ASTER
I woke up wrong.
The words from last night were still rattling around in my skull, sharp-edged and dangerous. I'd barely slept, tossing and turning on my narrow bunk, and when I finally dragged myself out of bed at four in the morning, my whole body felt like it was wrapped in sandpaper.
Raw. That's what I was. Emotionally raw, my defenses scraped thin, everything too close to the surface. I should have stayed in bed. Should have told Hank I was sick, hidden in the bunkhouse until I could get my walls back up. But I'd never missed a day of work in my life—not when I was sick, not when I was hurt, not when I was so tired I could barely see straight. Work was the one thing I could control. The one thing that made sense.
So I got up. Got dressed. Went to the stable to check on Bella and Hope before reporting to Hank for my assignment.
Hope was nursing when I arrived, her spindly legs splayed for balance, her tail flicking with contentment. Bella stoodpatiently, her big brown eyes soft as she watched me enter the stall. Something in my chest loosened at the sight of them—mother and daughter, safe and healthy, because I'd been there when it mattered.
"Hey, pretty girls." The words came out of me rough and scratchy from lack of sleep, but I kept my voice soft, gentle, the way I'd learned to speak around skittish animals. I stroked Bella's neck with one hand, felt the warmth of her coat beneath my palm, the steady rhythm of her breathing. "You're doing so good."
Hope lifted her head at the sound of my voice, milk dripping from her muzzle, and blinked at me with those big, curious eyes. I found myself smiling despite everything—a real smile, small but genuine.
Maybe I could do this. Maybe today would be okay.
It wasn't okay.
Hank assigned me to help with the hay delivery—unloading bales from the truck that had arrived that morning, stacking them in the storage barn. Simple work, physical work, the kind that usually let me turn off my brain and just move.
But I wasn't alone.
There were three other workers on the job—two Beta men I'd seen around but never spoken to, and a younger Beta woman named Carla who'd tried to make friends. They were fine. Normal. Laughing and chatting as they worked, the easy camaraderie of people who'd known each other for years.
I kept my head down and focused on the bales. Lift, carry, stack. Lift, carry, stack. The rhythm was soothing, the burn in my muscles familiar. I could do this. My skin wouldn't stop prickling. Every sound seemed too loud—the thud of bales hitting the stack, the scrape of boots on concrete, the sudden bursts of laughter. I flinched at shadows, tensed at footsteps, my body on high alert for threats that weren't there.
The lack of sleep. That's what it was. I was just tired. I just needed to get through the day.
One of the Beta men—broad-shouldered, dark-haired, maybe mid-thirties—was working near me. He'd introduced himself earlier, but the name had slipped right out of my head. Dan, maybe. Or Dave. Something with a D. He seemed nice enough. Smiled at me when our paths crossed, didn't push for conversation when I didn't respond. Just a normal guy doing his job.
I didn't see him coming. One second I was bent over a hay bale, adjusting my grip. The next, a hand landed on my shoulder from behind—heavy, sudden, without warning.
"Hey, you need help with that one? Looks heavy for—" Dan's voice was friendly, casual, the words warm with genuine helpfulness. His hand was broad and calloused on my shoulder, the grip firm but not aggressive—just a coworker offering assistance.
I didn't hear the rest.
I didn't think. Didn't decide. My body just moved.
I spun, teeth bared, a growl ripping from my throat that didn't sound human. My hand came up to shove him away, my whole body coiling into a defensive crouch, every instinct screaming threat threat threat.
Dan stumbled backward, his eyes going wide, his face draining of color. His hands came up in front of him, palms out, fingers spread in surrender, and I could smell his fear—sharp and acrid, cutting through the dusty sweetness of the hay. His whole body had gone tense, shoulders hunched up toward his ears, making himself smaller.
"Whoa! Whoa, hey, I'm sorry—" His voice was high, startled, cracking on the words as they tumbled over each other. His boots scuffed against the concrete floor as he backed away from me, putting distance between us with every step. His eyes werehuge in his pale face, darting between my bared teeth and my raised hands. "I didn't mean—I was just trying to help, I didn't?—"
The growl died in my throat. The red haze cleared from my vision.
Then the horror hit. I'd growled at him. Bared my teeth like an animal. Like the feral creature I'd spent years trying to pretend I wasn't. In front of everyone.
The other workers had stopped. Carla was frozen mid-motion, a hay bale in her arms, her mouth hanging open. The other Beta man was staring at me with something that looked like fear, his body angled toward the door like he was ready to run.
They were all looking at me. Looking at the monster I'd just revealed myself to be.
"I—" My voice cracked, broke on the single syllable, my throat closing up around whatever I'd been trying to say. I straightened from my crouch, my hands shaking at my sides, my whole body trembling with adrenaline and shame. "I'm sorry. I didn't—I'm sorry."
I turned to run. To flee, like I always did, like I always had to when people saw what I really was.
Reid was standing in the doorway of the storage barn.
