Savannah
“Savannah? Are you alright?” my mom's voice, so calm and controlled, came over the line.
My patience, already worn thin by days of confinement and this constant, high-alert state, finally snapped. “Alright? How can I be alright?” I retorted, my voice rising. “The boys are caged in this house! I’m losing my mind with worry! And you’re asking me if I’m alright? How long are we supposed to live like this, Mom? There’s a military curfew out there because of me, and I’m so tired of hiding.”
Her response held no comfort, only her usual desire to maintain control, this time by painting a terrifying picture of the alternative. “Listen to me, Savannah. You cannot be impatient now. You have no idea what my father, Alpha Henry, is capable of. He won’t just take you. He will take the boys
