The sun was setting, casting long, menacing shadows across the Shadowclaw territory. Lyra knew the Elders would call the final council meeting—the declaration of nullification—by dawn. She had only hours.
Lyra used the stolen coordinates to find the secure vault beneath the Tower, using her low Omega status to slip past the Beta guards who barely noticed her. The vault was designed to protect the Heart of Shadowclaw—a crystalline, faintly glowing blue orb—from external attack.
But not from the inside.
She reached the massive, multi-keyed door. Lyra, using an ancient trick detailed in the Book of Crimson Ascent, didn't try to brute-force the magic. She used her own low, Omega energy signature to mimic the background radiation of the Pack's core, tricking the relic into recognizing her bloodline.
The vault hissed open.
The Heart of Shadowclaw rested on a velvet cushion. It was a spectacular artifact, humming with centuries of collected Shadowclaw power. Lyra knew this was treason—the highest crime against the Pack. She didn't hesitate.
She reached out and carefully lifted the orb. The moment her hand closed around the crystal, the orb's blue light flickered, and a faint, electric shock pulsed through her veins, a warning and a promise. It felt like holding the raw power of the moon.
Lyra knew she couldn't leave the relic exposed. Her act would be discovered immediately. Thinking fast, she used her small, meager Omega magic—a trick learned from her grandmother—to create an illusion. The real Heart of Shadowclaw she wrapped in protective cloth and tucked securely into her cloak. The illusion she left on the cushion, shimmering faintly blue, convincing enough for a hurried guard to miss.
She returned to the nursery just as Ronan walked in. He was dressed in his formal Alpha attire, his face stern and unyielding.
"We need to talk," he said, his voice cold. "The Elder Council is moving the meeting up. They want this finished before the morning news cycle."
"And you have agreed to this timetable," Lyra stated, her voice devoid of emotion.
"I am securing the Pack, Lyra. I have no choice," Ronan insisted, gripping the doorframe. "You and Leo will be given a small estate outside the main territory, enough money to live comfortably—"
"I don't need your charity," Lyra interrupted, securing Leo in a shawl. "And I don't need your permission. Leo is safe with me. Tell the Elders whatever narrative makes you sleep at night, Ronan. Tell them I was greedy, tell them I was a thief."
She knew that by taking the Heart of Shadowclaw, she was giving him the perfect, irrefutable reason for exile. It was a necessary sacrifice.
Ronan looked at her, his face a mask of conflict—the Alpha commanding the betrayal, and the man grieving the loss. But the Alpha won.
"Lyra," he said, his voice flat. "I will regret this for the rest of my life. But the Pack must come first."
Lyra walked out, passing him in the doorway. "No," she whispered, her eyes meeting his one last time. "You will regret this for eternity."
She walked out of the penthouse, down the back stairs, and toward the city limits, clutching Leo and the glowing orb beneath her cloak. She was no longer just fleeing; she was setting the stage for her return. Her life as Lyra Thorne, the Omega, was over. Her journey to becoming the Crimson Matriarch had just begun.