Quieter.
More defensive.
I find a spot near the edge of the Omega section—close enough to be technically present, far enough to maintain some distance from the girls who were gossiping about me moments ago. My back finds the wall, and I let myself lean against the cool surface while I wait for the class to officially begin.
The mini-version of Ro is warm against my collarbone.
I modified her this morning—compressed the sphere into something smaller, something that could be worn around my neck on a simple chain instead of floating beside me conspicuously. She still functions, still monitors my vitals, still provides commentary that's equal parts helpful and sarcastic.
But now she's portable.
Stealthy.
A comfort object hidden in plain sight.
"Status?" I murmur, barely moving my lips.
"All systems nominal," Ro responds, her voice tinny but clear through the tiny speaker embedded in the pendant. "Heart rate slightly elevated. Cortisol levels within acceptable parameters. No immediate threats detected."
No immediate threats.
That's debatable, given the looks I'm getting from basically everyone.
But I appreciate the attempt at reassurance.
The whispers start up again.
Louder now, because the gossiping Omegas have reached the gymnasium and rejoined their friends. I can hear them—fragments of conversation drifting across the space like poison.
"—did youhear? She actually got claimed?—"
"—by theLawsonpack, like, the one with the scary leader?—"
"—they're all sohot, it's literally unfair?—"
"—how did someone likeherend up withthem?—"
"—she probably spread her legs and they're just too polite to say no?—"
"—imagine having tosmellthat crazy energy every day?—"
"—I heard she kills people, like,actuallykills them?—"
"—no way they're keeping her long-term, she's a walking disaster?—"
The envy is palpable.
Thick enough to taste, hanging in the air like humidity before a storm. They hate me—have always hated me—but now there's something new in their hostility. Something that looks likefrustration. Like they can't understand how someone they've decided is beneath them managed to get something they want.
A pack.
Four Alphas.
The kind of protection that changes everything.
I tune them out.
It's a skill I've developed over years of practice—the ability to let noise wash over me without letting it in. To exist in the space between words, where the cruelty can't quite reach.
