2. Hailey
Chapter 2
Hailey
T he next three days feel like seven. It might have been. Days move strangely here. The little window in my room barely lets in any light.
The cell they keep me in is bare—just a thin mattress on a metal frame and a toilet in the corner. No mirror. No clock. Nothing to mark the passing of time except the meals they slide through the slot in the door twice a day.
Sometimes I wake to find myself curled into a tight ball, arms wrapped around my middle as if I can physically hold myself together. The position makes my muscles ache, but it’s better than lying spread out, exposed to the everlasting chill that seeps through the metal walls.
Today feels different, though. There’s tension in the air, a shift in the routine that makes my senses tingle with warning. Just the omega in me. Constantly alert. Constantly anxious. Constantly fearful.
And what brings that fear home is the fact that she, the omega in me, is always right.
When the door squeaks open—not just the food slot—I know something has changed .
“Blindfold on.” The command comes through the crack in the door. I scramble for the dark material, wrapping it around my head and over my eyes.
I am never to tilt my head toward them without the blindfold on. I am never to meet their gazes.
“Up.” The beta guard’s voice is gruff, his tone laced with a barely concealed annoyance that makes my inside coil into a protective ball. He doesn’t wait for me to comply, his hand gripping my arm, yanking me to my feet. I wince under the pressure of his fingers.
I stumble, legs weak from disuse, or probably it’s got something to do with the poor nutrition. The room spins slightly, but I force myself to stay upright. Messing up now will only lead to more “training.”
“Time to pretty you up for transport.” I can hear the sneer in his voice, the cruel amusement that makes my skin crawl. He shoves a bundle of cloth into my arms. “Put these on. Gotta look good for your new master. You have two minutes.”
M-Master ?
My lungs cease to work, and I must have tensed or shifted because the beta’s grip tightens painfully on my arm. We aren’t supposed to speak—that rule has been beaten into me countless times—but my reaction makes him continue.
“What? They didn’t tell you?” His voice carries a cruel amusement. “You’ve been sold . High price, too, for such a thick little thing. Your master was very specific about wanting something…” He pauses, and I can feel his eyes crawling over me. “…substantial to breed.”
The word ‘breed’ makes bile rise in my throat. I must have swayed slightly because his grip shifts, steadying me even as his tone remains harsh.
“Don’t you dare faint. Your master paid good money for you, and he expects his property delivered in perfect condition… Well, apart from the expected training marks.” He grunts, chest bouncing, and I know he’s chuckling. “Can’t forget those.” He shoves a bundle of cloth into my arms. “Put these on. You have two minutes. And remember—” His voice drops lower, “—masters don’t like disobedient omegas. The last one who fought back? Well, let’s just say she learned her lesson. Hard.”
He releases me just as suddenly as he grabbed me, and I hear the door slam closed, but not before a wail from down the hall filters through the crack. The sound makes me flinch, reminding me of what happens to omegas who don’t comply.
My hands shake so badly I nearly drop the bundle. Master . The word echoes in my head. Foreign. Terrifying. I knew this was what I was being trained for, but the reality of it—of belonging to someone, of being property—makes the air feel too thick to breathe.
I didn’t think it would happen so soon…and yet, I knew I was out of time. I’m twenty-one. Old. Ancient in omega terms. If I wasn’t sold this year then…
Inhaling deeply, I steel myself, swallowing the lump in my throat as I shift the blindfold up to my forehead. In the dim light, I unfold what turns out to be a dress—if you could call it that. The material is so sheer it’s practically transparent, a mockery of clothing that will hide nothing from my…from my master’s gaze.
The word sticks in my throat. Something deep inside me tightens in pain. Master . Someone owns me. Someone who bought me to breed me. The thought makes me want to curl into a ball and disappear.
Beneath the dress is a pair of panties, equally sheer, equally revealing. My fingers trace the flimsy material, and I can already imagine how exposed I’ll be. The dress will cling to every curve, every roll, displaying all the parts of myself I’ve tried so hard to hide. My thickness, my softness—apparently the very things that made me desirable to this unknown master—will be on full display. The so-called clothing is a mockery of modesty that makes my cheeks burn with shame.
But I put it on. Because that’s what good omegas do .
They obey.
And this…this can’t be worse than having to walk around naked.
I’ve just finished pulling the dress over my head when the door cracks open again.
