Lyra’s POV
The knock came softly at first, barely loud enough to pull her from sleep.
She stirred under the thin blanket, her heart tightening as her mind reached for reasons before her body was fully awake.
It was still dark.
Too dark for anyone aside from the guards to be moving.
Dawn had not even brushed the sky yet.
Another knock followed, firmer this time.
Her eyes opened fully now.
She lay still, listening, counting her breaths, feeling the quiet weight of the room around her.
The walls did not creak.
The air did not shift.
No footsteps fled down the hall.
That eased her chest a little.
Lyra remembered how her room in her former pack had never truly been quiet, how the walls creaked at the slightest movement and the floor groaned every time someone passed by the door, making sleep a shallow thing filled with constant awareness.
The bed there had been thin and uneven, the kind that left her back aching no matter how she turned.
It was nothing compared to the wide, steady bed she slept on now in Blackthorn, where the mattress held her weight without complaint and the blankets were thick and warm.
Back then, she had shared that cramped space with three other omegas, all of them nosy, loud, and always watching, whispering, and listening for weakness, privacy being something she had never known.
There had been no silence, no safety, no place to think without being overheard, and even now, sleeping in this quiet, solid room with stone walls and a door that did not creak, the calm still felt unreal, like something that could vanish if she stopped paying attention to it.
She turned her head toward the wide window.
Her mind quickly reminded her that someone had entered her room through that same window.
What they were looking for, she was yet to know.
Her thoughts tried to go somewhere dark and dangerous.
She did not let them.
She refused to let fear take shape.
Not tonight.
Not after everything.
There were guards outside her door.
She reminded herself of that, clinging to the thought.
After they had returned from the council meeting, Lothian had personally brought two guards to her room.
He had told them to inspect every corner, every shadow, every possible hiding place.
He had watched while they did it, his face tight, his voice calm but sharp.
Nothing had been found, but that had not stopped him.
He had ordered one guard to remain outside her door through the night, and another to patrol the hallway.
“You are safe,” he had told her quietly before leaving.
“At least for now.”
The knock came again, louder, more insistent.
She pushed herself upright, the blanket slipping down her shoulders.
Her heart beat fast, but not wildly.
It was alert now, listening.
She slipped her feet onto the cold floor and crossed the room slowly, careful not to make noise, though she did not know why she bothered.
When she reached the door, she paused.
“Who is it?” she asked softly.
“It’s Marley,” came the answer, familiar and hurried.
“I am sorry to wake you so early.”
She let out a breath she had not realized she was holding.
Marley.
She knew his voice.
He worked with her in the kitchens and handled deliveries.
He had always been polite and respectful to her, never rude.
She pulled the door open just enough to see him.
A guard stood a few steps behind him, alert but relaxed.
That settled the last tight knot in her chest.
“Yes?” she asked, pushing the door open wider, still half caught between sleep and the quiet tension that never seemed to leave her chest these days.
Marley dipped his head quickly, his posture respectful in a way that still surprised her.
A few days ago, she was still serving food in Crescent Pack, and now, she was the head cook of Blackthorn Pack.
“Supplies just arrived,” he said.
“Earlier than we expected.
As head cook, you need to go through them before we store anything.
The storage rooms cannot be opened without your approval.”
Her brows pulled together at once.
“Now?” The word slipped out before she could stop it, disbelief mixing with the lingering fog of sleep.
He winced slightly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“I know it is early.
I truly am sorry.
But they came ahead of schedule, and the rule is that nothing can be touched until you inspect it.
I would have waited till morning, but I don’t want to take chances with the weather,” he explained.
That alone made her pause.
In Crescent, supplies had been handled without the head cook ever being called.
Truth be told, the head cook there had been too lazy to even step into the storage rooms most days, leaving others to sort, count, and store whatever came in.
Lyra had never been summoned, never asked for approval, never even informed when deliveries arrived.
Guardian Eamon had covered for the kitchen more times than she could count, smoothing over missing ledgers, spoiled goods, and careless mistakes, all while quietly making sure nothing essential was lost.
Only now did she realize how much he had shielded her from, how little responsibility she had truly been allowed to hold.
Here, it was different.
Here, they waited for her.
Her gaze flicked past Marley for a brief moment, toward the dim hallway where guards stood watch, then back to his face.
“Nothing can be stored without me?” she asked, needing to hear it again.
He nodded firmly.
“Nothing.
It is to prevent tampering, theft, or poison.
Especially now,” he said.
Her stomach tightened at that, the word poison echoing louder than it should have, ringing in her ears like a warning bell she could not silence.
She swallowed slowly, her thoughts already turning sharp and restless.
Hold on.
If that was the rule, then the head cook had full access to the supplies.
She had checked them herself.
Her gaze lifted back to Marley.
“So the head cook… she handled the supplies personally?” she asked, keeping her voice even, though her pulse had begun to race.
Marley hesitated only a moment before nodding.
“Yes.
She always did,” he said.
Something clicked into place in her mind, clean and cold.
That’s it.
That was how the Ashvine poison had entered the kitchens without raising suspicion.
Not in a single careless act, not in one rushed delivery, but slowly, quietly, through the supply route itself.
A steady stream, hidden among herbs and roots no one questioned.
If the poison had been used over time, then it had been brought in over time.
Carefully.
On purpose.
Her fingers curled slightly at her side.
“Who else was usually present when she checked the supplies?” she asked.
Marley shook his head.
“She did it alone,” he said.
Then, as if remembering something, he added, “Lysa was there with her sometimes.
To help.
I only got involved once the supplies reached the storage room.”
Her breath stilled for a fraction of a second.
“Lysa?” she repeated quietly.
Why would Lysa be involved.
The thought came sharp and fast.
Lysa managed the kitchen and made sure everything was ready for the head cook to work.
Her work began after ingredients were already sorted, measured, and approved.
Specifically in the kitchen.
Supplies were never her duty.
“Why Lysa?” she asked, unable to keep the edge from her voice.
“That was not her responsibility.”
Marley frowned, clearly uneasy now.
“The head cook usually asked for her,” he said.
“Said she trusted her.
That Lysa had a good eye… and Lysa was glad to help.”
A good eye.
The words sat badly with her.