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Gently, his lips touch the mark on my neck, igniting something in me. Suddenly, it doesn’t matter who’s watching, what happened, or who Noah killed. I only want to be as close to him as possible—
“Congratulations! You’re mates!” A caustic voice rings out, interrupting our tension. I pull back, startled as if I was caught doing something I shouldn’t.
Looking behind me, I see Stella, her arms and legs still bound, glaring at us, annoyed.
“You love each other and want to … be together.” She pauses with a cringe. “But before you do that, can you please get us out of these, Noah?”
Isolde sits next to her, strangely quiet and watching me with a worried expression. I look away quickly, heat rising on the back of my neck as I nudge Noah’s arm.
“Release them.” I pause, my eyes flicking over Dogwood Street. “And then we can go.”
“Gladly,” he says, cupping my jaw and dropping a kiss on my lips before he turns to his mother and sister.
Vaguely, I hear Stella and Noah bantering behind me as he works on their bindings, as well as Marcus and Joanna whispering. But I don’t feel the need to talk to any of them right this second as I take one final look at my home.
I stare out at Dogwood Street. The dust has mostly disappeared, and I can see everything more clearly under the rising sun. The leafy trees. The bright, familiar buildings. The extinguished torches.
It could be any other morning in Goldenrod. It’s as if any second now, the betas will open up the shops and the early morning rush to Arabica will begin. But it’s not any other morning. Today is different.
How many times did I walk up and down this street, my eyes on the ground and my ghost going crazy?
My ghost.
Something moves within me—a familiar fluttering feeling that I didn’t realize I’d lost. I haven’t thought about my ghost in weeks. That voice in my head, urging me to be myself and to fight back, has been suspiciously quiet.
It’s been silent for so long, nonexistent, really. Maybe because I’m not keeping it locked inside anymore. No, it’s free. Speaking, moving through the world, asserting itself.
Maybe my ghost is me now.
Or maybe it always has been.
50
Far Away
Noah
As things begin to wind down, everyone is deep in their feelings.
Rill and a few of his alphas show up not long after I release my mother and Stella from their bindings—including Nick, who was only vaguely surprised to unexpectedly find Stella smugly smiling up at him from the town hall steps.
Shaking his head with an indulgent smile, he wrapped her up in his arms and murmured something indecipherable in the crease of her neck. She whispered something back, and his loud laugh echoed up and down the street.
The rest of Rill’s alphas were all fired up, reeking of blood and sweat as they whooped in celebration of their win. Someone had thought to bring sun water, and they slung back glasses of the stuff, getting rowdier by the second as the brightening morning sun gave the entire scene an overly bright, unreal quality.
A few Goldenrod alphas and omegas eventually creeped out of their houses and apartments, too, watching the celebration with stunned and groggy expressions.
Eventually, some of them even joined in the celebration, and Rill’s alphas laughed and encouraged them to slam full glasses of sun water. But not everyone was joyful—a few of them wore disappointed, resigned expressions. Maybe more people saw this coming than we thought.
But no one is as dumbfounded as Marcus, sitting on the town hall steps and watching the scene unfold with a dazed expression. Joanna, too, looked bewildered, sitting next to him, rubbing his back gently.
My mother watches it all unfold with disapproval, loitering behind Marcus and pacing back and forth. Her arms crossed and her nose in the air, she appears unsettled, like she doesn’t know what to do with herself.
I consider the three of them now. Marcus is Hetty’s father? Did I hear someone say that? I know I should have feelings about that—shock, anger, wonder—but I can’t manage to feel much of anything.
Because while everyone else is experiencing a rainbow of emotions, I can’t feel much of anything. My anger from earlier has dissipated, and I just feel dead. Dejected. Empty.
Except for Hetty. I can feel her.
