Maya.
I burst out of the shop, the bells ringing angrily above my head.
I looked down the street and my blood ran cold.
Christopher was on the ground, pinned down by two boys while two girls crouched over him, saying something that was making him cry.
He was only three years old, but he understood the language of Northern Pack better than most kids his age. He was smart. Way too smart for his own good sometimes.
I started walking fast, my hands already clenched into fists.
As I got closer, I heard what they were saying.
“You don’t have a father, you little prick,” one of the girls hissed. She pulled his hair hard. The boys laughed and one of them hit Christopher across the face, making him cry out in pain. “Where’s your dad, huh? Did he go buy milk and never come back?”
“Enough!” I
