Nova
I planned to linger for a while in the maid quarters, hoping to connect with one or two of the maids.
Doing that was proving more difficult than expected.
This section of the pack house was far removed from the grand, bustling kitchens headed by the strict Beta cooks. This was the processing area—a sprawling, utilitarian hall where raw food products were hauled in from the pack's farmlands. Here, grains were milled into flour, seeds were pressed into oil meals, and massive bundles of raw herbs were sorted and dried. The air was thick with the earthy scent of raw wheat, dust, and crushed leaves.
This was the domain of the omegas. The lowest-ranking maids worked in this wing, tasked with the grueling, endless manual labor, while the privileged Beta maids were reserved upstairs to serve the Alpha or the future Luna directly.
I looked over, a distance not so far away, and I saw one of the maids that were talking about me earlier. Cora was her name, if I heard right.
