Page 11 of Hard Knot

Coincidentally, I listened to this song in the car on the way here — the chilled fall air rushing through my hair, making me feel as though I wasn’t sinking into a world of impending doom by leaving my Ferrari nearby and having to walk the short distance to the gates of this atrocity of an academic institution.

Her movements are precise, calculated, yet there's an untamed quality to them that demands your utmost attention. It could take one’s breath away if she was in an environment that didn’t belittle her worth.

A space that’s desperate to make her spark shrink and dwindle until it poofs out of existence…

"Look at her, trying so hard." The whisper comes from somewhere to my left, dripping with disdain. "The Mangy Wolf, still howling for attention."

I resist the urge to stand up and silence the speaker. The instinctive need to protect this stranger is foreign, to say the least. In my former life, a word would have been enough to shut this bitch up permanently. But here? My status quo has “limits”. At least, that’s what they emphasize. We’ve yet to truly test the theory.

"Swallow my tongue. Back of my throat. Like it's finite. Only so long I can chew till I choke."

The lyrics seem to pulse through her movements, each word emphasized by a perfectly executed step. Her technique is flawless – anyone with eyes can see that. Even these jealous Omegas can't deny it, though they're trying their damndest.

"Five years," another voice whispers, and this catches my attention. "Can you believe it? Five years, and not one pack has claimed her."

Five years?

Something doesn't add up.

With movement like that, with that level of control and power, she should have had packs fighting over her.And that’s not considering how fucking hot she is.Hell, she should be performing at Lincoln Center of Performing Arts, not stuck in this glorified prison for society's rejects.

"Hide in plain sight. What have you done? My rabbit run. Caught in the headlights."

Her flowing hands follow the music, each twirl and leg lift demonstrating years of rigorous training. This isn't just natural talent – though she has that in spades.This is dedication.Countless hours of practice. The kind of discipline that reminds me of all those years I’d gone through fighting to perfect my art like all those who follow the bridges toward success in the art of dance.

The long hours. The endless sacrifices. The constant letdowns.

"I heard she tried to bribe a pack last year," someone says, voice thick with mock sympathy.

"Really? I heard she begged them on her knees."

The comments make my blood boil, though I keep my face carefully neutral. The off chance they’ll notice me when I’m blended so effortlessly with the shadows of my row is slim to none. These perfectly groomed Omegas with their regulation of everything, are too busy judging someone who clearly outclasses them in every way.

While I’m sure half of them aren’t even a quarter close to the Omega’s flawless execution of talent.

"And I'm bigger now. And I'm bigger now. So say my name like I'm 10 feet tall. Bow your head like I'm royal."

The chorus hits, and she seems to blossom at that moment. There's no other word for it. Her classical form melts into something else entirely — something raw, powerful, urban.

The transition is seamless, like watching water turn to ice.

One state flows into another while remaining essentially the same thing. To see someone blend completely different dance styles so flawlessly like this is such a rarity in a dump like this.

I hear the judges' sharp intake of breath and see their pens pause mid-note. The level of shock in all of their expressions is laughable at best because they really had their expectations as low as they could be for this Omega to impress them without yet a signature move that would set her apart from the plentiful copycats.

Yeah, they weren't expecting this…but how will their response be?

She drops into a freeze that would make any street dancer proud, balanced on one hand while her legs create geometric patterns in the air. The control required for that move alone...Christ.

She really should be at Juilliard or the Royal Ballet School. If she’s been stuck at this place for five years, they’ve just kept this talent hidden in plain sight…

What the hell is she still doing in this dump? Is she in a similar predicament as us?

"Show off," someone mutters, but I catch the note of envy beneath the contempt.

Damn right, she's showing off.

And she should be.

---