THE SMALL LOYAL PACK The dampness of the riverbank clung to our skin like a second layer of clothing. We were huddled in a small cave just past the canyon’s mouth, the sound of the Black River rushing by just outside.

I watched them—my "small pack." They weren't high-born knights or trained guards. They were the ones the world had forgotten. The Omegas. The ones told they were too weak to lead and too soft to fight.

"My hands won't stop blueing," Elara whispered, rubbing her fingers ...