(Elara's POV)
The scent of jasmine and lavender clung to the air, thick and comforting, a stark contrast to the sterile, metallic tang that now permeated my life. Grandma Lyra's greenhouse. It was my sanctuary, a vibrant explosion of color and life nestled within the cold, regimented pack grounds. My fingers, trembling slightly, traced the delicate petals of a blood-red rose, the thorns a silent warning.
Lyra. Just the name was a balm to my soul, a whispered prayer in the face of the storm that was my life. She had been the only warmth in a childhood steeped in icy expectations and whispered disapproval. The pack, with their rigid hierarchies and ingrained prejudices against omegas, had never quite accepted me. I was an outsider, a stray adopted into their fold, and they never let me for
