Kneel Before The Omega

Mina’s POV

“Look at her! The silent Rat got a bath!”

Someone shouted as a bucket of dirty water crashed over my head. The smell hit my nose before the shock hit my brain.

Cold.

Filthy.

And the hallway – loud and crowded and merciless exploded into laughter.

I stood frozen as muddy water dripped from my hair, my face my oversized gray hoodie in one ugly second.

My fingers tightened around the stack of books in my arms still pressed against my chest like I could protect them from what had already happened.

I didn't react.

Neither did I speak, because I never speak.

I lowered my head and started walking again.

A foot shot out and I stumbled hard.

The books flew from arms and scattered across the wet floor – pages splaying open.

And the laughter grew louder, bouncing off every locker in the hallway.

I already knew who it was before I looked up.

Jace Grayson.

Future Alpha of the Silver Moon Pack.

Golden hair. Cold gray eyes.

A perfect life built on a foundation of other people's pain.

A monster.

He stood above me with his arms loose at his sides, looking down at me the way someone looks at something they accidentally stepped on.

A monster wearing a prince's face.

Beside him stood Ryder Kane, the Football captain. Built like a wall of solid muscle that someone had given a bad attitude to.

He was already smirking.

And on the other side, Damian Vale. Rich. Charming. The kind of handsome that made girls forget how sharp his edges were. He was smiling at me with that soft, practiced smile that never once touched his eyes.

The three kings of Silver Moon Academy.

And I was their favorite target.

"Oops." Damian pressed a hand to his chest, voice full of fake concern.

"Did you drop something?”

The crowd laughed harder.

I dropped to my knees and began gathering my books. One by one. Quietly. Like always.

Then Ryder stepped forward and put his foot down on one of the books.

Crunch.

The cover tore away completely. I looked at it and my chest tightened.

It was the science textbook I had borrowed from the library — the one I had already renewed twice, one with a replacement fee I absolutely could not pay.

"Please..." I almost whispered. But no sound came out.

Jace crouched in front of me, slow and unbothered.

"You know," he said, "sometimes I wonder if you're actually mute."

He paused.

"Or maybe you're just too scared to talk."

I looked away.

Because if I kept looking into his eyes, I might forget my promise. And if that happened people would get hurt. Badly.

I'm a cursed anomaly.

My silence is a choice—a desperate seal placed upon a terrifying power: my voice can shatter the strongest will.

To avoid being hunted as a weapon, I hide under oversized hoodies, scraping by as a shadow.

When I was years old, the day I last opened my mouth and spoke — the day I watched a grown man's eyes go wide and then completely empty, his whole mind wiped blank, his body standing still and waiting like a puppet for me to pull the strings

I had sewn my lips shut after that and never opened them again.

If I stared at Jace too long, I might forget why.

He reached out and grabbed my chin.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you."

I obeyed.

My heart pounded.

"Pathetic," Jace said.

Then he shoved me backward and stood up straight.

The hallway belll rang.

Students began moving, the crowd breaking apart, drifting toward class. The show was over. The kings had bigger things to do.

Jace glanced back over his shoulder.

"Lab after school."

Ryder smirked on his way past. "You still clean it, don't you?"

Damian was last. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a coin, and tossed it at me without even looking. It bounced off my shoulder and landed on the wet floor with a small, clean clink.

I slowly picked up the coin.

Five dollars.

I stared at it.

My stomach growled. Quietly, like even it knew better than to make noise around here.

Humiliation didn't pay bills. Money did.

I slipped it into my pocket, and finished gathering my ruined books.

After classes ended, I headed toward the science building.

The sun was already setting, burning low and orange behind the trees at the edge of campus. Most students had gone home. The pathways were empty. The noise had drained out of the school like water from a tub.

I liked it that way. To be alone.

The lab was dim when I pushed through the door. I dropped my bag against the wall and had the mop out before the door finished swinging shut.

That's how it always goes — everyone else rushes out, laughing, shoving, leaving behind whatever mess they made, and I stay bacy with Bucket and bleach.

The sharp chemical smell rising up like a greeting I'd long stopped noticing.

I didn't mind the smell anymore.

What I minded was the envelope sitting on the front desk.

It had my name on it. Mina. Written in that sharp, slanted handwriting I had learned to recognize and hate over three years.

I already knew what was inside. Another essay. Another deadline. Another fifty dollars that would disappear into my landlady's hand before I even felt it between my fingers.

I left the envelope where it was and kept mopping.

The door swung open behind me.

"You didn't pick it up."

I didn't turn around. I knew that voice.

Deep, flat, bored — the voice of someone who had never once been told no and wouldn't know what to do with it if he was.

Jace Grayson. Again.

I kept mopping.

"Mina."

The way he said my name sounded like he was reading it off a list. I tightened my grip on the mop handle and dragged it across the tiles, leaving a clean streak between us.

His footsteps were slow and deliberate. He stopped right in my path — right where I needed to mop next — and waited.

I looked up.

Still in his ootball jacket. Collar up. Arms crossed. That same square jaw and dark, unreadable gaze. He was looking at me Like I was something that used to work and didn't anymore.

He pointed at the envelope.

I looked at it. Then at him. Then I moved the mop around his shoes.

Something shifted in his expression. A flicker – fast, like a candle catching wind. Then it was gone, and his face was stone again.

"Damian needs it by Thursday," he said. "Political theory. Twelve pages. Don't make it sound like you."

Don't make it sound like me. I almost smiled. As if anyone in this building believed I was capable of a single original thought.

I nodded once.

He picked up the envelope and held it out. I took it without letting our fingers touch. I had gotten very good at that.

He left.

I went back to mopping.

By the time I finished, the hallway outside was completely empty.

The school felt different at night – less like a cage and more like just a building. I pulled my hoodie tighter around myself and pushed through the side door into the cold evening air.