CHAPTER 118: HIDING FROM ZENON

{Elira}

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The heavy oak doors to the cafeteria kitchen creaked open as one of the staff waved us inside.

Warmth hit instantly, along with the sharp scents of onions sizzling in pans, fresh bread baking, and herbs ground into butter. The kitchen bustled—pots clanged, knives chopped, ovens glowed.

The head cook, a broad-shouldered man with streaks of gray in his hair, barely looked up when he saw me and just ordered us all to grab our aprons.

Then he pointed toward a stack of crates by the counter. "New helper. Put those in the prep area. Wash up after."

"Yes, sir," I murmured, moving quickly to obey.

Beside me, my friends fanned out uncertainly—Nari wrinkling her nose at the scent of raw fish, Cambria tying an apron over her uniform, Juniper sighing like she was about to enter battle. Tamryn, as always, said nothing, but rolled up her sleeves without complaint.

I bent to lift the crates, and that was when I noticed it—the faint click and flash of a phone camera. I turned just in time to see Nari tucking her phone back, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.

"Nari," I hissed under my breath, but she only widened her eyes innocently.

"What? I’m documenting injustice," she whispered, barely suppressing a grin.

I shook my head, though I felt a reluctant tug at my lips.

The hours stretched longer than I’d imagined. We peeled endless piles of potatoes, scrubbed pans blackened from yesterday’s stew, chopped mountains of vegetables until my fingers smelled of garlic and onions.

The heat from the stoves made sweat bead at my temples.

By the time the breakfast platters were carried out into the cafeteria, my arms ached and my apron was damp from steam and spills.

We stripped off the aprons, washed up quickly, and grabbed our bags before filing out with the last of the staff.

The cafeteria had just opened, and lines of students were forming. The air smelled of fried eggs, warm bread, and coffee. We picked up trays and joined the queue, blending back into the crowd as though nothing unusual had happened.

But my friends looked worn out.

By the time we settled at our usual table, Nari dropped her tray with a groan. "If I never see another potato in my life, it will be too soon."

Juniper prodded at her eggs, her brows furrowed. "My arms feel like they’ve been ripped off and sewn back on. How do the staff do this every morning?"

Cambria rubbed her wrist gently, offering a tired smile. "I will never complain about waiting for food again."

Even Tamryn, quiet as always, reached for her cup of tea with more stiffness than usual.

I sat down last, sliding into my seat and folding my hands on my tray. They all looked exhausted, voices heavy with complaints.

But me? I was fine. My body ached, yes, but not in a way that was new.

I knew why.

Because a lot of times, I had been forced to kneel in the kitchen for hours, scrubbing floors until my fingers bled, polishing silver until I could see Regina’s mocking reflection in its shine.

Because her mother had ordered me to wash laundry until my knuckles cracked, to scrub mud from boots until my back screamed.

So, compared to all that, today’s punishment was nothing.

So while the others groaned, I simply picked up my fork and tasted the bread, soft and warm.

It wasn’t that I didn’t feel tired. It was that I was used to it. Too used to it. And that was a truth I didn’t dare voice aloud.

By the time I finished my first bite of bread, I felt that eyes on me. Not one pair, but many—the kind that prickled against the skin, turning the back of my neck cold.

Then low voices rippled across the cafeteria, whispers carried just loud enough to sting.

"That’s her... the Omega who got punished."

"Kitchen duty. Can you imagine?"

"I heard they might make her clean toilets next."

"She probably deserves it. Why else would the Council bother?"

My fingers tightened around my fork, but I kept my gaze steady on my tray.

Nari, however, wasn’t so restrained.

She slammed her palm against the table so hard cups rattled, and half the room turned toward us.

"Say that again," she barked at a boy two tables over who had been whispering loudly to his friend. Her dark eyes sparked like flint. "Go on. Say it louder so everyone can hear your stupidity!"

The boy’s smirk faltered, but before he could reply, Nari was on her feet. "You think doing real work is shameful? You think helping the staff is beneath you? Then you’re the ones who don’t belong at ESA!"