“Blindfold.” The beta barks, and I quickly pull the dark material back down over my eyes.
Hands grab my arms, two sets this time, and I’m marched forward. The floor changes beneath my bare feet—from smooth metal to something rougher. The texture scrapes against my bare feet as they guide me through what feels like an endless maze of corridors. Left, right, another right—I try to keep track but soon lose my bearings in the darkness behind the blindfold. And I can’t peek.
Did that once. Got caught. I was tied to my bed for a week. Hardly fed. Forced to hold my pee till they sent someone in to help me to the toilet, then back to the bed again. So I let them lead me, the only constants being the echoes of their boots and the occasional distant sound of crying or whimpering that makes my stomach clench.
We stop abruptly, and I hear the beeping of what must be a keypad, followed by the whoosh of automatic doors. The air feels different too, heavier somehow, thick with the scent of cleaning products and something else. Something metallic.
“In.” A rough shove sends me stumbling forward, and my shin connects with something hard—a table maybe. I bite back a yelp of pain.
No sound. Can’t make a sound. I’ll surely be punished.
“Stand here.”
New hands grip me, and I’m positioned like a doll, their hands arranging my limbs until I’m standing exactly as they want me to. The dress brushes against my thighs as someone circles me, their footsteps slow. Assessing .
“Hair.” A woman’s voice, not Widow’s, but similarly authoritative. “It needs to be done.” A discreet sniff tells me she’s a beta.
Fingers grab my hair roughly, yanking my head back. I bite my lip to keep from crying out as they begin working through the tangles. Each pull feels like they’re trying to tear my scalp off, but I remain silent. Good omegas don’t complain about pain.
“There.” The woman sounds satisfied. “Much better. Now for the finishing touches.”
Something cold touches my lips—lipstick, I realize. They’re painting me up like a present to be unwrapped. The thought makes my stomach turn, but I keep my mouth perfectly still as they work.
“Remember,” the woman says as she finishes, “your master likes his omegas silent and sweet. Don’t disappoint him, or you’ll be back here before you can blink. And trust me, second visits are much worse than first ones.” The woman pauses. “If this sale isn’t successful…well…”
A shudder runs through me at her words. I want to ask what she means, what happens to omegas who return, but I know better. Questions are forbidden. Curiosity is forbidden.
Fear, though—fear is encouraged.
The air seems to go dead after her warning, and I hear the shuffling of papers, the soft thump of boots, the distant hum of machines. My pulse is a dull roar in my ears, even as I fight to listen. To pick up any words, any conversation that can help me. But the female beta doesn’t elaborate on her threats; she doesn’t need to. The unknown terrifies me more than anything she could put into words.
A sharp tug on my arm drags me out of my thoughts—a beta male’s grip digging into my skin as he pulls me forward.
“Move.” His voice is laced with impatience, as if my mere existence is an inconvenience. I force my legs to cooperate as he tugs me along.
A door hisses open, and the air shifts again—warmer. For a moment, I stop walking, and the beta’s tug almost makes me stumble.
Warmth. It’s sunshine .
I haven’t felt sunshine in…
I…I can’t remember. It’s been so long.
The warmth is like a balm, seeping into my bones, making me want to whimper with how good it feels.
Hands grip my arms, propelling me forward. The blindfold keeps me disoriented, stumbling over uneven ground. Gravel crunches beneath my bare feet—another sensation that feels foreign after so long on smooth metal.
Then I’m being lifted, pushed into what must be a vehicle. The loss of that brief warmth, that teasing taste of sunlight, almost makes me cry out. But I bite my tongue, remembering the rules. No sounds. No resistance.
The interior smells of metal and diesel, but there's something else underneath. A scent that takes me far too long to identify through my fear-addled mind. Sweet, but layered. Different notes, different flavors, all mingling together.
A sound reaches my ears then—so quiet I almost miss it. A whimper, quickly stifled.
And suddenly, I understand what that layered sweetness is.
Other omegas.
That thing in my chest—the constant knot of fear that’s lived there since they first brought me to the Academy—tightens painfully. Because now I know I’m not alone in this vehicle. There are others. Other omegas being transported. Other lives being sold.
Other bodies to be bred.
My hands are promptly guided behind my back, and something coarse is tightened around my wrists. Rope.
“Sit.” The beta shoves me down onto what feels like a bench. “Head down.”
