Morning came like an unwelcome guest. Pale light seeped through the cracks in the wooden shutters, casting uneven stripes across the stone floor.

Freya had barely slept. She had spent half the night pacing, the other half pressing her forehead against the cold window, watching the sky shift from black to gray to the dull gold of dawn. Her cheek still stung, but the tears had dried hours ago.

Just then, the lock turned with a quiet click. Freya sat up as the door creaked open, revealing her mother.

Celeste stepped inside, closing the door gently behind her. She hesitated, watching her daughter with an expression caught between sorrow and resignation. “Are you hungry?” she asked softly.

Freya shook her head. “No.”

Celeste sighed and moved forward, sinking onto the bed beside her. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

"I hate seeing you like this." Celeste's voice was barely above a whisper, as if she feared being overheard.

Freya swallowed the lump rising in her throat. “Then help me,” she whispered back.

Her mother’s breath hitched. For a moment, Celeste was utterly still, as if pretending she hadn’t heard. But Freya turned to her, gripping the fabric of her sleeve. “Please,” she begged. “Please, Mother. I— I can’t do this.”

Celeste closed her eyes. Freya’s fingers trembled as she clung to her mother’s arm. She had never begged before—not like this. But she had no choice. "He’s not what he pretends to be,” she whispered. “Magnus.”

She watched closely as her mother’s expression tightened. Freya licked her lips, nausea rising in her throat. “The last time we visited the Borough, when Father was meeting with the council, Magnus took me to the training grounds.” Her nails dug into Celeste’s arm, but her mother didn’t pull away. “He said I needed to be stronger. That I needed to understand how to defend myself as a future Luna. H-he tried to—”

Celeste’s brows knitted together, but she said nothing, forcing Freya to continue. “Magnus pushed me down and lifted my skirt.”

She could still feel the cold stone beneath her, the weight of him pressing her into it. His breath, thick with spiced wine, hot against her skin. “You’ll learn to obey, Freya,” he had murmured. “One way or another.”

She had never told anyone. Until now.

Celeste’s fingers tensed where they rested on Freya’s knee. “I don’t love him,” Freya whispered. “I don’t even like him. I— I’m scared of him.”

Her mother’s face twisted, something flickering behind her eyes—something Freya could almost mistake for denial. But then Celeste shut her eyes for a moment and exhaled sharply through her nose.

“Do you believe me, Mother?”

When Celeste spoke again, her voice was tight. “It doesn’t matter.”

Freya recoiled as if struck by her answer. “What?”

Celeste stood abruptly, turning away. She ran a hand down her face, her breath slow and measured, as if trying to steady herself.

Freya scrambled to her feet, grabbing her wrist. “How can you say that?”

“Because it’s already done.” Celeste turned to her, eyes rimmed red, lips trembling. “You think I want this for you?” she demanded, her voice no longer soft and cautious. “You think I wanted you to be trapped like this?”

Freya froze. Her mother’s shoulders rose and fell with each breath, her hands curled into fists.

"This is how it is," Celeste said finally. "This is how it has always been."

Freya shook her head. "That's not true."

A bitter laugh escaped her mother’s lips. "It was decided the moment you were born,” she murmured. “Before you even knew what love was. Before you could walk. Before you understood the world outside these walls.”

Freya felt like the air had thickened, pressing against her ribs. She had always known her future was not her own, that her worth was measured in the strength of the Alpha she would marry. But hearing it now—hearing it from her mother, who had always been the one safe place in her life—it felt like a knife between her ribs. “So you’re just going to let them do this to me?” Freya asked, her voice breaking.

Celeste flinched. For a single, horrible second, Freya saw something in her mother’s eyes. Guilt.

Celeste stepped past her, moving toward the door. She hesitated as her fingers tightened around the handle. “I came to check on you. That is all.” She didn’t turn back before she left and didn’t say another word.

As the lock clicked shut, Freya felt it like a shackle tightening around her throat.