It began with three of them.
Thin.
Hollow-eyed.
Their coats ragged from hunger and scars too deep to hide.
Flynn spotted them first at the border, two young omegas and an older zeta with a limp that hadn’t healed right.
They didn’t fight.
They didn’t beg.
They only stood there, shivering in the cold, and said the same words over and over.
“We heard of the Omega Alpha.”
By nightfall, there were seven more.
By the end of the week, dozens.
Omegas with ribs showing from starvation.
Zetas who’d been broken under cruel alphas.
Deltas cast out because they were too slow, too small, or too scarred.
Every one of them had the same story, beaten down, left behind, told they were worth less than nothing.
And every one of them said the same thing.
“We heard she give the weak a place
