“Thanks, Raj.” Ethan still looks annoyed, and it’s incredibly frustrating that I can’t scent him.
“So what else have I missed?” I ask, hoping to distract him.
He starts telling me the story of what happened when Skye and Jet pretended to be fake boyfriends for Mrs Roberto, then follows it with a rant about how Jet keeps pranking everyone else in the pack now that I’m not available. I smile and laugh in all the right places, and ignore the pang in my chest. I don’t need to burden my alpha with how much I’m struggling. He’s got more important things to worry about.
Chapter Five
BRYN
I finish the last of my toast while I stare at Milo’s spreadsheet and try to wake up enough to comprehend what I’m looking at. The whole thing is colour-coded and details an exact strategy to get me back up to strength and flying skill in the most efficient way possible. There’s even a tab with a diet plan, including those protein shakes some humans use.
‘Why are you showing me this now?’ I ask, my hand movements tight with irritation. ‘We’ve been training almost every day.’
Milo straightens from where he’s been leaning against the fridge, moving to sit opposite me at our little table. ‘I’ve done a lot of research over the past year about physical rehabilitation and the best ways to build up shifter strength, particularly in larger shifters like dragons and bears. I’ve been waiting to show you until I could tailor it to your actual abilities post-release, which I’ve now been able to comprehensively assess.’
I slam the laptop lid closed and get up to pace the smallkitchen. ‘So while I’ve been working like crazy for weeks, trying to get my flying skills back up to scratch, you’ve beenassessingme?’
He frowns, his hands moving rapidly. ‘Only so I can help you in the best way possible. I wanted to give you time to reconnect with your dragon and improve naturally, without the pressure of something this structured.’
I run a hand over my buzzed hair, trying to calm the fuck down. Unless Dhiren is around, my dragon wants to hide in a dark cave somewhere, which is making flight training more difficult than I want to admit. That’s not Milo’s fault though, and I shouldn’t take it out on him. Yes, his level of nerd is high, but he’s doing this because he loves me.
‘Fine, we’ll try it.’ I keep my hands calm this time. ‘Thank you.’
He snorts, a little puff of smoke escaping his nostrils. ‘That hurt, didn’t it?’
‘So much.’ My lips quirk as I pick up my plate and turn to quickly wash our few breakfast dishes.
I’m running a bit later than usual, so as soon as that’s done I head for our small hall to get my steel toecap boots on for work, only to almost run into Milo coming out of my bedroom, a familiar box in his hands. It’s the one I’ve been keeping buried at the back of my wardrobe.
‘Why have you got that out?’ I ask, my shoulders tensing.
He puts it down and plants his feet, jaw set. ‘I thought we could go through it later. I think you should start drawing again.’
The box contains my old sketchbooks and a few textbooks I couldn’t get digitally. I worked hard to qualify as an architect, and my drawings have always been inextricably linked with that. I’m not sure I’m ready to deal with the jagged wound caused by the loss of my career.
‘Why does it matter if I draw? No one’s going to employ an architect with a criminal record and only a year’s post-qualificationexperience.’
We exchanged emails about this when I was inside. How our aunt terminated my employment after my arrest and told me never to contact her or her company again. How she’s probably blacklisted me throughout the industry. How no one would trust my work.
His eyes soften. ‘It makes you happy.’
‘It used to.’
He nods, and even though there’s understanding in his eyes, I can’t help but wonder if he actually gets how hard this is for me. He doesn’t say anything else as I lace my boots, check I’ve got my phone, wallet, and keys, and wave goodbye.
I head up to the roof, a knot in my stomach. The snow from a few days ago has mostly melted and turned into ice, leaving everything treacherously slippery, but I get airborne without too much difficulty and head for work.
I don’t really pay attention to where I’m going, distracted by thoughts of how much my brother must feel like I’m letting him down, and what I’m actually going to do about a job after my time at Far Out Freight is up. Harley and I discussed multiple ideas when we were still inside, but the reality is that finding an employer willing to take a chance on someone with a conviction like mine is going to be next to impossible.
A light from the side half blinds me, and I swerve just in time to avoid colliding with a news helicopter heading somewhere in a hurry. For fuck’s sake, I need to be better than this. The last thing I want is for humans to get hurt because I was too wrapped up in my own self-pity to pay attention.
As soon as I arrive at work, I climb down from the roof and rush inside, conscious that I only have about thirty seconds to clock in. I swipe my pass through the machine in the nick of time, then head for the section of wall where the scanners are kept in slots.
A few of the civilians are chatting as they start heading along the warehouse, in no real hurry. I take one of the few remainingscanners from a slot and log in as fast as I’m able. It fails to read my security pass the first time—stupid fae technology—but I manage to get my job list up only a minute after seven.
I take a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart, then head for the first aisle on my list, wincing at how the magic in here seems brighter than usual. Is that a new layer of warding on the offices?
Standing at the top of the metal staircase to his office, Lance has his hands on his hips, wings spread wide, and eyes narrowed at me. As soon as I make eye contact he lazily SimComs, ‘You were late.’
