Stuffing my feet into my sneakers, I peek out through the peephole. My hallway is empty. At nearly six, most people are eating dinner or relaxing on the couch. I would have been doing the same if I hadn’t been getting ready for my date.
Unlocking my door, I keep a tight hold of my phone in case I might need it, grab my keys, and slip out, shutting it firmly behind me. I sprint down the stairs and to the trash can near the mail slots.
It’s gross, and I try not to think about all the nastiness I’m touching as I riffle through it. My super is so useless that he never empties it until it’s spilling its grossness onto the floor, so after a few minutes spent digging through the trash, I find what I’m looking for: the torn card from the ridiculous floral arrangement Callum sent me.
With the sticky goods secured, I hurry back up to my apartment, close and lock the door, and double-check that it is locked before I feel safe enough to move away from it. After washing my hands, I put the card pieces together and, with a shaking hand, dial the number at the bottom.
The phone rings once.
“June!” Torin, not Callum, answers, and he sounds out of breath, like he ran for the phone. I don’t know how he knows it’s me or if he just assumes every unknown caller is me.
“Is Callum?—”
“Asleep,” he cuts in. “Do you want to speak to him?” A thump follows his question. I don’t know if Callum rolled out of bed or Torin kicked him because a sleepy-sounding, and annoyed, “What!” drifts down the phone.
Is it wrong that I’m tempted to laugh?
“June?” Torin asks, sounding concerned now. “Is something wrong?”
Fabric rustles loudly down the phone, and I picture Callum jerking upright at Torin’s question.
I chew my lip as I stare at my double-locked apartment door. I keep telling myself I’m being paranoid. Oscar isnota plant in my life. Something is wrong, and I’d be an idiot not to get the answers I need to protect myself.
“I need you to tell me everything you didn’t tell me before. Who were your enemies, and why would you think I was one of them?”
“We’ll be right over,” he says.
Torin, Callum, and Archer are in my apartment.
Letting them in wasn’t my first choice, but Torin said there was a lot to say, too much to do it on the phone, and I am never stepping back into the house I spent a year hating.
While I waited for them to arrive, I changed out of my dress and into sweats, scrubbed off my makeup, and stuffed my feet into a pair of cozy socks.
I don’t have a nest after I destroyed the one before. My comfort comes from the few cozy pieces I could afford after paying my rent and bills: soft socks and a blanket. That’s my nest.
“You should sit down for this,” Callum suggests.
Iwantto argue that I’ll stand, if only to be contrary. One glance at their worried expressions convinces me to settle down on the couch that I don’t trust is entirely free of tiny bugs.
Archer leans against the wall beside my apartment door, arms crossed.
Callum is closest to me, hands in his pockets, standing between my tiny kitchenette and my living room. His eyes are slightly red, a big hint that he was sleeping before Torin woke him.
Torin hasn’t stopped looking around my apartment. He hasn’t stopped pacing either, and I have a feeling he’s picking out all the things wrong with it.
The dirt on the windowsill that no amount of scrubbing will remove. The leaky kitchen faucet, the bathroom door that doesn’t shut properly, and the draught coming through the old windows. The AC unit is controlled by the super and he never turns it up high enough, which means I’m almost always cold, no matter how many layers I wear.
I try not to be embarrassed about the problems in my apartment.
I’m not living on the street or struggling to survive. I have a home, food in the refrigerator and my cupboards, even if it’s not much. And I have as many clothes as I need. Would it be nice to have more? Sure. But that’s more of a want than a need.
There isnothingto be embarrassed about. So why does my face heat when I see the way Torin is looking at the roach trap beside a hole in the trim near the kitchen?
“Our parents are involved in Asylum,” Callum says. “That’s the best place to start.”
My muscles tense, and I regret calling them. Everyone has heard about Asylum, a private members' club made up of super wealthy alphas who spent decades abusing and trafficking omegas. I read about it in the newspaper. Andtheyare part of it?
I get ready to lock myself in the bathroom and call the cops.