I comply, tucking my chin to my chest, trying to steady my breathing as the overwhelming scent of distressed omegas floods my senses. Through the chaos of mingled fear-scents, I’m acutely aware of the omega beside me—smaller than I am, skinnier. Another prisoner bound for wherever we’re heading.
The door bangs shut with a finality that makes me jump. When the engine rumbles to life beneath us, my stomach lurches again as we begin moving. Each sway of the vehicle combines with the heavy perfume of omega distress until my head spins, but I don’t dare move. Don’t dare lift my head.
“You know we’re fucked, right?” The voice beside me is barely a whisper, so soft I might have imagined it. “Wherever we’re going, we’re fucked.”
Yes. I know. But my tongue is a ball of tension stuck in my throat, the words refusing to come.
The journey stretches endlessly, reality narrowing to the steady hum of tires on pavement and fragments of conversation drifting from the front—voices too low to make out words, but their tone setting my teeth on edge. The truck—because it must be a truck, from the way we sway with each turn and the sound of the engine—carries us deeper into uncertainty with every mile.
My fists clench and unclench where they’re tied at my back, and my thighs stick to the bench in the heat, the thin dress offering no protection. Sweat trickles down my spine, but I don’t try to wipe it away. I focus instead on breathing, on staying still, on being good.
Because maybe, just maybe, if I’m good enough, Master Cee won’t send me back.
Even if he only wants me for my flaws—the very things that make other alphas turn away in disgust. Even if being “wanted” means being used. Being bred.
Something lurches within me at that thought. But it has to be better than going back there.
It has to be .
I release a slow, measured breath, repeating the words in my head over and over and over again. Because even with each repetition, that feeling settled on my spine won’t go away.
The feeling that I’m wrong. That I’m lying to myself.
It won’t go away because maybe it’s the truth.
“Hey,” the omega that spoke before whispers again. “What’s your name?”
I swallow hard, not sure she’s talking to me. When I don’t hear anyone else say a word, I hazard a whisper. “H-Hailey.”
“Hi, Hailey. I’m Vi.” Her voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it—something that doesn’t quite belong, like she’s borrowed the tone from someone else and hasn’t yet decided if it fits her. Even blindfolded, I can sense her—the faintest trace of honeysuckle and rain reaching my nose. It’s subtle, not like the other stronger scents in the transport, but distinctly omega. A few moments go by where we sway as the truck carries on. “How old are you?”
I swallow hard before whispering, shame filling me so swiftly it feels like second nature. “Twenty-one.”
Vi doesn’t respond. Not immediately. But her silence speaks volumes. If I could see her face, I’m sure I’d see the scorn. The look in her eyes as she wonders what’s wrong with me.
“Shit,” she finally whispers. “And you’re not…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, but she doesn’t need to. Not mated. Not knotted. Not wanted.
“No,” I whisper. “How old are you?”
She shifts beside me. “Ancient by omega standards…apparently.” I don’t miss the sarcasm, even with her whispering. “Most omegas are mated by eighteen. Latest twenty. The Academy said I was practically expired goods. Can’t imagine what they called you.”
The words sting, but I’m used to it. “Nothing I hadn’t already told myself.”
“You know what this means, right?” Vi’s voice drops even lower. “The kind of alpha that buys unwanted omegas…” She pauses, and I ca n hear her release a long breath through her nose. “They don’t want us for mating. Normal alphas don’t buy their mates. They court them. Fight for them. Whatever this alpha is planning…”
“He’s collecting rejects,” I finish for her, the truth settling so easily I realize I’d always known that was the case.
“Exactly.” Vi shifts again, and I get the sense she’s either sliding off the seat with the vehicle’s movement or she’s trying to get her hands out of the restraints without much success. “I hope to God this truck crashes and I die.”
Her words send an uncertain chill through me, but I can’t disagree. My fingers go numb at the edges as I swallow hard. The thought has crossed my mind more than once during my time at the Reform Academy. Death might be kinder than whatever awaits us.
I barely tilt my head in Vi’s direction, wishing I could see her. There’s something about her that sparks some dormant instinct alive. Maybe it’s the way she holds herself, even bound and blindfolded—like she’s waiting for an opportunity rather than accepting her fate. It reminds me of that part of myself I buried deep inside the Reform Academy’s walls, the part that used to dream of more than just survival.
