Jade woke to a rough shake, the sting of a boot nudging her ribs.
"Up," snarled a voice, low and impatient.
The world was dark, the sky still heavy with stars, the faintest blush of dawn far from touching the horizon. Jade's bones groaned in protest as she pushed herself upright on the thin, musty mattress they'd tossed her onto the night before. Sleep had been a fleeting, fragile thing — snatched away by the relentless chill that seeped into her marrow and the nightmares that clung to her even while awake.
"Don't make us drag you," the omega standing over her snapped.
Jade nodded mutely, forcing her stiff body to obey.
The rules had been made clear: wake before the house stirs. Clean, cook, scrub, polish. Every mistake, every second lost, was a punishable offense. If the Alpha or any pack member found even the smallest fault in her work — dust on a stair rail, a wrinkle in a sheet — she would answer for it.
They would call it 'correction.'
And she would have no voice to protest.
Still trembling from exhaustion and cold, she staggered to the small supply closet and grabbed the battered mop and bucket they allowed her.
The corridors loomed around her, vast and silent. The once-familiar pack house — where she had laughed, run, and dreamed — now seemed a vast, cold tomb swallowing her whole.
She started with the grand hall — an endless stretch of polished wood floors, intricate chandeliers, towering windows. On her hands and knees, she scrubbed. The stones bit into her calloused palms, and the sour tang of old soap filled her nose.
The silence was her only companion, broken only by the occasional creak of the building and the rapid thud of her own heartbeat.
Faster, faster, her mind whispered.
If they find a smudge, you'll pay for it. If you're late, you'll pay.
The fear gnawed at her more than hunger ever could.
Midway through polishing the stairs, voices floated toward her — cruel, careless voices that set her teeth on edge.
"Bet she thinks she's too good to be a real omega," someone laughed.
"She thought a mate bond made her better. Look at her now — a mutt scrubbing floors."
Jade froze, scrubbing harder, hoping to become invisible.
Mira sauntered past, kicking a rag toward Jade's face as she went. It landed near her nose, reeking of mildew and dirt.
"You missed a spot," Mira sneered, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
Jade pressed her forehead to the wooden stair for a heartbeat longer than necessary, swallowing the thick knot rising in her throat.
She was not allowed to talk back. Even defending herself would be seen as insolence. Every fiber of her being wanted to scream, to fight, to bare her teeth and show them she wasn't broken.
But brokenness was survival here.
Silently, she picked up the rag and wiped the same spot again and again until the wood blurred under her tears.
Hours passed like lifetimes.
Every task bled into the next — laundry, scrubbing the packhouse kitchens, hauling water, cleaning the outdoor training grounds where her body once danced during sparring sessions. Now, the warriors training barely spared her a glance, except when they threw comments laced with mockery.
"Move, filth."
"Careful not to dirty the floor with your cursed blood."
Each word lodged like splinters beneath her skin.
By the time the sun dipped low in the sky, painting the world in bruised purples and golds, Jade could barely stand.
Still, there was laundry to haul back from the stream, meals to prepare, floors to be polished before nightfall. Her hands bled from rough work, her back screamed from bending and lifting and kneeling, but none of it mattered.
If she didn't finish before nightfall, if even one task was left undone — punishment would come swift and brutal.
No mercy. No excuses
As she trudged back into the omega quarters that night, her entire body sagged under the invisible weight of shame and exhaustion.
The few omegas gathered around the communal table watched her with curled lips and gleaming eyes.
"Look who finally learned her place," one said loudly enough for everyone to hear.
"Not so special now, are you?" Mira chimed in, plucking a piece of bread from the tray and tearing into it viciously.
Jade said nothing. She kept her eyes on the floor, on the scuffed, battered shoes she wore, the shoes that once carried her proudly across these grounds as Caden's intended.
"Hey," another omega called after her as she turned toward her tiny cot. "Thank us sometime, yeah? If it weren't for the Alpha's mercy, you'd be six feet under."
More laughter followed her to the corner where her miserable bedding waited.
Jade sat down heavily, letting her body sink into the threadbare mattress. She didn't eat. She didn't have the strength to force the stale bread down her parched throat.
Instead, she pressed her aching face into the rough fabric of her blanket and finally let the tears come, silent and scalding.
Maybe they're right, a treacherous thought whispered in the dark.
Maybe I don't deserve to be anything but a shadow.
But deeper still, buried beneath the bruises and filth and shame, another voice — faint, but stubborn — whispered:
They haven't broken you yet.
Jade clutched at that tiny ember, shielding it with everything she had left.
She would endure. She would survive.
Even if every breath tasted like ash, she would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her crumble.
Not yet