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Wyatt shifts his eyes cryptically to Stella. “We wanted to talk to you. See if you need anything.”
I shake my head sharply and sink my hands in my pockets. “No. I don’t need anything.”
“Well, you look like shit,” Stella bursts out bluntly, seemingly unable to hold the words in a second longer.
Wyatt sighs and rolls his eyes as I level a hard gaze on him. Seriously, what did he think would happen if he brought Stella here?
“Don’t tell Lou that,” I reply caustically. “He came up from Wyatt’s house to cut my hair this morning.”
Many of the Sage House beta servants relocated to Wyatt and Camilla’s after that night, and getting anyone to visit lately is like pulling teeth. Although Lou’s been cutting my hair in one of the house’s bathrooms since I was four years old, he refused to come in this morning. Instead, he insisted on cutting it on the front portico.
I run my hand over the back of my head, surprised again at how short he cut it. I don’t think he’s looking for a reason to come back anytime soon.
“You’ve lost too much weight,” Stella continues, frowning. “And you have bags under your eyes.”
“So, you just came here to talk about how terrible I look?” I press, annoyed. “I don’t think that’s what you should be focusing on at a time like this, Stella.”
“You know what I mean,” she grits out. “And I’d argue that you should be more worried about yourself than anyone else at a time like this.” She uses exaggerated air quotes. “But if you want to run yourself into the ground for no reason—”
Wyatt sets his hand on her shoulder, quieting her. “Noah, I think what Stella is trying to say,” he pauses to glare at her, “is that we’re worried about you. And this ridiculous show you’re putting on” —he motions toward the window and the gathering crowd— “isn’t helping matters.”
My lip curls, and my blood runs hot as the same old thoughts run through my head.
You mean, my job isn’t necessary, Wyatt? I don’t have to do everything I can to make sure that every alpha, omega, and beta in Goldenrod survives? Should I run away from my problems like you? Then where would we be?
But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I cradle my temples in my hand and try to muster some goodwill for my brother. It’s not easy.
Finally, I clip out, “I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine.”
My first lie of the day, and I know enough by now to know it won’t be my last. Lying has become surprisingly comfortable for me. Definitely more so than telling the truth.
When the lights first went out, it was easy to believe that it was a fluke. But then they never came back on, and the water cut out a week later.
It’s dark all the time now. Even in the middle of the day, with the late summer sun shining down on us, it’s dark. There are no lights. No air. No water.
Just weeks ago, it seemed like the things we’ve always had—the life we always lived—were infinite. Even with my own worries, I never imagined it reaching this point so soon.
But now, there are doubts aplenty. Whispered between friends. Hanging motionless in rooms. Carried in the wind that blows down Dogwood Street, rustling the trees.
You can’t avoid them. Rarely in the past did anyone ever question the Order, but now you can’t escape the doubt. It’s weaved into Goldenrod’s future, changing it forever.
And so, they need me, their Administrator, to tell them that everything will be okay. The Order will save them. I’ll save them.
“What are you going to tell them, anyway?” Wyatt asks roughly. “You can’t keep lying to them.”
“Who says I’m lying?”
“You forget who you’re talking to, Noah,” Wyatt sneers. “You have no idea what we’re dealing with here. Goldenrod needs to be ready. They need to understand what’s out there—”
“The Administrator’s going to say exactly what he needs to say to keep the peace,” a confident voice pipes up from behind him. “Nothing more.”
Marcus strides into the room, his shoes clicking on the hardwood floor.
Wyatt scowls but keeps his mouth shut. Even he knows that arguing with Marcus Catmint will get him nowhere.
While everyone else in Goldenrod is withering under the weight of the unknown, Marcus is thriving.
Sure, he’s lost weight like the rest of us, but as someone who was already carrying a little too much around his center, it suits him. It’s not only that, though—he has a busy fervor about him as he buzzes around town, comforting worried omegas and gently scolding children for taking more food than they should. Always with a complacent smile on his face, of course.
