My Luna, Helena.

The biting chill of the morning air was a familiar companion, as was the dull ache in Helena's arm from her older 'brother' Falcon's shove.

"Get downstairs and make us food!" His voice, laced with its usual contempt, still echoed in the tiny, closet-sized room. "You have 30 minutes, oh and happy birthday bitch."

Another shove, and then he was gone, leaving Helena to rub the sore spot and stretch her weary limbs. Today was her eighteenth birthday, a day that should have been celebrated, but in the Midnight Grass Pack, it was just another reminder of her cursed existence. She slipped into her worn-out clothes, the fabric as thin and faded as her hopes.

The kitchen was dimly lit when she entered, the pre-dawn quiet broken only by the hum of the refrigerator. Most of the pack was still asleep, a small mercy. Only the Alpha and her brothers were typically awake at this hour, their presence a constant reminder of her place at the bottom. She began to prepare breakfast, the rhythmic sounds of cooking a stark contrast to the turmoil in her heart.