PROLOGUE. TESSA FORTUNE.
LAST SURVIVING MEMBER OF THE AFFLUENT FORTUNE PACK OF SEATTLE…
I ranto the only place I could think of—the underpass.
The ivory leather briefcase banged against my body, jolting Josie around inside. She meowed and hissed in protest. I didn’t have time to soothe her. I doubted the Betas from The Eros Institute would be thrown off my trail for long.
I crossed side streets, cut through alleys, and doubled back so many times that I was dizzy and disoriented. I had to waste precious seconds pausing to read street signs and look for landmarks. My legs burned with the effort, and I could feel blood soaking through the torn fabric at my knees. The weight of Josie in the satchel felt heavier with each step, but I couldn't stop.I wouldn't stop.
I finally reached the underpass more than an hour later, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The space was darker than I remembered, the shadows deeper, more threatening. Had my few days of comfort at the shelter warped my perception so much, or had it always been this ominous? I padded to my box, feet hurting badly from the tape ripping and then re-adhering to both skin and sandals. My old spot was gone, not that I expected otherwise. A middle-aged Beta had spread a frayed tarp below the fridge box to create a floor and proper threshold. A pile of old newspapers was stacked near themakeshift door. She shouldn’t leave them there. Someone would steal them to ward off the night chill. The jagged window was currently pushed outward to let in fresh air. When I peered inside, she snarled and yelled at me.
I stumbled backward, away from her angry face. I had no right to be upset. This had been my exact fear, after all—that someone would claim my spot while I was gone. Still, the reality of it hit me like a punch to the gut. I’d followed a dream, bet everything on a sliver of hope, and I’d lost the little bit that I’d carved out for myself in the process.
"Sorry," I mumbled, raising my hands in surrender and backing away further. "I used to stay here."
Her expression softened slightly, but she didn't offer to share. Why would she? There wasn't enough room for two people and a cat in that cramped space.
"Try the retired shipping containers near the port," she suggested, her voice gruff but not unkind. "Some folks cleared out yesterday."
I retreated. Body feeling weighted down, and mind racing for another place to run. The port wasn’t a good option. People got trafficked there. It was just too easy. Opportunists made quick work of grabbing the homeless and then stowing them away on a ship getting ready to set sail. The only people stupid enough to take the chance of staying there were junkies or newbies that didn’t know any better.
Lily, I knew Lily would help me. I wasn’t sure how I’d get to her in the shelter though, given I was persona non gratis there now. It didn’t matter. I had to try.
The strap of the bag dug horribly, the skin beneath it rubbed raw from all the running. I slung it into a new position, placing the strap around my neck instead with the satchel against my front. It was awkward, bumping roughly against my stomach with each step. I ended up lifting it against my chest and holding it steady. Supporting it with one arm for a moment, I opened the top just enough that Josie could get some air. She pressed her nose through the hole immediately, forcing the zipper to give way to accommodate her head. I gave her a sad smile.
“I’ve really screwed everything up again, haven’t I, girl?” A hot tearslipped from my stupid, right eye and fell, splashing between Josie’s ears. She scrunched her face, shaking her head a little in annoyance.
A honk sounded nearby as I left the shadow of the underpass behind. The sun was setting. Streetlamps were glowing to life. The honk sounded again.
That wasn’t unusual, cars were always making noise in the city. But then it started beeping repeatedly. Curiosity getting the better of me, I glanced around to find the driver that was causing such a ruckus. A sleek black SUV was slowly rolling in my direction. It was still a block away. The windows were tinted, so I couldn’t see inside. Several more honks, and the vehicle seemed to move a little faster now. God, they were really agitated. I was about to turn around and ignore the vehicle, when I clocked the front license plate and it sent lava through my veins. EROS-12.
“Son of a bitch,” I breathed out.
Running again. As fast as my legs could carry me. My body screamed, ached, protested. Josie ducked back into the haven of the bag, hissing in terror.
I ducked down yet another freaking alley, heart hammering against my ribs as if it would burst free at any moment. The Eros Institute was hunting me—actually hunting me—and I had no idea why. What did "product collection agents" even mean? Why would they come after me? I was a damn person, not product. My breath came in painful, hitching gasps as I tried to think through the haze of panic and near-crippling exhaustion.
At the end of the alley, I careened right. I knew where I was; I was still oriented. This was my territory, one I’d studied and navigated for months, though I’d never slept for long in the same spot until I’d scored the underpass.
Just past the Sunrise bakery, I squeezed into an impossibly narrow passage. I had to push the briefcase in front of me to keep from being too wide. I shimmied sideways as quickly as possible, trying not to trip over my own feet. I fell forward, nearly losing my balance, when the corridorended and opened into a small parking lot. I twirled in a circle, trying to figure out my next move.
Where now? What direction? Should I still try and get to Lily?
"Miss Fortune!"
The shout echoed from behind me. I faced the male voice, finding the smaller Beta making his way through the tight footpath. Dammit.
I clutched Josie's bag tighter to my chest and kept moving, ignoring the stabbing pain in my feet and the burning in my lungs and the way my entire body was screaming at me to just give up.
Three ways to go, one way already out of the running. I jolted forward. Straight ahead would dump me out near one of the wellness clinics. A familiar landmark. And it was only a few blocks from the church whose bells had always been a daily companion, marking the movement of time since I didn’t own a watch. It wasn’t part of Hearts Over Seattle. I could hide there for a while, just until the danger faded.
I emerged into the open again; this street was always busier. People were entering and exiting the clinic. A disheveled Omega with sunny blonde hair bumped into me. She kept her head down and mumbled an apology. A prescription bag was crumpled in her hands. She looked how I felt—like her whole world was shattering beyond repair. I wondered if for her, like for me, this wasn’t the first time a nuclear explosion ripped everything apart.
Limping now, the pain in my legs impossible to ignore, I tried to blend in with the crowd. I tried to not look frantic, to slow my breathing, to be inconspicuous.
I saw him before he saw me—the larger Beta from the motel. That gave me a moment’s head start. I changed course, waiting for the walk light to flash so I could cross the street with several other pedestrians. I was discovered just as the countdown began.
“We have a visual. Repeat. We have a visual. West and Pike.” His voice boomed over the crowd, or it seemed that way as my anxiety hit a crescendo that buzzed in my ears.
