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I should be there soon, right? My eyes dart up quickly, and I glimpse the black and white striped awning of the bakery a few yards ahead. Not much further.
Relief rushes through my body as I shift my shoulders in my itchy dress—it’s become wrinkled and damp since I started walking. I’m sure I’d be a lot cooler if I was wearing anything except this.
Luckily, my grandmother noticed I’d been uncomfortable in my gray uniform lately, and last week, she altered my dresses to shorten the long sleeves. So, at least I can feel the breeze on my bare arms, even if every other inch of me is wrapped in heavy linen.
Even my head is covered by a scarf tied in a knot behind my braided bun. Most betas don’t have to go as far as to cover their hair, but Gran’s always insisted I keep mine so.
No one looks twice at me. Even for a beta, I’m small, plain, and inconsequential looking. But most importantly, I’m following a beta’s main rule of survival—keep your head down and your mouth shut.
Even so, I’m itching to lift my head and gaze into the elaborate shop windows or admire the passing omegas’ pretty summer dresses. It’s like there’s an invisible hand under my chin urging me to hold my head high and confident.
I resist it with every fiber of my being.
As far as my urges, that’s one of the more harmless ones. Sometimes, in my weaker moments, I’m overcome by the need to do something crazy—yell or scream.
An angry voice rises inside me, pushing me to fight. In my mind, I’ve always referred to the voice as my ghost. Something separate from me, which has no desire to be confined by the Order. It only wants me to fight back.
You should be seen and heard by every single alpha and omega in Goldenrod, the ghost rattles inside my brain. Not hiding away like a coward. Show them who you really are.
Usually, I have to go somewhere quiet and take a few breaths in order to push down the urges.
My ghost isn’t interested in survival … only in being heard.
Oh! Finally, my eyes catch on the apothecary’s blue front door. That means that the coffee shop is…
There! Glancing up at just the right second, I recognize Arabica’s shining glass door and exhale a deep sigh of relief. At last, I can escape the sun and this sea of people.
The bell above the door tinkles merrily as I walk into the crowded shop. But my relief is short-lived as I’m immediately hit with a wall of stifling, moist heat.
I groan miserably. It’s even hotter in here than it is outside.
How are all these people packed into this boiling little room, drinking steaming beverages? Alphas and omegas are spread out at the tables, with a few betas buzzing around them, delivering cups of coffee and stacked plates of baked goods.
Glancing up, I see Min, one of the betas who works here, standing behind the counter. There are two omegas loitering in front of her, frowning at the menu posted on the wall.
That’s strange. Usually, an omega wouldn’t lower herself to order her own coffee from the counter, but all the shop’s betas must be too busy to help.
I shuffle forward to stand behind them, and Min’s dark, worried eyes flick up to meet mine. She doesn’t acknowledge me, though. I’m sure she’s nervous, waiting to see what these omegas will do.
Frowning at the floor, I attempt to watch them from under my lashes.
They’re tall—all alphas and omegas are impossibly tall—and they’re each wearing filmy floral print dresses. I breathe out a short, jealous sigh at the bright colors and soft-looking fabric. Not only are they pretty, but they look cool and loose—nothing like this suffocating costume.
I pull at my collar at the thought. I can’t tell who they are based on their faces, but if I knew their full names, I’m sure I could place them. My friend Stella, an omega, always tells me the latest alpha-omega gossip.
One of them has coppery red hair, and the other one is a golden blonde. Her hair is so luminous, I almost feel like I need to squint at the sight of it.
“Honestly, Joanna,” the red-haired omega begs, her hand resting on the back of her neck as she looks around nervously. “Do we really have to stand up here? Isn’t there a beta around that can do this for us?”
“Don’t be such a snob, Sylvia,” laughs the blonde, Joanna. “This place is packed, and we’re perfectly capable of ordering our own coffee.”
“I don’t know if I am capable of that,” Sylvia mutters with a worried frown.
Joanna laughs and turns, her eyes immediately landing on me. As her gaze zeroes in on my face, my breath catches in my throat. She’s pretty, I suppose, but in a mean way—her nose is a bit too pointy, and her mouth is small for her face.
“You,” she says accusingly, taking a step toward me. “You’re the Sage’s beta, aren’t you?”
I nod. “Yes, miss.”
