Delilah's POV
The walk back to the car had been torture. Every step through that market felt like walking through a gauntlet of judgment. People whispered behind their hands, their eyes tracking my movement like I was some kind of spectacle. A woman I vaguely recognized from pack gatherings had made deliberate eye contact before turning her back, pulling her own child closer as if I might contaminate them.
I'd kept my head down and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. The vendor who'd been cold to me earlier had looked almost smug when I returned to his stall for the carrots I'd dropped during the attack. He'd handed them over without a word, but his expression said everything.
By the time I reached Mom's car, my hands were shaking so badly I could barely grip the grocery
