I push open the door to my history class, the air heavy with the scent of dust and aged paper, a stark contrast to the vibrant life that pulses through the Wild Rose Pack territory. My classmates don't look up as I enter; it's as if I move cloaked in invisibility, yet the weight of their disregard is as tangible as the textbooks they clutch. I thread my way between desks, each one subtly skewed to form an unspoken barricade against me. No words are necessary—their message comes across ...