ZARIA

They don’t say it to my face.

But I feel it in the way the room falls silent when I enter.

Not the respectful kind of silence — not the “Alpha walks in, we straighten our spines” kind.This is the kind of silence you hear when someone you love walks into a wake wearing a knife.

The clinking of spoons against metal bowls slows. The low hum of conversation stutters. And then… nothing.

Wolves who once bled beside me now sip soup like it’s poison when I sit at their table, their ...