“I know,” she said, smiling again. “Everyone knows who you are.”
Of course they did.
The wolfless omega. The one who got laughed at in history class. The one Ava targeted when she was bored. I was a punchline before anyone even knew my name.
She kept trying to talk—small stuff. Asked how long I’d been at Silver Claw High. If the classes were hard. What the teachers were like. Normal conversation. I answered with nods, short words. Nothing more. I didn’t ask her anything in return.
I didn’t want to.
It’s not that she seemed like a bad person. She didn’t. She was probably nice. But nice didn’t mean safe. And I didn’t do friends. Not anymore.
Because every time someone tried to be kind, I asked myself the same question: Is it real, or is it pity?
I didn’t want pity. I wasn’t a charity
