Sloane’s POV
Rolling my eyes, I walk away before Judy can see what her words do to me. Not because they hurt, but because I don’t have time, nor do I want to indulge in this game of petty she does. In the past, I have seen her do it to others, and now she has recently started with me.
That's what I tell myself, anyway.
My fingers curl around the leather strap of my bag, tightening until the seam digs hard into my palm. Deep inside me, Zia remains in her shadowy corner, uncharacteristically silent. She is taking everything in silently, like she usually does.
You’re the help.
The words cling to me, echoing down the crowded hallway with every step I take.
For years, they’ve called me names. Omega. Weak. Unwanted. Broken. The help. And Zia and I survived every label this pack threw at us
