Doesn't even try.
That's when I know—really know—that something is very, very wrong.
"Sera." Her voice is gentle in a way that makes my skin crawl. Tender like she's about to deliver bad news. A soft whisper like she's preparing to watch me shatter. "Haven't you heard?"
My head tilts further, pink hair sliding over my shoulder.
"Heard what?"
Tap-tap-tap-tapgoes my toe against the floor.
Thud-thud-thud-thudgoes my heart against my ribs.
Maria's mouth opens, closes. She looks at the letter in my hand—at the pink wax seal stained with my blood—and something in her expression crumbles.
"New rules went into place. Last night. Emergency directive from the academy administration."
"Rules?" I laugh, but it comes out wrong. Too high. Too sharp. "There are always new rules. What's the punishment this time? Extra laps around the combat ring? Reduced rations? Mandatory therapy sessions with that shrink who keeps trying to medicate me into compliance?"
"No, sweetheart." Maria's hand reaches toward me, then stops—hovers in the air like she's afraid to touch me. "The new rules... they're about postal services."
The world goes very, very still.
"Postal services," I repeat, my voice flat.
"Omegas are no longer allowed to use the mail system." The words come out in a rush, like she's ripping off a bandage. "Unless they have a pack."
For a moment—just one crystalline second—I don't understand.
The words bounce around inside my skull, refusing to arrange themselves into meaning.
Omegas.
Not allowed.
Mail system.
Pack.
Then they click into place.
And something inside me cracks.
"Well." My laugh this time is eerie—hollow and echoing, the kind of sound that makes people back away slowly. "Well, that's...that's funny, isn't it? Because if Ihada pack—" I gesture broadly at the empty post office, at myself, at the entire fucked-up situation, "—I wouldn't be in Ruthless Academy now, would I?"
Maria nods slowly, her eyes glistening.
"I know. I know, sweetheart. It's not fair. It's?—"
"Fair?" The word tastes like ash on my tongue. "When has anything in this place beenfair?"
She doesn't answer.
Can't answer.
Because we both know the truth: nothing about Ruthless Academy is fair.
About being a packless Omega, about watching your parents get slaughtered when you're twelve years old and spending the next decade trying to claw your way back to something resembling happiness isfair.
