Do I care? Was I supposed to care?
Because right now, all I could think of was how she stood there—my María José who was as calm as spring rain, discussing my defeat with my brother like they were exchanging polite notes over dinner.
A fresh surge of rage gurgled through me. My stomach churned, hot and acidic, as if bile and betrayal had brewed a toxic coffee in it.
Who was she trying to protect here? Me… or herself?
Hugo stayed quiet this time, sensing the boundary I was teetering on. Even the wolf inside me that was usually my leash to sanity knew when to retreat. I was in no mood for reasoning.
"She's doing it for you," he'd say. "She's saving your place."
Yeah? Then why did it feel like she was slicing it out of me with a dull blade?
As she negotiated, she didn't flinch. If anything, she squared her shoulders and said, "Because I'm asking for your mercy… for the good of the pack."