“Vi—”
“Quiet back there!” The beta driver’s sharp command makes us both flinch. He has no alpha command, and yet the harsh tone in his voice almost pulls a whimper from me anyway.
The vehicle hits a bump, and I’m jostled against Vi’s shoulder. She’s trembling. Or maybe I am. It’s hard to tell in the darkness behind the blindfold, our bodies pressed together by the movement of the truck.
Some whimpers reach my ears from further back in the vehicle. Other omegas. How many of us are there? All headed to the same alpha? The same fate? The questions swirl in my mind, each one darker than the last.
“We’re all as good as dead,” Vi whispers.
She’s right .
What am I even thinking? That somehow, out of all this shit, the alpha that buys us will treat us well? Treat me well?
My breathing starts to come a little harder. Memories I’d rather forget coming back to the fore. Of how my parents, both betas, had made our home unsafe. By the time I turned seven, I knew more about narcotics and dirty money than I did about bedtime stories or lullabies. How my mother had kept me hidden when alphas came sniffing around, not to protect me but to keep her whoring under wraps, thinking I’d tell Pa. Not that I would. I kept out of sight when he was around. Between the drinking and the gambling, I never knew what would set him off. One of those things, or the fact I wasn’t born a boy. An alpha son was what he’d wanted. Forget the fact that two betas having an alpha was practically impossible.
I was quieter back then, too stubborn to cry, but I learned to endure. Because the one truth I’d clung to, through all of it, was that someday, it would finally end.
And it did, in a way. Just after I first revealed. I wasn’t a boy, wasn’t an alpha, but I wasn’t a beta either. I was an omega born to two betas. I thought my parents would have been proud—omegas were supposed to be precious, protected. Instead, they were disgusted. Omegas meant expensive suppressants, special schooling, registration fees. And with Pa’s gambling debts piling up, they were sure I wouldn’t make it at the Omega Center, anyway. Who would want me when I came from nowhere? I wasn’t an alpha who could make the family name. I was just a stupid omega who was going to take and take and take.
When my father wracked up enough gambling debt to make him constantly look over his shoulder is when they came. Alphas I’d never seen before. Different from the ones that visited Ma but just as sleazy. They said they were from some Reform Academy.
My parents handed me off for five grand. That’s it. All I was worth.
I still remember crying and begging them to let me stay. Ma had turned away but Pa had not. He watched me go, and I saw it in his eyes…I was never good enough. I wasn’t his son. I never would be.
I hated myself then, and I hate myself now. But there’s no escaping fate when you’re born an omega.
The truck swerves suddenly, throwing us sideways. Someone whimpers. Not me. I’ve learned better than to make a sound, even as fear claws at my insides.
Because Vi is right. We’re fucked.
If my own parents didn’t want me, why would I think that this new alpha would—even if his motives were questionable? No reputable alpha buys an omega. A truckload of them, too.
We’re fucked. Literally. Figuratively. And there’s nothing we can do about it.
The unmistakable squeal of tires is the first sign that something is wrong. Then the truck lurches violently, throwing me to the side as a chorus of gasps and whimpers erupts around me. My shoulder slams hard into the metal wall panel, pain flaring along my arm as the vehicle veers again, swaying dangerously. I hear the loud, panicked curses of the betas up front, their voices tangled in rising fear.
“Shit—brakes! Braaakes !” one of them yells. “Fuck! Motherfucker!”
The truck jerks sharply, the sound of tires squealing filling the cabin. My stomach lurches, bile rising in my throat as we careen to the side. Somewhere to my left, Vi lets out a cry that’s quickly muffled, like she’s biting down on her arm to silence herself. I plant my feet hard, fingers fumbling uselessly for something to hold on to. But there’s nothing behind me that I can reach—no seatbelt, no straps, no escape. My pulse roars so loudly I can barely hear myself think.
“ Fuuuck !” the beta up ahead shouts.
The vehicle tilts. Then tilts more. My pulse thunders in my skull as the entire truck tips to one side. I brace for the inevitable.
Impact .
The world flips.
The impact throws me sideways off the bench. With my hands bound, I can’t catch myself as I slam shoulder-first into what feels like metal grating. Bodies tumble around me, limbs and elbows connecting with my ribs, my back. The truck tilts at a sickening angle. My feet scramble uselessly for purchase on the smooth floor as gravity drags me down. A metallic groan fills the cargo hold, followed by the sharp crack of something giving way. My temple connects with a hard edge—stars explode behind the blindfold. The coppery taste of blood fills my mouth where I’ve bitten my tongue. Another violent lurch sends me airborne for a heart-stopping moment before I crash back down, my hip taking the brunt of the landing. Someone’s scream cuts off in a choked gasp as the truck finally rolls to a stop.
