Aria’s POV
The buzz of the clipper was louder than I expected.
It trembled in my hand, an unfamiliar weight, the vibration running up my wrist as I held it close to my scalp. My reflection in the mirror looked like a stranger...patches of burnt hair clinging stubbornly while the rest had already fallen away in uneven clumps. The smell of scorched strands still lingered in my nose, a cruel reminder of Brielle and her friends, of the fire, of the humiliation.
I pressed the clipper harder. Strands tumbled down, sliding along my shoulders and sticking to the sink. Each one that fell felt like losing a piece of me. My wolf whimpered weakly in the back of my mind, too fragile to rise, too hurt to lend me any strength. She grieved as if every lock hitting the floor was another wound cut into u
