TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-THREE

She’s made it a habit to hunt down students who slip up, then report them to me along with her own cruel ideas of what their punishment should be.

Her punishments are always disturbingly harsh—twisted beyond what’s appropriate. And if I don’t step in and take the hit myself, she will go through with them. No bluff, no hesitation.

I learned late last year that her dad gave her and a few others the task of “overseeing” the school—basically policing minor rule-breaking that the administration deems too small to bother with. Their job is to catch it, assign punishment, and carry it out.

Some students have gone to the principal about how abusive she is, but it’s either falling on deaf ears or being brushed aside. Maybe the staff agrees with her methods, or maybe something else is protecting her. Either way, nothing’s been done.

But that doesn't matter to me—because I won't stand by and let her torment pack members. And she knows that.

Which is why I’ve become her personal outlet.

I never talk about it, and neither do the students I protect. We all came to the same conclusion: nothing will stop her. Reporting her is useless. She spins the best lies, and no adult will believe me. Some are too scared to even try.

But the kids I take the beatings for? They don’t need to say anything. I can see it in their eyes when we pass each other in the hallways. The quiet gratitude. The silent respect.

If they could say something, I know they would. And that’s part of why I keep enduring it. Not everyone is blind to what’s happening.

I just wish the people with power would do something. School should never be a place kids fear going to.

\---
As for training? She barely ever shows. She weasels her way out of nearly every "mandatory" session, and to be honest, I never complain. Her absence brings a calm I rarely get to experience.

The only reason I don’t fight back anymore is because of my father.

The one time I did—when I finally snapped and hit her hard enough to break her nose and fracture her cheekbone—she ran to her dad with a sob story about how I was a higher rank and using my strength to bully her.

Of course, that got escalated. My father was called in, and I was forced to stand there while he tore into me in front of Raven, her father, and the principal.

He didn’t hold back.

I was called useless, lazy, a disappointment—he even said that my mother had died because I was too difficult to carry. That I should be working with the ranked members to support the pack, not attacking someone weaker than me.

That was the day I stopped speaking to him unless he addressed me directly.

The worst part is… I thought I could earn his approval if I just worked harder. If I pushed myself enough—became better, stronger, perfect—maybe he’d finally see me. Maybe he’d think I was worthy.

So I threw myself into everything he ever said mattered.

I made sure I was the best student. He probably knows it, but he’ll never acknowledge it. And I’ve trained hard enough to become the top warrior in the pack.

Just because I won’t be Beta doesn’t mean I can’t be valuable. Maybe I’ll transfer to another pack, if my mate turns out to be from somewhere else. That’s the dream—leaving all this behind.

Sure, I’d miss Luna Sage and Delta Nolan… maybe even Milo a little. But the idea of freedom? Of having friends, walking without fear, not constantly checking over my shoulder or feeling like I’m just taking up space?

That would be paradise.

—
As Milo and I step outside together, I instinctively veer off the path, heading toward the shortcut I always take through the woods to get to training.

“Where are you going?” he calls after me. “The packhouse is this way.”

“Training. Where else?” I reply, already walking toward the trees behind Ethan’s house. “It’s quicker this way.”

“We’re not walking.” His voice carries a note of disbelief. “Max and Jade are giving us a ride, remember?”

“Oh…” I trail off, lowering my eyes to my shoes. “I figured that was a you guys thing. I didn’t think I was included.”

When he doesn’t immediately respond, I glance up. He winces—just barely—but I catch it before he masks it.

I know it was petty, but I couldn’t help the jab. Ever since the twins got their car, the five of them have ridden to school together every day.

Not once was I asked to join.

It’s not like the walk is far, so I never really cared… but the fact that I was never considered stung. It was like I didn’t exist to them.

Which I guess was true. At least, until yesterday.

And that reminder was enough to pull me back to reality: things aren’t going to change once Monday hits.

They’ll go back to being the school’s golden boys—everyone’s favorite people to talk to, to hang around with.

And I’ll fade right back into the background.

Unless Raven decides to drag me out of it.