Penny POV
The dough beneath my hands grows smooth and elastic as I work out my anger through the repetitive motion. Around me, the kitchen continues its busy rhythm, but I'm already planning.
Three years. I have three years to become strong enough to face them. Three years to uncover the truth about my execution. Three years to decide whether I want justice or revenge.
The System screen flickers again:
POWER DEVELOPMENT AVAILABLE
Current XP: 0/100
Skills Unlocked: None
Warning: Power requires sacrifice
Sacrifice. I died once already. What more could it possibly want from me?
But even as I wonder, I know I'll pay whatever price the System demands. I have to. The alternative is death, and I refuse to die again without answers.
The bread dough springs back under my touch, finally ready for rising. I shape it into loaves with practiced movements, my mind already racing ahead to tomorrow's tasks, tomorrow's challenges.
******
"You're moving differently."
Dante's voice cuts through the kitchen noise as I freeze, my hands still covered in flour from the morning's bread prep. The Beta enforcer stands in the doorway, his warm brown eyes studying me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl.
"I don't know what you mean," I say, keeping my voice steady.
"Sure you do." He steps closer, and I catch his scent—leather and steel, with an underlying hint of something wild. "Yesterday you flinched every time someone raised their voice. Today you're standing straighter. Looking people in the eye."
Damn. I've been careless. The System warned me about detection, but I thought it meant magical detection, not behavioral changes.
"Maybe I just slept better," I offer, turning back to my work.
"Maybe." His boots echo against the stone floor as he approaches. "Or maybe something happened to you. Something that changed you."
The other Omegas in the kitchen have gone silent, their heads down as they continue chopping vegetables. They know better than to draw attention when a Beta is questioning one of them.
"Nothing happened," I insist, but my voice comes out sharper than intended.
Dante's eyebrows raise. "There it is again. That edge in your voice. Yesterday you would have apologized three times by now."
He's right. The old Penny would have been trembling, begging forgiveness for whatever imagined slight she'd committed. But I'm not her anymore. I can't be.
"I'm just tired," I say, forcing my shoulders to slump slightly. "Sorry if I seem... different."
"Don't apologize to me." His tone softens unexpectedly. "I'm not the one you need to worry about."
Before I can ask what he means, Mira rushes into the kitchen, her face flushed with panic. "Vera wants all serving girls in the Great Hall immediately. The feast is starting early."
My stomach drops. I'm not ready for this, at least not yet.
"That includes you, Penny," Mira continues, her eyes avoiding mine. "You're assigned to the high table tonight." The high table. Where they sit. Where my three executioners will feast, unaware that I know their future crimes.
"I... I'm usually on kitchen duty," I manage.
"Not tonight." Mira's voice is tight with stress. "Direct orders from above. Wear something clean and get moving."
The other Omegas scatter like startled birds, rushing to change clothes and prepare for service. I stand frozen, my hands still covered in flour, my mind racing.
"Penny?" Dante's voice brings me back to the present. "Are you okay? You look pale."
"I'm fine," I lie, wiping my hands on my apron. "Just nervous about serving the high table."
"Stick to the protocols," he advises. "Keep your head down, fill the cups, clear the plates. Don't speak unless spoken to."
If only it were that simple. But I know what's coming. I know who's waiting for me in that hall.
"I should go get ready," I say, untying my apron with shaking hands.
"Penny." Dante's voice stops me at the doorway. "Whatever's different about you... be careful. Changes get noticed around here. And not always in good ways."
I nod, not trusting my voice. He's trying to protect me, but he doesn't understand. I'm not the same broken Omega who died three years from now. I'm something else entirely.
I hurry to the Omega quarters, my heart pounding with each step. The System screen flickers to life as I walk:
MISSION UPDATE: SURVIVE THE DAY
Progress: 47%
New Objective: Serve at tonight's feast without incident
Warning: Major plot event approaching
Reward: Advanced tutorial unlock
Major plot event. The feast isn't just a social gathering—it's going to be important. And I'm about to walk into the same room as the three men who will eventually kill me.
I reach my bed and pull out my cleanest dress, a simple brown thing that does nothing for my figure. Perfect. The last thing I need is to attract attention.
But as I change clothes, I catch sight of myself in the small mirror above the washbasin. My amber eyes seem brighter somehow, more alert. My posture is straighter and more confident.
Dante was right. I am different. And if I can see it, others will too.
I need to be more careful. More subtle. The System gave me a second chance, but it won't matter if I blow my cover on the first day.
"Penny!" Mira's voice echoes down the corridor. "Move! They're already seated!"
My blood turns to ice. They're here already in the Great Hall. Waiting.
I take a deep breath as I smooth down my dress, and force my face into the mask of submission I wore for eight years. Broken, beaten and invisible.
It's time to face my killers I muttered as the System screen pulses one final warning:
CRITICAL ENCOUNTER DETECTED
Threat Level: EXTREME
Recommendation: Maintain cover identity
Warning: Detection equals death
I close my eyes, center myself, and walk toward the Great Hall. Toward the three men who have no idea what's coming for them.
"Move faster, Bitch!" The shout comes from the high table. I look up to see the three faces that haunt my nightmares, alive and unaware of what they'll do to me.
Lycen Vael sits at the center, his steel-gray eyes scanning the hall with precision. Even at twenty-six, he carries himself like a weapon.
The ceremonial execution blade rests across his knees the same blade that will end my life in three years. His black hair is shorter now, less scarred hands, but the cold authority radiating from him is identical.
"You heard the Alpha," Mira hisses. "Go serve the high table." My legs feel wobbly, but I force myself to move.