Mira's POV
The Headmaster's eyes didn't change.
That was the thing Mira noticed first. One second, there was fear in them real, deep, old fear. The next, it was gone. Wiped clean like it had never been there. Smooth as glass. Practiced as breathing.
He pulled back from her. Straightened. And when he spoke, his voice carried across the courtyard like it belonged to the walls themselves.
"This candidate shows no wolf presence." A pause. Deliberate. Final. "Omega House."
The silence broke.
A gasp rippled through the crowd sharp, collective, almost theatrical. Then the laughter came. Not from everyone. But from enough.
Omega.
Mira didn't know the word yet. Not really. But she felt what it meant in the way the crowd looked at her like she'd just been handed a label that said worthless in a language everyone here could read.
From somewhere in the Apex section, Celeste's voice carried across the courtyard. Not words. Just a sound a small, satisfied exhale. A smirk made audible.
Damon didn't bother being subtle.
"Guess you're a bottomfeeder here too!" he called out, loud and easy, like he was making a joke at a party. A few students laughed again. He soaked it in.
Mira looked at them both. Celeste's smirk. Damon's easy grin.
And she felt nothing.
Not because it didn't sting. It did. The same way it always did. But underneath the sting was something colder and sharper: a plan. Being invisible was exactly where she needed to be. The Headmaster had just handed her the best cover in the building, and he didn't even know it.
Let them laugh, she thought. Let them forget about me.
That's when I'm most dangerous.
She took the servant's uniform without a word. Dark grey. Plain. Forgettable. She put it on in a small room off the courtyard while a tiredlooking woman pointed her toward a staircase that went down.
Down.
Not up. Not into towers or bright halls. Down, into the belly of the academy, where the stone got colder and the light got thinner with every step.
Omega House was a basement.
A row of small, dark rooms carved into the stone cold, damp, and quiet in the way places are quiet when no one important goes there.
Mira's room had two other girls in it. Both younger than her. Both curled on their narrow beds like they were trying to take up as little space as possible.
When Mira walked in, they both flinched.
Not at her. At what she carried the attention, the danger. Being near her meant being noticed. And in Omega House, being noticed was the last thing anyone wanted.
Mira said nothing. She sat on the empty bed, set her hands in her lap, and stared at the wall.
The room was silent for a long time.
Night came without warning down here. No windows to watch the sky change. Just the slow, heavy dark settling in like something alive.
Mira hadn't eaten. Hadn't been offered food. Hadn't been told where to find any. She sat on the edge of the thin mattress, arms wrapped around herself, and let the quiet press in.
This was the lowest place in the academy. The place where wolves went to be forgotten.
She almost smiled. It suited her perfectly.
Then the door opened.
Not slowly. Not carefully. It swung wide, and a girl slipped through like she'd done it a hundred times before quick, easy, completely unbothered by the fact that she was sneaking into someone else's room in the dark.
She was young. Seventeen, maybe. Dark hair pulled back in a messy knot. A grin on her face that took up most of it. And in her hand a sandwich, wrapped in cloth, still warm.
She held it out to Mira like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"Here," she said. "Eat. Omegas don't get fed much around here. Trust me you'll need it."
Mira stared at the sandwich. Then at the girl.
"Who are you?"
"Lyra Ironclaw." The grin widened. "Zane's sister. Before you ask yes, that Zane. The one you stabbed."
Something loosened in Mira's chest. Just a little. Just enough.
She took the sandwich.
Lyra dropped onto the end of the bed like she owned it, legs folded underneath her, watching Mira eat with sharp, curious eyes that didn't look away once.
"Survive tomorrow's classes," Lyra said, "and I'll teach you the rules. The real ones. Not the ones they put in the handbook." She tilted her head. "The ones that actually keep you alive."
Mira chewed. Swallowed. Looked at Lyra really looked.
"Why?" Mira asked. Simple. Direct.
Lyra's grin didn't change. But something behind it shifted something knowing. Something that said she'd been watching longer than Mira realized.
"Because anyone Kieran Bloodmoon stares at that intensely," she said, "is either dead meat or something special." She shrugged, like the answer was obvious. "And I don't think you're dead meat. Not yet, anyway."
Mira opened her mouth to respond.
Then she looked up.
The room had one window small, high up, barely more than a crack in the stone. But through it, Mira could see a slice of the courtyard above. Lit by torchlight. Almost empty now.
Almost.
Two figures stood near the far wall. One was tall, broad, silverwhite hair catching the light even from this distance.
Kieran.
The other was older. Bigger. The same sharp jaw, the same cold bearing but harder. Worn down by years into something that looked less like a man and more like a weapon.
They were arguing. Mira couldn't hear the words at first just the shape of them, tense and fast and angry. Kieran's shoulders were rigid. The older man was leaning in, voice low, finger pointed.
Then the man's hand moved.
Open palm. Fast. Across Kieran's face.
The sound didn't reach her. But she saw it saw the way Kieran's head snapped to the side, saw the stillness that followed, saw the way neither of them moved for a full, frozen second.
Then the older man leaned in close. And this time maybe because of the angle, maybe because he raised his voice Mira heard every word.
"Reject the human publicly. Or you are no son of mine."
The courtyard didn't move.
Kieran didn't move.
And Mira sat in the dark, sandwich forgotten in her hand, and understood for the first time exactly how much danger she was in.