“You mean when you turned Main Street into a demolition derby?” Beck smirks, but his jaw’s still tight.
Heat crawls up my neck. “I didn’t crash on purpose!”
“Sure,” he drawls, leaning against the wall. “Normal Lo behavior.”
Hayes cuts in before I can snap back. “It’s been a while, Lo. If they cared about that, they would’ve handled it when it first happened.”
Ford’s been silent, looming in the corner. He finally speaks, low and dark. “Could be Dylan.”
The name hangs heavy in the air.
My pulse stutters.
“No,” I whisper, too fast. “He’s gone. He’s?—”
“—an asshole who doesn’t know how to quit,” Beck finishes, eyes sharp now. “If this is about him?—”
“It’s not,” I cut in, because if I let them run with that theory, we’ll never leave the house. “That’s a police matter, surely?”
Hayes perches on the edge of the bed, close enough that his knee brushes mine. “Could be nothing. Some new regulation. A check-in for Omegas.”
“Those usually come with a notice,” I say. “Not… whatever that was.” My voice comes out thinner than I want, so I paste on a smile that feels about as sturdy as wet tissue. “Maybe they’re finally giving me an award for Best Parade Crasher.”
Beck snorts. “You’d win that by a landslide.”
The drive feels like it stretches forever.
The SUV hums along the back roads, sunlight flickering through the trees in broken patterns that might as well be a warning. I’m sandwiched between Hayes and Beck in the back seat, Ford at the wheel, radiating so much Alpha calm it’s almost smug.
Almost.
By the time we pull up to the town hall, my nerves are frayed. There are more cars than I expected. Rows of them gleaming inthe late afternoon sun. The whole damn town showed up for a spectacle.
My pulse kicks up.
Beck notices. Of course he does. His hand lands on my thigh, warm and heavy, thumb brushing slow circles. “Relax, Lo. You look like you’re heading into a firing squad.”
“Maybe because that’s what this feels like,” I mutter, forcing a laugh that sounds brittle to my own ears.
We climb the steps together. The heavy doors swing open, and a wave of murmured voices rolls out, warm and expectant.
And then I seethem.
Front row, middle seats.
My parents.
Sitting there as if butter wouldn’t melt under the scorching heat of their disapproval. Like they didn’t cause years of damage I’m still shouldering.
For a heartbeat, I can’t breathe. The air sticks in my throat, thick and choking.
“Lo?” Hayes’ hand ghosts against my back, a steadying anchor.
But I can’t answer. Not when my mother’s eyes are fixed on me. Not when my father’s mouth curves into that politician’s smile that hides a thousand knives.
The hum of voices dies as the mayor steps up to the podium, clearing his throat with all the pomp of a man who loves the sound of his own authority.
“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” he begins. “We’ve gathered today to address… a matter of community concern.”
