Mira's POV
The soup hits her hands before the words do.
Scalding liquid, hot enough to burn, pours across her fingers and palms. Mira bites down on her lip so hard she tastes blood, but she doesn't scream. Screaming gets attention. Attention gets you hurt worse.
"Clumsy thing," Seraphina says from somewhere above her, her voice dripping with fake concern. "You really should watch where you're going."
Around them, the great hall continues like nothing happened. Alphas laugh over their feast. Servants rush past with fresh platters. Nobody looks at Mira kneeling on the stone floor, her hands already turning red and angry.
She grabs the cloth at her belt and starts wiping up the mess, moving fast. The hot liquid soaks into her work dress but she doesn't stop. Her hands shake but her face stays blank. Empty. Safe.
Seraphina's heels click against the floor as she walks away, already bored with her game. That's how it always is. A moment of pain, then nothing. Forgotten by everyone except Mira.
Well. Everyone except Mira and Seraphina.
She finishes cleaning and stands up, cradling her burned hands against her stomach. The pain is sharp and constant but she's learned to live with pain. Three burns on her hands, a bruise on her ribs from two days ago, a cut on her shoulder that still stings when she moves wrong. All small. All survivable.
This is just life. Stay quiet. Stay small. Don't let anyone know you're there.
The great hall smells like roasted meat and spiced wine and something else underneath. Something wild and dangerous that she's never been able to name. Across the room, servants clear plates from the Alpha table. The Elders sit closest to Alpha Garrick, their faces serious about pack business. The younger warriors sit further down, laughing louder than they should.
And then there's him.
Kael Stormborne stands near the far wall like a statue carved from shadow and violence. Black hair that looks almost blue in the torchlight. Scars running down one side of his face, pale against darker skin. Eyes that glow amber when he's angry, though she's never seen them turn that color. Not once in the three years she's been serving in this hall.
He's looking at something across the room. Not at her. Never at her.
That's good. That's safe.
Mira has heard the stories everyone whispers when they think no one's listening. Kael Stormborne killed his parents' murderer at seventeen. He's fought rogues that should have killed him and walked away with new scars instead. Alphas who challenge him in the training yard usually end up with broken bones.
He's the kind of dangerous that makes Omegas like her disappear into corners.
She watches him take a drink of wine and doesn't look away until Margot's voice cuts through her thoughts.
"Mira. My office. Now."
The head housekeeper stands in the doorway between the great hall and the kitchen, her face hard as old stone. Mira moves immediately, keeping her eyes down, her burned hands tucked out of sight.
Margot doesn't speak until they're inside the small office that smells like dust and old leather. She's sorting through papers and doesn't look up when Mira enters.
"I have a task for you," Margot says, her voice clipped and cold. She never sounds any other way. "Alpha Garrick's chambers need cleaning. Top to bottom. The bathroom, the bedding, the floors. Everything."
Mira's stomach drops but she nods anyway. The Alpha's private chambers are the worst assignment in the pack house. It means going into the upper floors alone. It means risk.
"Do it tonight. After the feast ends. Everyone will be celebrating the hunt preparations," Margot continues, finally looking at her with those cold gray eyes. "Don't break anything. Don't touch anything that isn't supposed to be cleaned. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Mira whispers.
"I couldn't hear you."
"Yes, I understand."
"Good." Margot turns back to her papers. "And Mira? Try not to bleed on the rugs this time."
Mira leaves before the sting of those words can show on her face.
The hours drag until the feast finally ends and the Alpha's wing empties out. She hears the roar of celebration from the courtyard as the Alphas leave for the Blood Moon Hunt celebrations. Some of them will run the borders. Others will just drink and tell war stories.
She climbs the spiral stairs with a bucket of hot water and cleaning cloths, her burned hands aching with every step. The Alpha's chambers sit at the very top of the tower, separated from everyone else. Isolated. Private.
Quiet.
The door is heavy oak reinforced with iron. It opens without a sound, which means someone maintains it well. Not like the servants' quarters doors that creak and jam. She thinks about that while she sets down her supplies. How even the doors in this place know their rank.
The chamber smells like him. Kael, if he lived here. But this is Garrick's space. Old leather and something like iron. The Alpha's bedroom is enormous, with windows that look out over the whole pack territory. A four-poster bed dominates the far wall. Rich furs cover everything.
Mira starts her work methodically. Dust the surfaces. Scrub the floors. Replace the linens even though they don't look dirty. This is the kind of task designed to keep her occupied for hours, to keep her out of sight and out of the way.
She's finishing the bedroom when something feels wrong.
She can't name it at first. Just a prickling sensation at the back of her neck. Her wolf senses something off, a scent that doesn't belong. She stops moving and listens.
The silence is too heavy.
Mira walks toward the bathing chamber and that's when she sees it. The door to Garrick's private study is open slightly. It's never supposed to be open. He keeps it locked.
She shouldn't look. Omegas don't look at things that aren't their business. But something pulls her forward anyway, curiosity she usually keeps buried.
She pushes the door open wider.
"Alpha Garrick?"
Her voice sounds small in the darkness. She can barely see but the smell is stronger here. That iron scent mixed with something sweet that makes her stomach twist.
She finds the switch for the oil lamp on the wall and the room floods with light.
Alpha Garrick is on the floor.
His body is sprawled across the Persian rug like someone dropped him there. His face is turned sideways. His eyes are wide open, staring at nothing, completely empty of the intelligence and cruelty she's always associated with him.
He isn't breathing.
Mira's bucket clatters to the floor and water spreads across the tile. She should scream. Every instinct screams at her to run, to call for help, to do something other than stand frozen in this dead man's study.
But she doesn't.
Her mind goes quiet and cold, the same way it always does when danger is close. Years of survival training kick in without thought.
The Alpha is dead. Nobody knows she's here. Nobody knows she saw this.
And in a pack about to explode into war, she just became the only witness to something that will change everything.
Her burned hands tremble as she stares at his empty eyes. The door to the great hall is a hundred feet away down the stairs. The pack is distracted with the hunt celebrations.
She could walk out right now. Nobody would know she was ever here.
Nobody except Garrick, and he's not talking to anyone ever again.
The implications hit her like a physical blow.
Alpha Garrick is dead. The pack has no leader. Everything is about to fall apart.
And Mira Ashborne, the invisible Omega that nobody ever looks at, is standing alone in his study with his body.