Lyra’s POV
Lyra walked two steps behind Ash.
No one had told her to.
But her feet obeyed an old instinct, carved into her long before she learned to mix tonics or read herbs.
In her old pack, hierarchy was survival.
An omega walked behind.
Always behind.
Shoulder to shoulder with a beta was dangerous.
So she kept her eyes down and followed the sound of his boots against the stone.
Blackthorn Pack looked nothing like her old home.
The halls stretched wider, the ceilings climbed higher, and dark stone walls, veined with silver, caught the torchlight.
Everything here felt older.
Heavier.
Like the whole pack was watching her, weighing her worth with every step.
Ash slowed as they turned down a long hallway, then stopped completely.
“Thank you for saving Ronan’s life,” he said.
“Even at risk to your own.”
Lyra blinked, caught off guard.
She’d braced herself for accusations, suspicion, maybe punishment.
She’d interfered with an Alpha’s health without permission.
She’d spoken to him directly.
In most packs, that alone earned a whipping.
“I did what anyone would have done,” she said quietly.
Ash let out a short laugh with no humor in it.
“Not everyone, apparently.
I’m certain you weren’t the only one who noticed he was poisoned.”
Her stomach tightened.
If others had noticed, why had no one said anything?
The question sat heavy in her chest, but she pushed it down.
This wasn’t the time to question Blackthorn politics.
Before she could ask, Ash pushed open a door, and the room beyond stole the breath from her lungs.
It was enormous, bigger than the Alpha’s quarters back home.
Sunlight spilled through tall arched windows onto polished floors and heavy carved furniture.
A wide bed sat draped in thick furs against the far wall.
“This is your room,” Ash said.
“My room?” The words came out faint.
“In my old pack,” she said, “only nobles stayed in rooms like this.”
Ash scoffed softly.
“This is Blackthorn.
Usefulness outweighs birth here.
You saved the Alpha’s life.
That puts you above most people in this pack, whether you like it or not.” He said.
Lyra shook her head.
“I didn’t do it for status,” she mumbled.
“I know,” Ash said.
“That’s exactly why this room suits you.”
She looked around, unease creeping beneath the awe.
She’d already pictured herself in the staff quarters, some narrow room with a thin bed, somewhere no one would notice her, somewhere she belonged.
“I should be with the staff.
People will talk.” Lyra muttered.
“They already are,” he said flatly.
“Let them.”
“What if they hate me?”
He turned to face her fully, his gaze sharp.
“Then they’ll learn to live with it.
Or they’ll answer to me.”
No one had ever spoken up for her like that before.
She stepped inside on unsteady legs, half afraid it might all vanish if she touched anything.
“It’s closer to the Alpha’s quarters,” Ash continued.
“It’ll help you keep an eye on him.”
“Why?” The word slipped out before she could stop it.
“I should be with the other omegas.
That’s where I fit.”
Ash let out a slow breath, clearly losing patience.
“You should,” he agreed bluntly.
“But you’re not just anyone.” He went on before she could argue.
“You saved the Alpha.
You’ll be working to clear the poison from his body.
That makes you valuable.
It’s safer and easier for you to be close to him.”
“In my old pack,” she said slowly, choosing her words with care, “being close to power didn’t protect omegas.
It made them targets.”
“This is Blackthorn,” he said simply.
“Not your old pack.”
She lowered her eyes.
“You trust me that much?”
“Ronan trusts you,” Ash said.
Then, after a pause, “And he trusts intent.
Yours is clean.”
That nearly undid her.
“Thank you,” she said at last.
He waved it off.
“Don’t thank me yet.
If you fail, this room will be the least of your worries.”
She met his eyes, steady despite the weight of his words.
“I won’t fail.”
“Don’t mistake this for kindness,” he said.
“Your safety matters because the Alpha’s life matters.”
The reminder stung, but she accepted it.
This wasn’t kindness.
It was necessity, plain and simple.
“Then I’ll make sure he lives.”
Something like approval flickered in his eyes for the briefest moment.
“Now that you know your room,” Ash said, turning toward the door, “come.
I’ll show you the kitchen.”
As they walked, her thoughts drifted back to Ronan.
To how his dominance had pressed down on the room even while poison weakened his body.
To the ashvine still lingering in his blood, dangerous despite the antidote already forming in her mind.
Someone had wanted the Alpha weak.
Not dead, not yet.
Weak enough to control.
Weak enough to overthrow when the moment was right.
Someone patient enough to poison him slowly, someone who understood wolf medicine well enough to pick ashvine, a poison subtle enough to hide behind fatigue and stress.
Her stomach twisted at the thought.
“Ash,” she said hesitantly.
He didn’t stop walking, but he glanced back.
“Yes.”
“If someone noticed the poison before me,” she began, then faltered.
Her steps slowed.
She wasn’t sure how much truth an omega was allowed to question.
Ash stopped and turned fully, his gaze sharp and assessing.
“Say it,” he said.
“Why did no one speak?” she asked.
“Why wasn’t the Alpha warned?”
The silence that followed was heavy.
Ash’s jaw tightened, the muscles in his face pulling hard.
Whatever the answer was, it clearly didn’t sit well with him.
“Blackthorn has many eyes,” he said at last.
“Not all of them are loyal.”
Her heart skipped.
“So someone knew?” She asked
“Yes.
Or suspected.”
She frowned.
“And did nothing.”
“Or couldn’t.” He glanced down the corridor as if checking for listeners.
“There are ranks here.
Power.
Fear.
Some servants see things and convince themselves it isn’t their place to speak.
Others know better than to accuse without proof.”
“And some,” she said softly, “benefit from his weakness.”
His gaze snapped back to her, sharp with surprise.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
“You’re not wrong.
That’s why your words mattered.”
Her chest tightened.
“Because I’m expendable.”
“Because you had nothing to gain,” he corrected.
“And nothing to protect.”