A few snickers came from another corner. "Defending a kitchen maid—"

Juniper rose halfway out of her chair, her voice sharp as ice. "Watch your tongue."

Cambria’s usually gentle tone dropped cold. "If you don’t have the courage to face her directly, then keep your gossip to yourself."

Tamryn didn’t speak at all, but the way she fixed the offenders with her unblinking stare was enough to make them shuffle uncomfortably.

Nari leaned forward across the aisle, jabbing a finger toward the whisperers. "Shoo. Go sit somewhere else before I lose my patience."

The boys exchanged uneasy glances, muttered something under their breath, and grabbed their trays to leave.

The silence that followed was thick but different—less cruel now, more watchful. Students still stared, but none dared speak within Nari’s range.

I let out a slow breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my heart still pounding.

Finally, Nari plopped back into her chair with a huff, snatching up her bread. "Unbelievable. They act like the Council’s word is gospel. Bunch of sheep."

Juniper muttered, "Dangerous sheep."

Cambria gave me a faint, reassuring smile. "Don’t let them get to you. They don’t matter."

I nodded, though my throat tightened. Because the truth was, the whispers did matter. But now, at least, I wasn’t facing the punishment alone.

When I looked at the four of them—Nari still fuming, Juniper cool and sharp, Cambria warm, Tamryn quiet but steady—I felt the sting dull.

Whatever this punishment turned into, however much the Council laughed, I would endure. Because this time, I had friends to shield me from the worst of it.

By the time we left the cafeteria, the warmth from breakfast sat like a stone in my stomach, and my arms still carried the dull ache from hours of chopping and scrubbing.

But there was no time to rest.

Werewolf History & Governance began promptly at 8 a.m., and Zenon never tolerated lateness.

My friends and I parted at the locker hall, with each going to their different classrooms after.

The corridors buzzed as students filed into classrooms, their chatter a restless hum as I found my classroom.

The moment I stepped inside, I felt the eyes once again.

Dozens of them, flicking toward me as though my presence alone carried some new weight.

A group of girls near the front bent their heads together, whispers slithering across the room. One of them giggled behind her hand, her gaze darting toward me before snapping away.

I didn’t need to hear their words to know what they were saying stuff like, That serves her right. She deserves the council’s punishment. The Omega who couldn’t keep herself out of trouble.

My chest tightened, but I refused to falter. I kept my chin level and walked past them, ignoring the prickle of stares against my skin, until I reached my desk at the very back of the room.

Sliding into the chair, I set my books down carefully, hands steady even though my stomach twisted.

I would not give them the satisfaction of seeing me break.

Minutes later, the door opened.

Zenon stepped in, tall and sharp in his pressed shirt, a neat stack of notes in his hand. The room fell quiet almost instantly.

"Good morning," he said, his tone cool, commanding. "Open your texts to Chapter seven—The Shifting Laws of the Second Era."

Pages rustled as students obeyed. I forced my focus onto my book, blinking hard against the heaviness tugging at my eyelids.

’Stay awake. Stay focused.’

But the exhaustion from the kitchen clung to me like fog. My head felt heavy, my body sluggish.

A yawn crept up before I could stop it—I clamped a hand quickly over my mouth, lowering my head so Zenon wouldn’t see.

When I glanced up again, he was at the front, chalk scraping lightly against the board as he wrote out key dates and terms.

"During the Second Era," Zenon’s voice carried evenly, "pack laws shifted dramatically due to territorial expansion. Who can tell me the primary reason for the Northern alliance?"

A boy in the front row raised his hand immediately, answering with eager precision. Zenon nodded, continued the lecture.

I straightened in my chair, biting the inside of my cheek to keep myself alert. I tried to copy his notes onto my parchment, but my handwriting wavered slightly, letters uneven.

’Don’t let him notice. Don’t give him a reason to look too closely.’

Another yawn threatened—I pressed my knuckles against my lips, pretending to adjust my sleeve. Heat crept to my cheeks at the thought of him seeing me falter, of his cool eyes landing on me with questions I couldn’t answer.

I blinked hard, forcing myself to focus on Zenon’s words, on the neat lines of his script on the board, on anything but the exhaustion gnawing at my body.