"I know," she said, smiling again. "Everyone knows who you are."
Of course they did.
The wolfless omega. The one who got laughed at in history class. The one Ava targeted when she was bored. I was a punchline before anyone even knew my name.
She kept trying to talk—small stuff. Asked how long I'd been at Silver Claw High. If the classes were hard. What the teachers were like. Normal conversation. I answered with nods, short words. Nothing more. I didn't ask her anything in return.
I didn't want to.
It's not that she seemed like a bad person. She didn't. She was probably nice. But nice didn't mean safe. And I didn't do friends. Not anymore.
Because every time someone tried to be kind, I asked myself the same question: Is it real, or is it pity?
I didn't want pity. I wasn't a charity project. If someone wanted to be near me just to feel better about themselves, they could go find a different cause.
So I gave Lissa the bare minimum. A name. A nod. Eye contact only when necessary. And eventually, like all the others, she took the hint.
She ate quietly after that. No more questions. No more small talk.
Just silence.
Which, for me, was peace.
The rest of the day passed like it always did—quiet, heavy, painfully boring. No more questions aimed at me, no more laughter at my expense, at least not loud enough to sting. Just the usual whispering behind hands and the occasional glance like I was some walking ghost that didn't belong among the living.
After lunch, everyone drifted back into class like they had nothing better to do, all chatting about their weekend plans, about shifts, sparring sessions, dates, and patrol rotations. Nothing I could relate to. Nothing that involved me.
I took my seat in the back and didn't speak for the rest of the day.
By the time the final bell rang, I was already halfway out of my chair. I slipped out of the classroom fast, keeping close to the wall, head down, moving like a shadow. I didn't want to give anyone a chance to notice me. And for once, it worked. No one stopped me. No one said a word.
I stepped outside into the cold air, finally able to breathe again.
The walk home wasn't long, but my body ached from the early morning shift. My back felt tight, and the soles of my feet stung in my boots. I kept moving anyway. I was used to the soreness. It was a constant now, just like hunger and fatigue and pretending.
By the time I reached the house, the sky had started to dim. I opened the door and called out softly, just loud enough to announce myself.
"Mom?"
"I'm in the kitchen!" Lilian's voice drifted back, warm and full of motion. The sound of a spoon clinking against a pot followed it.
Before I could say another word, Rhea came bursting from the hallway like a tiny storm, her arms outstretched, feet pattering across the floor.
"Selene!"
She flung herself at me, and I caught her automatically, nearly stumbling back under her full-force enthusiasm.
"Whoa," I laughed quietly, hugging her tight. "Someone missed me."
"I went to the museum!" she said immediately, eyes wide. "We saw dinosaur bones! Real ones! And a stuffed bear but it wasn't scary—okay it was a little scary, but not really because it's dead now—but still big! And—and I got to touch a fossil!"
She said all of this in one breath, barely pausing between words.
I smiled, holding her close for a moment longer before letting her down gently. "Sounds like you had a whole adventure without me."
"I did! And I drew a picture of a T-Rex for you! Wait—wait, I'll get it!"
She disappeared into the hallway before I could respond, little feet pounding on the wooden floor.
Lilian stepped into the living room, wiping her hands on a towel. Her dark hair was pulled back in a loose bun, and her eyes—tired but kind—searched my face.
"How was school?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
I gave her the practiced smile. The fake one. Just a little curve of the lips that wasn't meant to convince anyone.
She sighed. "That bad, huh?"
I shrugged. "It was… normal."
"Hmm." Her gaze lingered, seeing more than I wanted her to. "Go freshen up, okay? Dinner will be ready in a few minutes."
I nodded. "Is Dad—?"
"He's out on patrol," she said before I finished. "Won't be home until late."
"Right."
She touched my shoulder gently as I turned to leave, a small gesture, one that meant more than either of us said out loud. I didn't stop. Didn't want to let her see the crack under the surface.