Lydia’s POV
By the following week, whispers had turned into something sharper.
Someone rearranged my patient files the night before rounds, leaving me scrambling and humiliated in front of a senior healer who docked me for negligence I hadn’t actually committed.
My locker was broken into twice, my belongings scattered across the floor of the changing room both times, no note, no explanation, just enough of a message to make my hands shake every time I turned the combination lock.
Someone left a torn magazine clipping taped to my locker one morning, some gossip page article about pack mistresses circled in red marker, no words needed to make the accusation clear. I peeled it off with numb fingers and threw it away before anyone could see me react to it.
At lunch, I ate standing in a s
