ELAINE.
I had known since the gate.
The moment she walked into that corridor and looked at me with those eyes — steady, assessing, giving nothing away — I knew. Surgery could change a face. It could reshape a nose, soften a jaw, alter a brow line. It could make someone unrecognizable to people who only looked at surfaces.
But my eyes were different. Eyes didn't change. The shape of them, the specific quality of attention behind them — that was bone deep. That was something no surgeon could touch.
I had met Sara Delaney exactly once. Six years ago, at the pack banquet, the night Killian rejected her. I had stood beside him while he did it. I had looked at her with that cultivated disdain I was so good at back then — the kind that came from being raised to believe that Omegas existed at
