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... ed out of the storeroom. Joan tried to grab my arm, her face pale with worry. "Ellie, don’t go."
"I don’t think I have a choice," I whispered to her, my voice barely louder than a breath. "It’s either go... or I get deep-fried."
I straightened my apron, brushed invisible dust off my trembling skirt, and forced my feet to move. One step at a time we passed through the kitchen. Down the corridor. Up the stairs. Past the guards who avoided my eyes. Past two omegas whispering, "I fee ...
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