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Eight

Yasmin dragged her mop across the cold, stone floor, her arms weak and sore. Her back ached from bending over all day, and every muscle felt like it was on fire. The pack members had made sure to remind her of her place today, jeering and shoving as she passed by, calling her names like "wolfless wretch" and "omega scum." She kept her eyes down, scrubbing the floor with everything she had, hoping to make herself as small as possible.

When she finished, Yasmin tried to push herself up, but a sudden wave of dizziness nearly toppled her. She pressed a hand to her mouth as nausea hit her, bile rising in her throat. Stumbling to her feet, she managed to make her way outside, rushing to the edge of a bushel where she sank to her knees and threw up. Her body shook with every heave, and she gripped the grass as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded.

"Get it together," she muttered to herself, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The nausea had been coming and going for days
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