For a moment, there’s only silence. A silence so complete it makes my ears ring, like the world is holding its breath. Then a soft groan shatters the stillness, followed by the shuffling of bodies and the rhythmic clang of something heavy dangling—a piece of the truck that was torn off, maybe.
I blink hard, trying to orient myself. My blindfold is still in place, but it’s slipping, the fabric askew from the chaos. A ribbon of faint light filters through the small gap near my nose, just enough to let me see flashes of movement: trembling hands, bloody skin, an omega with purple hair hunched beside me.
“V-Vi?” My voice is a strained whisper, barely audible over the groans and coughs. She doesn’t answer at first, just exhales shakily as she struggles to sit upright.
“You—okay?” she wheezes. Her blindfold, half-torn, rests around her neck. Her wide, ice-blue eyes meet mine, and for the first time, I see her clearly. She’s younger than I thought, probably no older than eighteen. Too young for this nightmare.
The air tastes like burned rubber and I struggle to pick myself off the crumpled floor. I think it’s the roof of the truck, because the benches welded onto the floor are now suspended above us. Around us, the soft whimpers of other omegas fill the space, some still tangled in what’s left of their restraints.
“That’s fucked,” Vi rasps, her voice trembling as she takes in our surroundings. “Maybe I should be careful what I wish for.”
And then I hear it: the unmistakable groaning of one of the betas.
“Shit!” he curses. “Fuck, you couldn’t even pay attention to the road!” His voice is muffled but furious.
“Is he dead?” another beta asks.
“Better him than us,” the first one replies.
They sound distressed.
Omega instincts flood my system with a different kind of panic—not just fear, but a need to submit, to go still. My body wants to curl inward, make itself smaller, less of a target. Even with the adrenaline screaming through my veins, the presence of so many fresh scents now in the air makes my muscles want to lock up; freeze in place. The sliver of vision through the shifted blindfold shows me other omegas doing exactly that—some whimpering softly, others deathly quiet, all of them instinctively trying to appear as unthreatening as possible. And some…some are not moving at all. There’s blood. Blood everywhere.
I need to get out of there, but those instincts war against the urge to run—everything in my biology screaming that movement means attention, attention means danger.
But this…this might be my only chance at…at what? At something else. Anything else.
Sunlight streams through what must be a crack in the side panel of the truck, illuminating the dirt and dust floating through the air. My gaze darts toward it, and that small opening feels like salvation. Freedom.
This is my chance.
But then I glance at Vi, who’s watching the same crack with calculated intensity. Her body is still, but not from fear—she’s coiled tight, like a spring waiting to release .
Shuffling forward, I bear the pain in silence, the Reform Academy’s training coming in clutch when I least expect it.
I bump Vi’s arm with my head. “We…we have to go,” I whisper. It comes out more fearful than urgent. “We have to run. We?—”
The muffled sound of one of the beta’s groaning outside the vehicle cuts me off. Adrenaline surges through me, overriding the pain and fear rising in my chest.
Vi focuses on me before she suddenly gives me a sharp nod. The slight mischievous smile that suddenly lights up her features makes something like bravery swell within me.
“Sure you’re up for this?”
I nod. It hadn’t been the plan before, but now it is.
I can see the light. I can see the sun. And the thought of being confined to another cell as a strange alpha uses me till I can’t be used anymore just doesn’t compare.
I give her a jerk of my chin.
Before I can think, she’s moving. This is obviously the sort of thing she’s done before. Clear in the way she suddenly transforms from a meek omega into something far more dangerous. Was she really at the same Reform Academy I was? How on earth did she fool them into thinking she was submissive enough to pass their tests?
I don’t care.
I’m at her back as we move toward the light, fighting through the trembling in my limbs as I crawl toward the sunlight streaming through the opening. My dress catches on the jagged edge of the torn wall, and I rip it free with a desperate tug. The gap in the truck is just wide enough for us to squeeze through—if we’re quick.
Vi is careful, her breathing shallow as she glances nervously back toward the heart of the wreckage. The other omegas aren’t moving, most of them still too dazed or too frightened to act.
