AVERY
“I’m Avery, and I am not help,” I said, stepping forward. “And you can bring your own damn bags.”
Ayla’s eyes narrowed, her smile faltering for the first time. The look she gave me then was pure ice—calculated, dismissive, royal. Like I was something beneath her expensive heel.
Then her gaze lazily slid toward Courtney, as if I had already ceased to exist.
“Well, who is she then?” she asked, a lilt of feigned curiosity in her voice, though her tone dripped with condescension.
“A friend,” Courtney snapped, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
Ayla blinked slowly. “From which pack?”
The question landed like a blow. I tensed, trying not to show it, but she noticed. Of course she did. Her eyes honed in on me like a hawk that had spotted blood, sharp and unrelenting, waiting to see
