kept her here, fragile as spider silk; the power that Selene wielded not with claws or fangs, but with smiles and whispers.
The pack did not see the cage being built around Luna. To them, she was already caged.
Only she could feel the bars closing in tighter.
Late in the afternoon, Mara sent her to the drying yard to bring in the Alpha's sheets before the evening damp set in. The yard was quiet now, the air soft and heavy with the warmth of the sun-soaked day. Rows of cloth fluttered gently on their lines, casting shifting shadows over the ground.
Luna moved between them, fingers brushing the cool, smooth fabric. For a moment, hidden among the billowing white walls, she could almost imagine herself somewhere else. Somewhere the air didn't smell of soap and stale anger.
She paused, closing her eyes as the wind stirred, lifting the hair from her neck. The memory of last night's prayer flickered through her mind.
*If there is more... show me.*
Today, the "more" that had been shown was Selene's smile sharpening into threat.
Luna's fingers curled into one of the sheets, gripping tight.
"Is this what you meant?" she whispered under her breath, not sure if she was talking to the Goddess or herself. "To show me just how trapped I am?"
No answer came, of course. Just the steady flap of linen and the distant thud of training fists against practice dummies.
She gathered the sheets and carried them inside.
Evening came with cool shadows and the scent of roasting meat. The pack gathered again in the hall. Luna set plates and filled cups, always ten steps behind, always careful not to draw attention.
Selene glittered at the high table in deep green now, a dress change between meals a luxury only she could manage with such easy entitlement. She leaned toward Orion, speaking with animated hands as the Elders nodded approval.
At one point, Beta Kael said something that made Orion frown, his gaze drifting over the hall pensively. It brushed past Luna like a breeze—noticed, then gone.
Selene followed his gaze. Her eyes landed on Luna, who was bent over a fallen fork near the far table, and narrowed fractionally.
Then she laughed at something the Beta said, her head tipping back, throat pale and exposed in a display of easy, unthinking trust.
Luna straightened slowly, fork in hand, and turned away.
Later, when the last dish was dried, the last ember banked, the last door barred, she returned to her little room behind the laundry.
Her body screamed for sleep, but her mind was a restless, snarling thing.
She lay on her back and stared at the dark ceiling, Selene's words replaying in merciless detail.
*You are here because I allow it.*
*You are alive only as long as you're useful.*
*If you ever try to stand taller... I will cut your legs out from under you.*
Luna turned her head toward the window. The moon had waxed a fraction since the night before, its pale curve a little bolder against the velvet sky.
"Is this what you wanted me to see?" she whispered into the dark. "How easily she can end me? How shallow the ground is under my feet?"
The silence felt thicker tonight, weighted with everything she now understood and couldn't unlearn.
"If the only way to survive is to crawl," she said slowly, tasting the words, "how long before I forget how to stand at all?"
She waited.
No whisper. No dream. No sudden surge of courage.
But somewhere behind the tightness in her chest, beneath the bruises on her skin and the chill in her bones, something small and stubborn refused to stop twitching.
It wasn't hope, not quite. Hope felt too bright, too fragile.
This was different. Denser. A thin, hard line of resistance that whispered, *No.*
No, she did not deserve this. No, she would not always be a tool for someone else's story. No, she would not let Selene's poisonous version of her be the only truth.
The thought frightened her. Selene had made it clear: wanting more was dangerous.
But she could not unknow the shape of that wanting now.
Luna rolled onto her side, curling around the ache in her ribs, and drew the thin blanket closer.
"I'll stay small," she murmured, half-promise, half-lie. "For now. I'll be quiet. I'll be careful. I'll survive."
Her eyes drifted toward the slice of moonlight on the floor.
"But I won't forget," she added softly. "Not what she said. Not what you didn't."
Sleep came fitfully, threaded with restless images: Selene's smile stretching too wide; the pack turning away as Luna's legs were cut from beneath her; the moon, watching, pale and distant.
Yet beneath it all, like a faint drumbeat in a distant forest, that stubborn resistance pulsed on.
The pack's hierarchy had never been clearer. Selene's hold over Luna had never felt tighter.
Yet in the quiet dark of her small, forgotten room, the runt beneath the moon began, very slowly, to learn the shape of her chains—and in knowing them, to imagine, vaguely and impossibly, the idea of someday breaking them.