One of them catches my eye through the gap in my blindfold—a tiny blonde thing, probably no more than seventeen. She’s crying silently, shaking her head when she sees us moving. Another has curled into herself, rocking slightly, her lips moving in what might be a prayer. The sight makes my chest ache. They’ve been broken so thoroughly they can’t even imagine escape. My gut twists. I want to help them all, but there’s no time. If we don’t go now, we’ll lose our chance.
“Go,” I urge Vi, motioning toward the opening. “I’ll follow.”
She hesitates for a fraction of a second before crawling through, and I watch as her thin frame disappears into the blinding light.
Shuffling sounds reach my ears—someone climbing out of the cab. I hear him groan in pain. My pulse spikes. The betas are coming.
We have to go now!
I push through the gap, the sharp edges scraping against my skin as I wriggle free. The moment I emerge, the sunlight coming just through that narrow gap in my blindfold almost blinds me, and I stumble forward into a patch of soft earth.
I’m momentarily disoriented. Not sure where is up or where is down.
But then it all slowly comes into focus. The brief sliver of sky. The bright sunshine. The scent of fresh air. And green. So much green.
There’s…there’s a forest.
Trees stretch endlessly before me, their dense canopies swaying gently in the breeze. The rich scent of pine sap and damp earth fills my lungs—real air, wild air, so different from the sterile emptiness of the Academy. Soft moss cushions my bare feet, and somewhere nearby, branches creak in the wind. It’s overwhelming after so long in metal cells, like stepping into another world entirely. Birds cry out overhead, and the pine…God, the pine. Sharp and sweet and somehow both soothing and wild at once, it burns into my memory like a promise of freedom.
Vi is crouched a few feet away, chest heaving, but before I can say anything, I hear them—the unmistakable crunch of boots staggering on gravel, followed by a strangled curse. The betas .
My panicked gaze shoots back to Vi, and I rise to my feet, starting toward her when something tugs me back. A jolt of panic shoots through my being.
I expect the beta to strike me now, but when I spin, I notice it's the blasted dress that’s gotten caught again. I tug, but whatever it’s snagged on won’t release it easily. Fear shoots down my spine as I hear the gravel crunch some more, tears swelling in my eyes as I tug.
I can’t get free.
Spinning, I face the direction where I know Vi is, only to see her heading back my way.
More gravel crunches and I shake my head, stopping her in her tracks. She can’t come back for me. There’s no use in us both getting caught. No use in us both losing this chance at freedom.
I watch as she swallows hard before glancing back at the forest. When she looks at me again, her lips form a silent “I’ll find you” before she suddenly turns and runs into the thick green.
Shit.
My body trembles with conflicting impulses. The Reform Academy’s training screams at me to stop, to submit, to accept whatever punishment comes. Good omegas don’t run. Good omegas don’t fight. But beneath those conditioned responses, something older and fiercer burns in my chest. The same instinct that kept me alive in my parents’ house, that taught me to endure but never truly break. Vi’s courage fans that ember into a flame.
I think of the alpha waiting for us—for me . Of spending my life being exactly what they’ve trained me to be: silent, submissive, grateful for whatever scraps of kindness might fall from my master’s table. The thought makes me shudder more intensely than any physical pain ever could.
I should give up now. My training says that I should. That I’m nothing more than a pathetic omega. That I should be thankful this mystery alpha is even interested in me.
Only…I don’t…I don’t want any of this .
And maybe that’s why I tug. Hard . Without use of my hands, it’s like pulling on a train with a single lead, but I tug anyway, and when I hear the first rip is the moment I realize tears have clouded my eyes.
“Hey!”
For just a split second, I freeze, my body locking up as terror takes hold. My fight-or-flight instincts scream at me to run, to put these men as far behind me as possible.
And so I do.
With another hard tug, the dress rips in two. Sunlight warms my skin as I take off, my bare feet pounding against the earth as I dart into the shadows of the forest. Branches tear at my skin, the foliage closing in around me like a living being, and I can hardly see, but I run anyway.
I hear the beta start to give chase before he curses. He falls. The sound of his body hitting the ground reaches me even as I keep running. He's more injured than he realized. Oh well.
I don’t look back. I run.
I run for me.
I fight for me.
Maybe they’ll catch up with me, but at least I try. Because this is my single chance to fight for myself.
After a life of no one else fighting for me.