Then a door at the end of the hall kicks open.
A boy stands in the frame, backlit by the bright orange light behind him. He isn’t much older than me. I know that I know him but I don’t know who he is out of the boys. “Sunflower! Over here!”
I’d know that voice anywhere. It’s Reid. I reach out, my hands shaking, and he grabs me. His grip’s like iron as he pulls me toward the door.
I’m just about to take his hand when the smoke gets to me and my worlddims.
With a jolt, I sit up, my chest heaving as I cough. I’m tangled in the weighted blanket in the new nest bed. For a second, I’mconfused because the room’s so quiet. The sun’s just beginning to clear the neighboring high-rises, casting long, pale lines across the floor. I sit up and cough again, pressing a hand to my ribs until the fit stops.
The laptop’s still sitting near my hip. The screen’s black, but I can still feel the echo of the session with Tuesday. My body feels heavy, but the frantic buzzing from yesterday has settled into a dull, manageable thrum. The ghosts of my past are back, their voices like low static in the back of my head. I swear the smoke still lingers in my nose.
A soft melody makes me jump as I look to the wall near the door and see a lit of display. I get out of my nest and go to it. It’s a reminder for my nine o’clock intake appointment with the head of the clinic, so they can get all my baseline information. I check the time; it’s eight forty. I’ve only got twenty minutes to get downstairs.
I pull on some oversized grey joggers and a white tank top. I just want something simple and soft against my skin. I slide into my slippers and grab my phone before heading to the elevator. It’s still crazy to me that I now have an elevator as my front door. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up from this dream, but it hasn’t happened yet.
The elevator ride’s silent. I watch the floor numbers go down; my heart thuds harder as I get closer to the first floor. I’ve always hated medical offices. The smell of antiseptic and the way doctors look at you like a project always makes me feel small.
The doors slide open to the lobby. I step out onto the cold marble floor, my slippers making almost no sound in the massive, quiet space. The morning light reflects off the high ceilings. I walk past the cafe counter, the low hum of the espresso machine and the rich scent of fresh coffee cutting through the neutral air. A Beta staff member offers a quiet nod as they arrange a tray of pastries.
I keep moving toward the side corridor where the medical wing is tucked away. Once I pass through the frosted glass doors, the air turns chilly. I stop at a small reception desk where a woman in charcoal scrubs looks up with a practiced smile.
“Zora? We’ve been expecting you.” She stands and gestures toward a hallway lined with closed doors. “Let’s get you into an exam room.”
I follow her, my slippers shuffling against the linoleum. She leads me into a small, windowless room, and points to a scale in the corner. “If you could just step on there for me. I need your height and weight for the chart.”
I do as I’m told, staring at a poster on the wall about Omega health while she slides the weights across the bar. The metallicclack-clackof the scale feels loud in the small space. Once she records the numbers, she gestures to the padded table. “Urie will be in shortly.”
She exits, and I’m left alone with the loud shifting of the thin paper under me. The dream from this morning is still clawing at my chest. I can still hear that boy’s voice.Sunflower.
The door opens, and the man Reid introduced as Urie walks in. He wears a clean white doctor’s coat over his charcoal uniform, his silver wire-frame glasses catching the light. He carries a thin tablet in his left hand, his thumb tapping against the screen as he walks toward a rolling stool. Taking a seat, he rolls over tot me, his eyes glued to his screen.
Urie doesn’t look up immediately. “Good morning, Miss Zora. I’m just pulling up your initial file.”
He sits and continues to tap at the tablet. I look at him, noting the sharp ridges of his blonde hair, but my gaze quickly drops to the tablet in his hands. A small, plastic robot toy is stuck to the corner of the protective case. It’s a cheap thing, the kind of prize that comes from a vending machine, but the sight of it hits me like a physical weight.
The ghosts in my head get louder. I remember a boy in the yard at Cross-Sterling. He’d been crying because his only toy had been broken by one of the older kids. I remember reaching into my own pocket and pulling out my robot, a bright red one just like the one on the tablet, and pressing it into his small, dirty palm. It was the only thing I had that was truly mine, and I’d given it away just to see him stop sobbing.
“I have a few standard questions for the intake.” Urie still hasn’t looked at me, his eyes fixed on the display. “How old were you when you experienced your first heat?”
I swallow hard. “Fourteen.”
He taps the screen. “And are you currently sexually active?”
“No.” The word comes out as a whisper.
The room feels like it’s getting smaller. I keep staring at that robot. I almost feel the heat of the fire again and taste the smoke.
Did that boy make it out? Did he keep the toy I gave him?
The thing is, even if they stood in front of me, I wouldn’t know it was them, and they never knew my real name. Plus, this man’s name is Urie. His kid probably gave him the robot or something.
Urie finally looks up, his expression neutral behind his glasses. “We’ll need to draw some blood to get your other baselines, specifically your hormone levels and scent markers. I’ll have a phlebotomist come in to take care of that.”
He stands up, the tablet tucked under his arm.
I flinch as I sit straighter; the paper crinkling under my weight. “I don’t like needles.”
Urie pauses, his hand on the door handle. “I understand, Zora. But this is a requirement of the residency contract you signed with the agency. We need these baselines to ensure the safety protocols for the building are effective for your specific biology.”
