Chapter 5

I slide into the last row of desks in government class, my presence an unwanted ripple across the tranquil sea of teenage normalcy. One by one, chairs scrape against linoleum as my classmates move their desks subtly to the side, an orchestrated dance of distancing. The widening gap around me is a chasm of silence that swallows any pretense of acceptance.

"Guess you didn't get the memo," sneers a voice from the front, "this row is for humans only."

Laughter trickles through the room like a poison. I feel it, the invisible barrier they construct with every inch they shift away from me. But I straighten my posture, feigning indifference. I am an island in a stormy sea, cut off from the pack, from the herd, but still standing.

"Enough!" The sharp command slices through the murmurs, and all heads turn toward the professor, who stands with an air of unyielding authority. With a piercing gaze, they survey the classroom, the disappointment etched on their face clear as day.

"Since we're showing such wonderful pack—or should I say, class spirit today," the professor's voice drips with sarcasm, "let's try something new. Partner work." Murmurs of dissent bubble up but die quickly under the professor's stern look.

"I'll choose the pairs," they continue, eyes scanning over each student before landing on me. "Skyler," the professor calls out, and I lift my chin, ready for whatever comes next. "You're with Samantha."

A collective gasp fills the room, followed by whispers that hiss like steam from a pressure valve. Samantha, queen bee of the elite clique known as the 'Bitch Squad,' glares at me from across the room. Her crown of social power sits uneasily on her head at the announcement. She reluctantly moves her designer-clad form towards me, her displeasure radiating off her like heat from the infernal depths of Hell.

"Looking forward to working with you," she says, voice sweet as venom. It's a performance, a show of grace under the professor's watchful eye.

"Likewise," I reply, my words wrapped in a layer of ice no less cold than the rejection embodied by the empty space around my desk. The challenge lies before us, an academic battlefield where alliances are temporary and trust is a currency too rich for this environment.

But I am Skyler. And if I can endure the constant scorn of my peers and the solitude of my existence, I can handle being paired with Samantha. Even she is just another hurdle on the track I've been running since birth—a track that leads to an uncertain finish line, one I'm determined to reach on my own terms.

I stare at the empty desk beside mine, now soon to be occupied by Samantha. The air feels charged, a storm brewing in the tense silence that follows the professor's announcement. My pulse quickens, not from fear—no, never fear—but from the heavy weight of dread that settles like a cloak around my shoulders. I am an omega, yes, but even omegas have fangs.

"Should be fun, right?" Samantha drawls, her tone dripping with disinterest as she slumps into the chair next to me. I can feel the eyes of every student on us, their silent judgments and barely concealed sneers cutting deeper than any physical wound.

"Thrilling," I manage to say, my voice steady despite the cauldron of emotions simmering inside me. Defiance sparks within, igniting a fire that refuses to be quenched by their pettiness. Let them push me, let them try to break me—I've endured worse than their childish games.

I keep my head high, focusing on the assignment before us. My fingers wrap around my pen with purpose, each word I jot down an act of resilience. I won't let them see me falter; I won't give them the satisfaction.

The clock's hands crawl forward, and the bell finally rings, slicing through the tension like a silver blade. Students rush to leave, eager to escape the stifling atmosphere of the classroom. I take my time gathering my belongings, each movement deliberate. My notebooks slide into my backpack with a soft thud, the zipper's teeth closing with a finality that mirrors my determination.

I hoist the bag over one shoulder, standing tall amidst the sea of whispers and pointed stares. Today is just another battle in the ongoing war of high school politics and pack dynamics. But I am Skyler—a lone wolf walking a path lined with shadows, unyielding in my journey towards whatever destiny awaits me

Stepping into the hallway, the noise of my classmates fades behind me like a retreating storm. For a moment, I lean against the cool metal of a locker, letting out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. The day's weight settles on my shoulders, a familiar burden that momentarily bows my head.

I close my eyes, and there it is—that sting of vulnerability prickling behind my eyelids, threatening to spill over. The laughter echoing in my ears isn't joyous; it's scornful, a reminder of my place at the bottom of an unforgiving hierarchy. The ache in my chest flares, raw and exposed, the product of their relentless torment.

But it's only a moment, a fleeting lapse in the armor I've forged from solitude and scorn. I straighten up, shake off the heaviness, and open my eyes—those cursed silver orbs hidden behind dark lenses. With each steady heartbeat, my resolve rebuilds itself, brick by stubborn brick.

I will endure this.

The hallways are a battlefield, the stares of my peers the arrows I must dodge with every step. But I am the daughter of Beta wolves, born with a spirit that refuses to cower. They'll not see my defeat; I'm crafted from the same resilience that's seen my kind persevere through centuries of moonlit hunts and bloodied howls.

I walk on, my steps silent but sure, a testament to my unwavering determination. This isolation they force upon me—it's nothing but a crucible, tempering my will, sharpening my resolve. One day, the very traits that mark me as an outcast will be the ones that herald my belonging. My silver eyes don't just reflect the world—they see through its superficial layers, glimpsing possibilities others are blind to.

"Skyler," I whisper to myself, a private incantation of self-belief. "You're more than they know. More than they fear you could be."

The promise of acceptance flickers within me, a distant beacon in the fog of disdain that cloaks these halls. It's not just hope—it's certainty. Because even the omega wolf hears the call of the moon, feels the pull of the Tamsin Moon's rare blessing that stirs deep within my being.

And when it rises, so shall I.