The packhouse remains a battlefield, but Nana is no warrior. Not in their eyes.
She is the weak one, the outcast, the mistake that never should have survived.
Every corridor she walks through feels like a gauntlet. Wolves shove past her without a second thought, their shoulders knocking against hers with deliberate force. They don’t look back. They don’t acknowledge her as anything more than a stain beneath their feet.
The whispers never stop.
They slither through the air like poison, wrapping around her throat, sinking into her skin.
Thief. Traitor. Worthless.
She should be used to it by now.
At first, she tried to fight back—tried to hold her head high, to meet their sneers with defiance. But defiance is a luxury she cannot afford. The moment she showed even a sliver of resistance
