Chapter 3
The smoke’s everywhere. It’s thick and tastes like burnt plastic and old wood.
My palms sting as I press them against the blistering floorboards, trying to keep my face in the half-inch of air that isn’t yet choked with soot.
The hallway’s a tunnel of noise; the wood groans and snaps.
I open my mouth to call for help, but the heat hits the back of my throat like a physical blow, turning my scream into a dry, agonizing cough.
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 world dims.
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’m confused 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 metallic clack-clack of 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.”
I can’t afford to mess this up. This penthouse, the security, the “genie” who handed me the keys—it all depends on me being the perfect, compliant resident. I can’t let them think I’m too unstable for the residency.
“I know.” I force my hands to lie flat on the padded table, though they still want to shake. “Just tell them to be quick.”
Urie offers a small nod. “I’ll let them know. Just breathe, Zora. You’re doing exactly what you need to do.”
He exits, leaving me alone in the sterile silence. I stare at the spot where the tablet was, the image of that red robot burned into my mind.
After sucking far too much of my blood out of me, they let me go.
I push through the frosted glass doors and step back onto the marble of the lobby.
The scale of the space usually makes me feel small, but right now, the high ceilings are a relief.
I need to act normal. I need to be the perfect resident.
I head toward the cafe counter. The morning rush has slowed, but the counter is still active.
The rich, dark scent of the espresso machine is stronger now, a welcome distraction from the antiseptic lingering in my nose.
A Beta staff member is behind the counter, busy with a steaming pitcher of milk.
“Could I just get a black coffee and a cinnamon pastry, please?”
I lean against the cool stone of the counter and wait, my eyes tracking the movement of people in the lobby to avoid looking anyone in the face. I just need a moment to breathe before I head back up to the penthouse.
“Rough morning?” A low, heavy rumble vibrates right through the counter.
I look to my left and see a massive frame casting a shadow over the marble.
The man is wearing a plain charcoal security uniform that strains across his chest. I don’t look at his face; I know it won’t help.
Instead, my eyes go straight to the name tag pinned to his pocket: Sawyer Morgan - Security.
I swallow hard; the name helps me know him even if his features won’t. “Just a lot of information for an intake appointment.”
Sawyer holds a plain white cup, his large hand almost swallowing it. Damn, for a Beta, he’s a big guy. I realize I’m twisting the hem of my tank top and I quickly drop my hands to my sides.
His almost gray eyes looks me over. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to spook you.”
I laugh. “Oh, you didn’t spook me. I’m fine. Just tired.”
The Beta behind the counter sets my order down.
“Here you go. Have a nice day, Miss Zora.” I grab the coffee and the pastry; the heat of the cup seeps into my palm.
I want to look away, but there’s something about him that pulls my gaze.
An insistent ache eases into my lower belly, that feels separate from the panic I just felt in the clinic. My clit aches.
He breathes in and and takes a step back. “Well, you should go get some rest. Have a nice day.” Sawyer offers a stiff nod before stepping back and heading to the security desk.