Matilda was released the next morning.
But it was not freedom.
She was neither a prisoner nor a guest. She had been assigned the role of a slave servant, a fate only slightly better than rotting in the dungeon.
As she was escorted out, the other prisoners watched in silence.
Some cast envious glances, their hollow eyes burning with a mix of longing and resentment.
Even if servitude was cruel, it was still a life outside, where the air was fresher, and the sun could touch her skin.
The moment she stepped into the light, warmth greeted her battered body.
She squinted against the brightness, her limbs trembling from exhaustion.
The sudden transition from damp darkness to the bustling world outside was almost disorienting.
Her escort, a burly warrior, nudged her forward.
"Keep moving."
Matilda obeyed, her bare feet dragging across the packed dirt path.
The Grey Shadow Pack was nothing like the world she had known.
The air here smelled of fresh pine and damp earth, unlike the dust and decay of No Man's Land.
The pack house stood tall in the distance, a grand two-story building surrounded by lush green fields and carefully trimmed flower gardens.
A symbol of order. Wealth. Power.
Life here was vibrant. Wolves in human form moved about, engaged in tasks or conversations.
Children darted past her, laughing as they raced toward a large stone building, probably the school.
Warriors, still glistening with sweat from their morning training, walked in disciplined strides.
The contrast between them and her was painfully clear.
Matilda, weak and scarred, barely looked human.
Her ragged clothing clung to her thin frame, and her tangled hair shielded the bruises on her face.
Her escort led her to the Omega quarters, a long, wooden barrack tucked behind the pack house.
A middle-aged woman stood at the entrance, arms crossed. She had sharp eyes lined with years of experience and a posture that spoke of authority.
The head Omega.
She eyed Matilda critically. Then, without a word, she turned and motioned for her to follow.
Inside, a few Omegas were already at work, washing clothes and scrubbing the floors. The scent of herbs and soap lingered in the air.
"Clean her up," the head Omega ordered.
Two younger girls stepped forward hesitantly. They didn't speak, but their eyes darted over Matilda's wounds with a mix of pity and curiosity.
Matilda was led to a small washroom where warm water filled a wooden tub. She barely had the strength to undress, but the girls helped her in.
The sting of water on her wounds made her wince, but she bit her lip and endured it.
The dirt and dried blood washed away, revealing pale, bruised skin underneath.
One of the girls asked, "Are you a rogue?"
Matilda hesitated. "...No."
The girl looked unconvinced but said nothing more.
Once she was cleaned, a plain grey dress was thrown over her head, and her damp hair was tied back.
The dress was simple, identical to what every Omega wore. A mark of their status.
The head Omega returned. "You'll start working immediately. No exceptions."
Matilda only nodded.
She quickly learned how things worked.
The pack functioned like a well-oiled machine, every member knowing their role.
The warriors trained from dawn till breakfast, while others carried out their assigned duties.
The dining hall was massive, designed to fit hundreds at a time.
At exactly 8 AM, after training, the pack gathered for meals.
The Alphas, Betas, and higher-ranked wolves sat at the grand table, while the lower-ranked members filled the remaining seats.
But Omegas?
They stood at the sides, ready to serve. They only ate after everyone else had finished... if there was food left.
Not all pack members lived in the grand building. Many had homes scattered across the land, some small and cozy, others as luxurious as mansions.
Despite this, no one missed pack meetings or gatherings. The unity was strict, almost absolute.
The territory itself was impressive. High schools and colleges were built within, allowing young wolves to study without leaving the pack's protection. Hospitals and clinics were fully equipped, ensuring the sick and injured were well cared for.
It was a life of structure. Discipline.
And hierarchy.
Status was everything.
Omegas were at the very bottom, expected to work tirelessly. They cleaned, cooked, and ran errands, but only had one meal per day.
Their sleeping quarters were cramped, and punishments were swift for anyone who failed to meet expectations.
Matilda understood quickly, survival meant obedience.
She was told that Calvin, the man who had interrogated her, was the Beta of the pack. Second only to one, the Alpha.
It explained his steady, calculating nature.
Unlike Joel, who relied on brute force, Calvin was precise. Methodical. He carried himself like a man who knew his place and expected others to know theirs.
And Matilda? She had none.
The head Omega was strict but fair.
At first glance, she appeared cold, but Matilda soon realized she had a hidden kindness, one reserved only for those who worked hard.
"Laziness is a death sentence," she told Matilda on her first night. "I don't protect the weak. I protect the useful."
The Omegas had their own silent code.
They helped each other, sharing workloads to avoid punishments. They had no allies among the higher-ranked wolves, only themselves.
But even among them, some refused to conform. Prodigals, rebellious and defiant also existed.
They were few.
And their fate was never kind.
Matilda had no intention of being one of them.